#I'm going to the parking lot and beat up myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 4 months

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The idler wheel is wiser than the driver of the screw.

Quick summary: After one too many drinks, you find yourself unable to think of anything but a certain smart-mouth detective who is in desperate need of a release.

Word count: 11K (I'm sorry)

Warnings: This is basically just SMUTT with a lil feelings (if you squint) sprinkled in there; kind of angsty at points (mentions of canon-typical death and violence (hellooo they're homicide detectives); gets a bit existential at points, watch out; pretentious.

A/N: YAY! I had this obsession with True Detective S1 all throughout October (watched it at my nan's house lmao), so enjoy the lovechild of that. This is just for fun, so, please, nobody be angry at me if they don't agree with Rust's characterisation, or any of the weird philosophical chat, lalallalal, OKAY ENJOY!!

***

The night air is sluggish and humid with the remnants of a warm summer’s rain, pressing down thickly, close, clogging, simmering just below the surface.

A few times, I’ve interviewed people who live in these sorts of places: motel-types, the “in-between”, where folks stay when they’ve either got no money, no choice or nobody. Other residents include passers-by who’re looking to save money on accommodation, skipping on the fancier places. Not that Louisiana really has any “fancier places”. Places without the paint peeling off walls like dead skin, I guess. A bed and breakfast in the nicer suburbia, with a view overlooking a subpar daydream of a ghost town centre.

I’ve leaned up against the crooked, metal railing, felt the influence of my weight almost sending it and myself crashing down onto the faded parking lot beneath. I’ve leaned up there—after knocking—and waited, waited for a grey face to peer through a crack in the cracked door. I’ve smiled and remarked about how the beat-up, brass numbers up there are hanging by a thread. Sometimes, people are real stingy – they slink out and close the door behind them, or they remain in that little slit, just an eye visible, or they plain shut it in my face. Most let me in right away, maybe a little intimidated by the shiny badge clipped up in my jacket – I’ve sat across from ‘em, felt that mud in the room’s air seep into my pores, inviting me under its still swamp.

Seems like the sort of place for him.

Too many a fuckin’ time, Marty’s come grumbling and muttering into the office kitchen, rolling his eyes, scoffing, huffing, the whole lot. And when I ask him why the strop?—“Ancient fuckin’ philosopher fuckin’ Rust Cohle on it again. Birthday’s comin’ up: get me earplugs and a generous bit o’ duct tape for my dear partner over there, would you?”

Or somethin’ along those lines.

For all his apparent talk about us silly, little “biological puppets”, this seems like Rust’s sort of place. Temporary existence, temporary living. Purgatory?

Whatever.

If you ask me, Rust Cohle’s head is so far up his own ass that it’s no wonder his outlook on life is so dark.

If I was more sober, maybe I’d be thinking about it—about him—less—but this night out has had me so drunk I was maybe even hallucinating at some point. Rust?—sure, he’s been in the back of my mind for some part of the last few months – I have to see him most days I go to work, don’t I? – but, sometime in the space between my third and fourth shot of straight vodka, he was suddenly at the very front of it. I’d seen a guy who smoked like him: cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger, a simple, deep drag. I’d thought it was him, but then I realised his face was shrouded in the smoke that he’d exhaled, and I recalled that Rust never seems to do that. Never seems to exhale. All the tar and shit stays in.

With a twist of my keys, the engine rumbles off into more-or-less silence. Fuck, it’s a bad idea, yes, just being here. If he likes to keep his distance, well—he’s entitled to that choice.

I glance over my shoulder, out the window, out at the complex which is all yellow and shining, illuminated by buzzing halogen light bars and, of course, the occasional bug zapper. It’s clean enough. The lines of this parking space were white enough. Apartment 11A, said Marty. Second floor.

“Are you drunk?” he’d asked – Marty, not Rust.

I’d replied, “No,” pressing closer to the phone box in attempts to remove myself from the swarm and bustle of the ladies’ bathroom. And it was an honest reply. Sort of. Despite his scepticism, by that time, I’d long stopped drinking, and all that remained from it was a sort of numb tingle in my fingertips—as far as I was concerned.

I don’t think I’d be in this parking lot, stepping out of my car, if I wasn’t still a little bit gone.

Marty’s sigh had crackled through the receiver. “Don’t bring any o’ tha’ party-this-party-that attitude to ‘im, alright? He’ll hate it.” I’d told him okay, my stomach spiking up with excitement. “Fact is, I don’t think you should go at all. ‘f you do, should be a work matter. This a work matter, detective?”

I’d lied, said yes, perhaps with a slur to my voice.

He clicked his tongue. “Okay, buck, whatever you say.” Then, he’d hung up.

There was something disapproving in the manner of the conversation. I got the feeling that he was talking to me in the same voice he used to lecture his daughters. The only reason I’d called him was to get something from him, sure, so that I could basically get something from Rust, his partner. I could see how that sort of thing might’ve upset someone. Not that Marty Hart should have any right to judge, not when he’s coming into work in the same clothes as the day before, stinking of sweat and God knows what. The unsaid agreement of everyone in the office is to turn a blind eye. I’ve met his wife. Someone should cut off his damn dick.

Quiet, now. Hell, who am I to talk? Marty’s fun to chat with, makes a slow day at the office a little brighter. ‘Course, there’s rarely a slow day at the office.

And I’m at the top of the stairs, now. And I knock—one, two, three—on the pilling, forest-green door. Dulled down 11A. Blinds are determinedly shut, slats flat. For a second, I think maybe I’ll be waking him.

Then I remember Rust doesn’t sleep.

A grey face appears as the door swings just a little ways open, grave and sunken-tired. His expression isn’t so pissed-off as it is just his usual expression.

“Rusty,” I say to him with a small nod, words scraping out dryly.

He doesn’t respond right away – ‘stead, he leans his body out partway, eyes absent like he’s searching for some hooligan criminal in the night.

“Marty told you my address?” he asks lowly. It’s more a statement than anything, but I amuse him with a nod anyways. There’s a cigarette flaring up between his fingers. His hand twitches a little like he’s wanting to take a drag, but his eyes are fixed on my shoes, now, like he’s still coming to terms with the fact I’m a foreign body in his domain.

My toes curl up tight in my shoes – there’s that prick of anticipation again. Ice-cold, you could easily mistake it as dread.

Rust doesn’t exactly subject me to an imploring look—not really his style—but he bows his head down just slightly – that’s sign enough for me. He wants to know why I’m here, and he no doubt wants to know the quickest way to be rid of me.

I sigh. I ask him.

My body trembles, and he notices it, records it, stores it away for later reference, for some other time he’ll find that it and me will contribute to his purpose.

Rust has a face of stone. I get to know it well as I search for a sign there that might let me know what lies beneath. But, of course, a statue is solid through and through. Sharp angles and smooth planes carved hollow. If he’s cold to the touch, I’d like to reach out and be sure. Is he cold where a man ought to be warm? Christ, it makes my pulse jump just to think about it.

There is no greater purpose or cruel intention underlying my words, as far as I’m concerned. Rust, however, lingers there, with his arm up on the door, barricading the entrance, while he peels back and flits over every layer of possible meaning, his attention fixed absently on my left ear.

He then looks at me—briefly—in the eyes, with a sort of paralysing intensity. Even the tingling in my fingers ceases to be.

It takes a moment, pregnant with the chorus of cicadas, crickets and other night-creatures, before he steps back neatly to allow me in.

The door clicks softly behind me as I enter into a room that’s bare as bare can be.

Rust grunts, coming up around me and into the kitchen area. “Want anything?” he mumbles around his cigarette, other hand shoved in his pocket. He’s still half-dressed in his work clothes, his tie strewn on the counter, his blazer slumped over a rickety picnic chair perched up in front of a wall of crime scenes and dead bodies. My eyes linger there—how can they not?

“A beer,” I tell him, still looking at those photographs, then at the stacks upon stacks of books. Philosophy, ethics, religion. Names I’d expect only those with PhDs to know.

“Don’t think you’ve had ‘nuff to drink already?”

I shoot him a look. “I think I can handle it, Rust.” He straightens up, raises his brow. I snort, reasoning, “I’ll only have one.”

“One,” he agrees, opening up the fridge and having a rummage around.

White walls and all of them empty, like some sort of psych ward. Half-sure Rust actually did do some time in that type of care, though, so—shouldn’t make any quips about that. I don’t want him thinking I think he’s crazy – he gets enough of that, I’m sure.

Back at my place, though, I’ve got posters or drawings or paintings up around every corner. My niece’s drawing of a mermaid sits on my dresser, and photographs of my family are displayed in the hallway. One up by the TV, I painted myself when I was in high school. About two years after I graduated, they asked if I wanted my portfolio back, and I’d obviously said yes. And I love my stuff! Some ‘cause it’s pretty, others because of memories and whatnot. Guess some people don’t have that creative trait, or they lose it. Or maybe they detest the sentiments, those strings that have been, are and will be attached to things. When my cousin broke up with her boyfriend, she cut her hair and burned his clothes. “I just want to forget him,” she’d snarled. I’d sputtered a laugh into my tea.

Rust plants a Corona down on the counter, already cracked open.

There’s no mirror in here either – I can’t check whether I look as desperate as I feel. When I focus back on him, Rust is taking a swig from his own beer, turning to glance at the crucifix pinned above the messy mattress on the floor. Huh. Didn’t peg him as a Christian.

His honey-blond hair doesn’t look cold to the touch, that’s for sure ‘n’ certain. Wonder if he just wakes up like that or what. Once, Marty had been teasing him at work, even cracking a smile out of the old guy. “Ain’t them just the prettiest curls y’ever seen, buck?” he’d remarked, nudging into me, cooing at him. Silently, in my head, even then, I’d agreed: prettiest curls I’d ever seen. Rust hadn’t looked up to chart my reaction, but, if he had, he’d maybe have seen my fidgeting fingers or hitch of breath. Or maybe he felt it, heard it.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” I offer pathetically through a nervous smile.

He blinks, takes another swig, leaning over the counter that separates us. “No, y’aint.”

Jesus, I have to turn my head and shut my eyes for a second. I don’t particularly believe in God, but I ask Him to please give me the strength to resist my urges and act like a normal damn person for at least a few more minutes. And then I apologise for only praying out of convenience. In the face of temptation. This is why people shouldn’t drink – still, doesn’t stop me from downing a good part of my beer.

I turn to the wall and try to turn myself off a little bit. It’s not hard – Rust still has Dora Lange (rest her soul) pinned up on his wall, naked, blue, stiff. I don’t want to know why, so I don’t ask him.

His eyes are adamant on the side of my head. Funny how he never seems to look at me at the same time I’m looking at him. Pisses me off a lot of the time – not just him, but in general. A lot of people share this same fear of not being heard, not being listened to and not being cared about. Men in particular, I’ve noticed, have a tendency to raise their voice over others’, to yell or shout or hit things or push ‘n’ shove. Marty’s that way – a lot of men at the precinct are, too. Women who are raised to be the listeners sometimes act out in the same way, frustrated at all the things they have to care about that men don’t, burdened with manners and politeness. I used to hate having to listen, to wait for the man who interrupted me to finish speaking. Rust always lets people finish their point, for better and for worse. Pisses me off in a different type of way. I can feel his judgement seeping out of him, so potent that’s it’s tangible, lapping at my feet.

He doesn’t push and shove – he’s a listener, too. Of course, he has that male privilege where his silence has a gravity, a magnetic pull, where mine is simply as is. At least he pays attention. Sure, on the surface, it might look like he doesn’t care at all, hunched over a case file at his desk, back turned to me and the rest of the lot, but proximity has its power – assigned workspaces put with his personality, and he knows what’s like and unlike me better than my sister. He’s reading into my refusal to talk, to face him – unlike me.

“So, you’ve given this some thought, then,” Rust says matter-of-factly, and my tummy bubbles up.

I snicker nervously, heart racing. God, I’d expected surprise, disbelief, outright refusal, maybe even a little disgust, but, when I manage to turn around and look at his face again, it just seems to me like a calmness. Stoicism found in the affirmation, maybe, of his expectations. It’s like I’m walking right into one of those little theories of his: a proved hypothesis.

I take another sip from my beer, feeling too shy for my liking. “Well, yeah,” I drawl, slumping over the kitchen counter and propping my chin up to look right back at him in a surge of liquid confidence. “I always think ‘fore I do anything that’s anything, Rust.”

Almost immediately, he retreats, standing up straight and resting the small of his back against the lip of the sink behind him. He hums, glances away. “We both know that’s a lie,” he combats, hands tucked into his pockets, chin tilted up, eyes down. A mouthful of beer numbs the sting of rejection. “What you mean is you think you can justify all your decisions. You think you can justify why you knocked on my door and said what you said—” he elaborates quietly, eliciting a snort from me, “—but, at the end o’ the day, all your decisions boil down to what you feel is right, not what is right.”

“‘n' you think you ‘n’ you alone know what’s right?”

Slate-grey eyes flit up and down my face, like I’m a specimen on a slide.

“I think that the girl who’s stumbled up on a fella’s door asking him to fuck her is less inclined to know, without bias, what’s right, yes.”

I swallow thickly, sucking the remaining flavour of beer off of my tongue before going in for another swig.

Christ.

Not a single bat of his eyes. Not a quiver of his mouth, not a twitch to his nose, not a morsel of natural, human hesitation. Does he have to be so crass? I did the courtesy of making it palatable, at least to my own ears, with a euphemism. But when have I ever known Rust Cohle to water anything down? No drink I’ve ever consumed will match his body’s preference of alcohol content. He’s nursing his beer close to his chest, but who knows what poisons lay dormant in these cabinets?

“Rusty,” I say lowly, maybe asking for a break – I close my eyes for just a second, part because I couldn’t bear it if I caught some sort of disapproval on his face, and part because it’s just past two o’clock in the morning.

Late nights have consumed my life recently, what with that sicko rapist connected to a Christian fertility cult. Children of God – “go forth and multiply”. His confession had turned my blood cold. Johansson had offered to sit in the box instead, but I did it anyway. I went home and cried over it, then came into work the next day to talk to some press and then receive my new assignment.

He hums, taking a drag from his cigarette, swallowing the smoke down. Rust knows how it is. To be honest, I’m probably the one who doesn’t know the half of it. One night at the office, he’d casually confessed to his insomnia, like he was just commenting on the state of the weather ‘n’ nothin’ else. So, I guess I won’t pretend to get it.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “Are you into that whole abstinence thing?”

The weak light above flickers gently as he pauses, turns the question over in his mind. Anyone else would’ve surely laughed.

“I believe that man is susceptible to desire, yes—but he can resist it and its consequences should his willpower be stronger than the false promises posed by that temptation.

I snort again, because, now, I really am tipsy, and I can’t hold in my attitude any longer. It’s not that I think he’s lost it or whatever. It’s just—he’s so—objectively—absurd. Well—“objectively”. He’s got points, but those points lose all meaning in the spiralling darkness of overthought and deep contemplation wherein he’ll explain that everything really means nothing—and he’ll be right about that, sure, but also unintentionally prove a point about himself. I’d ask him what it means when, in a world where everything means nothing, a child will give their friend a flower found on the way to school, but I feel like his answer would be too morbid for my liking. Does that make me an unreliable source? The fact that I want to live?

He's absurd. He’s also a little bit awry in the head. Don’t know what he’s lost or what he’s lookin’ for, but it’s not a good look on him. He’s honest, yes – that’s a good trait. But honesty without kindness is cruelty. And he is kind – underneath, he’s kind, and I know that because of how hard he works to weed out evil people in this world, most times at his own risk. That’s kindness, albeit unconventional, whether he realises it or not.

The kindness almost cancels out his arrogance.

“So, what?” I challenge under the guise of a teasing grin. “You can go mouthin’ off for hours on end about how up themselves religious people and all’at are, but you can’t draw the similarities between their philosophy and your philosophy? How does that work, Rust?”

While I was working that Children of God nightmare of a case, he just couldn’t seem to restrain himself – every bullshit word that left him revealed to me his hubris. Now, I’m not angry, and he’s not stupid – we’re not arguing. In fact, he seems intrigued, lean body shifted toward me. He sets his beer down on the counter, crosses his arms over his chest after securing his cigarette between his lips, and lowers his head as if to listen to me better.

I sigh, continue. “D’you know what I think? I think you oversimplify humanity. You’re a great detective—‘nd I guess you know it—and, within the confines of your job, it serves you well, makes you good in the box. But your assumptions are too general. People are who they are, sure, but they also decide to be those people. By their environment and those who surround ‘em, people make the decisions that define ‘em. A lot of the time, their circumstances ain’t fair. People born into badness are trapped by the badness—either physically, or up in their heads—and they have a tough time escapin’ it.”

Rust inhales the smoke again, the only evidence of it happening being the soft whisp that curls away from his nose. I wonder to myself how his lungs are still standing.

“‘s that how you explain that—homicide case you’re workin’ on?” Three-year-old boy died of neglect, his siblings found locked in cabinets, one in a dog cage, by their mother and stepfather. Rust’s eyes flash silver. “Killer had a tough time?”

Asshole.

I narrow my eyes dangerously. “Don’t be mean, Rusty,” I scold, and he blinks in concession. “I think evil exists. I think it’s complicated. I think you summarise things that ought not to be summarised.”

He’s silent for a heartbeat. Then, his hand comes up to pinch away his cigarette, and he waves it in a small flourish, explaining, “When I say “people”, I mean society. Human culture.”

“Last I checked, Rust, you don’t know everybody on the planet. You don’t know their “culture”, or experiences.” That seems to shut him up. My eyes wander to his broad shoulders, trail along the meat of his arms beneath the cheap, polyester shirt that hugs close to the muscle, and they linger there like the quiet that settles between us.

He nods slowly, once. “Our decisions define us?”

I bob my head, unabashedly staring at the elegant column of his throat, his neck, and the stretch of tan skin that is settled beneath the white undershirt revealed by the first one, two, three buttons which have recently been undone.

He’s quieter when he asks me, “Well, how does this decision define you, then?” There’s nothing malicious about the way he says it, or even lustful – just a calm curiosity.

“Ain’t it obvious?” I grin again, laugh a little, blush hotly. “I’m horny!” I hide my face in my shoulder, trying to compose the hiccups of laughter in my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I snicker, wiping my palm over my brow, my eyes. “This probably isn’t very attractive to you.”

“You’re a very pretty girl,” he replies. He mutters my name solemnly, like we’re in a formal meeting or something.

I glance up, check whether he’ll offer me eye contact again, but he doesn’t – he’s staring at the wall, lost.

I scoff. “You’re a very pretty guy, Rust.”

God willing, none of the boys at the precinct will ever find out about this. If Marty lets it slip that I even asked for Rust’s address, then I’ll never hear the end of it. Worse, everyone’ll think I’m dead-gone over him. Guess I don’t really fit the standards expected of women around here: “wife”, or “whore”. Or “dead”. It’s hard enough to be taken seriously going about pretending I’m not interested in sex at all. Once sex comes into the equation, I’ll be reduced to that and nothing else.

Anxious, I start flicking up under my fingernails. Is Rust already starting to think those things, too? I’m a great detective, but that’s the only capacity in which he’s really known me.

I wring the neck of my bottle. “I should explain—”

He holds his hand up, stating, “I don’t need you to. Do you feel the need to?”

Curious, wary, I watch his face, a blank slate. Still waters run deep. My eyes drift down, to where his hands are together in front of him, one relaxed beside him the other curled around his wrist with two fingers resting on the pulse.

“No,” I reply.

“You thought it over,” he says, eyes tilting up at the ceiling, aloof, bored, maybe. His words are sort of monotone, like he’s reciting a passage from a book that he’s just recently read: “You chose me because you know me. You haven’t been sleeping well. You’re stressed, you’re scared, you’re frustrated.” He blinks. “You’re attracted to me due to some—unfortunate trigger beyond your control in the reptilian part of your brain.” Brief as the flicker of a candle in a still room, he looks over me, brow raised slightly as if daring me to tell him that he’s wrong. He pauses again, takes a short puff. “It makes you think I can take care o’ your needs.”

Look at the state of him: sallow and wilting on the inside. Reducing me down to a sentence or two, and being right about it.

“Well, can you?” I ask weakly, feeling small. He looks over me, blinks blankly. “How do you take care of your needs?” No reply. “You do have needs, don’t you?” I remark, tapping the rim of my bottle to my warm temple. “Programming ‘n’ whatnot.”

He tilts his head away in dismissal.

I smile, more to myself than to him. “Beat off in the shower, is it?”

For a second, Rust is still. My eyes grow heavy, admiring the strong profile of his nose. He then nods helplessly, like there’s no point in trying to lie.

I hum, a soft, self-satisfied smirk edging its way onto my face. “Must feel like a sin,” I snicker.

He squints slightly, like he disagrees with my logic, but does not interrupt to protest.

“I remember takin’ baths as a teenager and double-checkin’, triple-checkin’ I locked the door,” I confess. “Couldn’t take my time. ‘S that how it is for you, Rust?” I probe, tilting my head to the side, losing his eyes as quickly as I catch them. “You ever let yourself enjoy it? Let yourself want it—?”

“I don’t want it,” he snaps quietly.

“But your programmin’ says you do, right?” I point out, scrambling to hold onto the flaw in his argument. I search his face, my own bright, eager.

He quirks up a miraculous smile, and I myself burst into a wide grin. Still smiling—though, you’d have to admit, it’s such a strange sight, sort of gratifying, almost patronising—he shifts his weight between his feet, scratches at his nose with his pinkie, sniffs, takes a long drag of his dying cigarette. I know he must feel disjointed, though he doesn’t show it: he’s misstepped, and I’ve caught him. And how often does Rust Cohle misstep? I should’ve checked the news for a blue moon tonight.

Interested, now, is he? Breathing quietly, rolling his jaw – he’s entertaining the competition I have goin’ up in my head. From the looks of the gentle smirk on his face, he’s enjoying it, too.

“No,” he corrects with a dry husk to his voice. “No, I know what I want, and, when I think those things are necessary or useful, I know how to get them.”

In this type of context, I’d like to see him try. Though, he is an undeniably attractive man. Thick, solid all the way through, like a rich wood. But he’s got these brittle eyes: fraying.

He continues: “Most of the time, though, what we want is born out of dangerous feelings, like rage or lust. Ruminating on the consequences of those potential actions seems to me the more sensible thing to do than to just leave it and find out.” I sniff. “Desire is inescapable for most, including the sexual kind. I feel it—“ he eyes how I wriggle beneath my skin, “—you feel it. But it can be resisted. You’re lettin’ it dictate what you do ‘n’ say. If I do to you what you want me to, have you thought about how it might affect things down the line? Tomorrow, next week, next month—?”

“Yes,” I hiss, a little too emotionally, such that a gleam of satisfaction crosses his grey eyes at the strain and stretch of my voice. Christ. Desperate much?

I take several seconds to think before allowing myself to speak again, all while staring at him straight on and refusing to look away: I’d just die if I let him catch me out. “Well, how can you be sure of the fallout? How do you know the good won’t outweigh the bad? Not “you” specifically, but, also, yeah, “you” specifically. I can think about something morally ambiguous, and I can evaluate the potential consequences, and, just as you are satisfied to observe, I will decide to follow through with this somethin’ and deal with what I gotta deal.”

He sighs. “Because decisions define a person?”

I tuck my hair tight behind my ears. “Yes.”

And he hums – that beautiful noise resonates in my stomach before sinking down there, low, its weight a comfort. “I agree with you in that respect,” he admits.

A laugh erupts out of me like the sputter of an engine. Luckily, I’m easy to laughter – it’s like me, as is my genuine grin. “Rust Cohle’s agreein’ with me on somethin’?—Call the police!”

“We are the police,” he replies smartly, watching me snort and smile and grow flushed in the face. I feel very grateful to that beer – at least my giddiness can be blamed on the effects of alcohol and save me from embarrassment.

As I simmer down, he looks away, adds, “I agree to an extent. People all think that they’re one-of-a-kind. That they make these—amazing decisions. They speak and do and walk and play and work and fuck and eventually die – all of ‘em.”

“You’re part of the people,” I argue.

He hums, nodding in acceptance. “Yes.”

“If a person acts due to their instinct, whether it’s succumbing to it or fighting against it, then isn’t man simply his programming?” He lowers his head. “You can be aware of it, and you can be a part of it, too. Who are you to deny yourself the good parts?”

He fiddles with his cigarette, svelte fingers nimble and acute. I cross my legs, flex my hips; he notices.

“Because of the consequences,” he replies, a soft whisper.

I thought that everything meant fuck-all?

For someone who sees no meaning in life, he sure seems to spend a lot of time contemplating it. Here, I thought I’d have hot hands sliding all over me, gripping, spreading, pushing, but instead find myself defence in an unprecedented debate.

Rust is breathing slower, deeper, almost unable, now, to look me in the eyes, even look at me in general, whereas, before, it had been a choice, whether that choice be conscious or unconscious. His cigarette burns weakly in his fingers, forgotten. The muscle in his jaw flexes, his expression hollow.

My body buzzes with want, leaves me scrambling for breath like I’ve just run a race. I want. I want, I want, I want. The rough pads of his fingertips, the surest and most confident I’ll have ever known. Sharp tongue, quick and precise. Something about how he smells. All my compliments to pheromones – even in the heavy musk of the bar, I’d smelled him, ashy, warm, alive, and now it’s wreathing all around. Or maybe that’s just me – it’s like when you try to take someone’s pulse with your thumb, and all you’re feeling is your own heartbeat.

I want – my breath trembles with it.

“Rust,” I say softly. He shakes his head a little, looking away still, vulnerable like a wild animal. I sigh, gnawing at my lip. “I really want it. I—I’ve—it’s not just a rash decision,” I explain. “I’ve wanted it for a while, now.”

He shudders – I notice. “Since when?”

I huff out a sheepish laugh, fix my eyes on my restless hands. “You won’t remember it—”

“I will.”

His voice sounds clogged. It sobers me right up.

“A year back,” I tell him. “You were working at the office—late, in the dark. You called me, and I asked you why, and you said—it was because you were tired and thinkin’.” I glance up to check if he’s maybe looking, but he’s not – he’s turned his head even further away. The soft, gentle curls of his hair tempt me.

Blindly reaching for the bottle, securing it almost immediately, he finishes the rest of his beer, then sets it back down.

“I—” he begins, scratching his nose, “—I was—tired.” He pauses to re-thicken his voice. “And—thinking—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the both of us know what he said that night: Of you. Thinking of you—of me .

My stomach flips, leaving me almost nauseous, just like it did when I first heard those words. At first, I thought I’d misheard, that I was so tired my mind was playing tricks on me. Then, I thought he was being cruel, or maybe he was drunk. Those two instances weren’t—aren’t—unlike him, but he never, ever calls to be mean or to be stupid. He’d been quiet and warm through the phone after that, a presence so thick I could’ve sworn he had his arms around me right then. I hadn’t slept well for a time, then, of course, and that made it all the more vivid. His voice had made me shiver all the way through as he told me he had to get back to work.

When I saw him the next morning, I couldn’t look at him. It was the first time I couldn’t, not wouldn’t. It was also the first time I felt him paying attention to me.

I shift, ask the question I’d wondered since that call: “Why?”

A pause.

Then: “You brought me coffee that morning,” he explains softly, speaking to the wall opposite. “I was—looking at the mug on my desk – it was yours. Green one you like to use.” He sniffs. “And…” He teeters on the precipice of that word but does not finish the thought.

Hmm. That’s something to think about. Rust Cohle thinking about me and not picking apart why and why he shouldn’t be. It had been a mindless enough gesture – it’s not unheard of me to be makin’ coffee for other people in the office, not because I have to but because I like to. For the people I can stand, that is: Johansson always, and him for me; Cathleen; Marty, when I’m not pissed off at him; and Rust, from time to time. Everybody knows that green mug is mine, though – nobody touches it, not even the boss. Rust reads far too much into things. Most of the time, he’s dead-on. I should’ve known from the moment I placed that coffee on his desk, from the sharpening of his eyes (that did not spare me a glance) that lingered on my lingering hand on his table, that he knew. Figured out something I hadn’t even quite figured out myself. Not until later that night.

I wonder if he’s ever thought of me when fucking his own hand. I wonder if he thinks about me sometimes, when he can’t sleep, in between horror stories and brutal blows and uncovering the secret truths of the universe. I do, sometimes.

When I push myself back to my feet, stand up, Rust’s attention springs back, and he watches me, looks at me.

Quietly, I relish in the satisfaction of his stare, crossing on light feet to toss my empty beer bottle in the bin. He steps aside to let me open the cupboard under the sink, his hand curled in a loose fist by his side. I’m not trying to tease him – I grant him the space he so clearly needs, retreating about five paces back, leaning slightly myself against the counter.

I could say anything right now, no matter how insane, and he’d treat it with total and utter respect. I could reveal to him the reaction my body has to seeing his fingers fiddle like that with his cigarette, and he’d manage to identify the cogs and wheels in what, when you step back, actually turns out to be a hidden machine. Christ, I could probably remove all of my clothes, stand naked in front of him, and he’d look on as one would look on at a piece of evidence at work. Going over the details, once, twice, scribbling it all down in that big, leather ledger.

Here’s what I think: he needs it. For all his talk about how unoriginal, how predictable mammals are at the end of things, he probably knows that himself. The tension in his jaw, the perpetual tightness of breath. That clipped way of talking he has, wound so tight around himself, like a compressed spring fighting its natural urge to let go.

I could make him let go. Maybe. I wish he’d let me try. It’s nothing possessive, really: wanting to be the one to unravel his tightly coiled body. Just—the release of seeing him be. No thinking in particular – just being.

He is still, however, uncommonly mute, avoiding my eyes.

I sigh. I ask him tentatively, “You think I ought’a be ashamed o’ myself?” biting down on the fleshy inside of my cheek.

“No,” he contradicts.

“But—you think I should be findin’ my fun elsewhere, with—some other guy?”

He sort of pins his hands behind his back, pressing his weight against them there at the edge of the sink. He looks a lot taller from this angle. “I think there’s a lotta fellas stumblin’ over themselves to be with a girl like you.”

“Maybe,” I scoff, “but my reptilian brain don’t want none of ‘em.“ I blush warmly when I glance up and he’s there watching me, though there’s no bashfulness at all on his side of it.

I expect him to maybe dart his eyes away again, like he does, and then walk me to the door, maybe even to the car if I haven’t offended him too badly, and then call it a night. I could stuff it in; I can compartmentalise. Monday would carry on as it always does, except now without the wondering and the yearning and the delusion. Did he have to be so good-looking? His cheap, wrinkled shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows—like they are now—and those lean forearms braced up on the table, caging in the neatly set-out notes scrawled up in his ledger, like they have mind to escape. And he’s—beautiful. He’s tall. Out-of-place sort of tall, where he has this bend to his neck, sometimes, as to not draw attention to himself. Other times, though, he stands to full height, regal, elegant, authoritative, like when he comes out o’ the box.

He sees into people. He feels it all so deeply.

And he’s looking at me, seeing into me, deeply. His eyes are brittle like china pieced back together with store-bought glue. The low light casts long shadows down his neck and harsh face.

“Come here to me, Rust,” I say to him, beckoning him over with a tilt of my head. To my surprise, he does. He does immediately, peeling himself off the counter, eyes drifting somewhere just behind me as if disinterested.

He stubs his cigarette out on an old plate, abandons it there officially, before stepping slowly towards me, feet never dragging, dodging my searching eyes like the plague.

Hmm. Maybe I made a good argument “for” to his “against”. Or maybe he was never “against” to begin with. I’ll watch him carefully tomorrow and see if there was anything I missed.

I reach up and touch his face gently. I used to do this with my husband before he passed, and he’d close his eyes and whisper my name and lean into the touch, tender, loving – my fingers shake slightly with the memory. Rust Cohle does none of that, because he is nothing like my husband. He’s perfectly rigid against my fingertips; his stare flits briefly up right into my soul, his mouth pressed in a hard line. Everything about him is so sharp. The ridge of his cheekbones, the defiant slant of his nose. The lean muscle of his arms and shoulders, slightly sinewy just beneath the skin.

But when I brush my thumbs up along his eyebrows, easing the sharp line between them, he sighs and closes his eyes, neck bowing down, still as stiff as before, just—different. A small gap, an opening, to that locked room of his upstairs.

“Rust,” I whisper, nose brushing his. He hums again, lowly, eyes shut. “What do you think of us havin’ sex?”

“Sex,“ he replies softly, “is the illusion of connection constituted by the release of a mess of happy hormones, simply by touching all the right places—and nothin’ more.”

I hum and watch the look on his face grow brittle as our breaths mingle closely. God, he’s so near to me that my head swings in a bout of lightheadedness, heady, vision centring in on him and only him, such that I wouldn’t know if this place was burning down all around, even if the flames started eating us alive.

“I think you’re full o’ shit, Rusty. Know how I know that?”

He sighs shakily. “How?” It’s like the word is dragged right from the pit of his chest, barely a breath to show for the effort of it.

“I can feel you against my leg.”

He swallows thickly, but he does not blush, and he does not open his eyes. And, contrary to what he might seem, Rust is not cold like stone. When my fingers grow more confident, when they trace and drag lightly along the line of his cheeks, he is warm there. His pulse, when I find it, exists and is hot and slightly erratic, a fact that leaves my mouth dry and open. I can feel the inflexion of his throat as he swallows again, the shift of the skin and the rhythm of his heartbeat, the gentle influence of his breathing.

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. So, I ask him, “Can I kiss you?” ever so gently.

Softer still, he replies, “Yes,” with that slight Southern whistle of his, barely moving.

Give me strength. Give me strength.

That look on his face is filling me with a delicious, vibrating power. As I stretch my neck up to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth, my eyes are open and watching him, charting him: Rust breathes strongly out of his nose, eyes still determinedly shut, like he’s absent and meditating. He is not tough as stone – parts of him are soft. He barely returns the kiss, but, as far as my brain processes, his lips are soft. Hesitant, maybe.

Then, these soft lips part, and he is sucking in a hot, shuddering breath, capturing me in a deep kiss, as if to breathe all of me in, a strong hand threading through my hair. It hurts a little at first – a small noise escapes my throat at the slight shoots of pain tugging at the roots – but Rust doesn’t seem to notice. Not at first. No, he’s still breathing me in. His lips are dry, rough, a push and tug, a twist, and he’s kissing like a punch, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Whatever oxygen I manage to hold onto is sucked out of me promptly.

I whine, my body going all slack and tired as he smooths the hair out of my face, palms dragging clean back across my cheeks. Those hands cradle the back of my head, making it impossible to keep my eyes open.

Content, I sigh, eyes succumbing to the sensation and falling shut. The last thing I see is his own eyes slipping open to look at my face.

Boy, he’s a good kisser. Must be that lizard brain he has such a distaste for.

My fingers blindly reach and fumble at his belt, hooking into the waist, pulling him flush against me. Rust must forget what he’s doing for a moment, and he pauses where he is, in limbo, eyes far away. When I begin to unthread his belt from its quietly clinking buckle, he goes stiff again, blinks rapidly before perceiving me.

Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.

His hands hover over my shoulders, not quite committed to the contact.

He’s seeing me—really seeing me—as I unzip his trousers and spit crudely into my palm and curl around the length of him, warm, tight. I begin to understand the gentle throb and strain he feels, a delightful thrill running rapid all through my insides. He feels deliciously alive.

But then he turns his head away, neck straining up, breath choked back in his throat. His hands come away, raised, it looks like, as if trying to seem non-confrontational, trying to come away unscathed from a bad situation.

My stomach burns with desire. “Let yourself like it, Rust,” I mumble against his cheek. “Are you here with me?”

I can feel him swallow.

“Yes,” he responds. I guide his face to me, stroking his cock confidently once, twice, as encouragement, maybe. Temptation. Whatever you want to call it. My mouth waters, my head goes airy, when I feel his sex twitch in my embrace.

“Kiss me again, then.”

And he does. Brows furrowed as if in pain, he does, with the tip of his nose dragging and pressing into my cheek. He kisses me sweetly once, then again, and then pants down hotly into my mouth, hovering there before sliding his tongue deep inside, close, smooth.

I let myself love it. I let myself let go with every kiss he blesses me with, growing looser and easier and lighter each second.

The weight of him in my hand inspires a beautiful urge to have him lay down and let me feel every part of his body. Even though his hips stutter, he doesn’t buck up into my fist, doesn’t whine, doesn’t moan, doesn’t curse. Not yet. He just breathes and breathes, and kisses me and kisses me, like it’s all he was set on Earth to do. All he’s allowing himself to do.

Desperate, perhaps, my thighs are pressed against his, feeling unnaturally weak and warm. The throb between my legs coincides with my heart rushing in my ears, a steady ache, impatient. Part of me wants to drag this out as long as possible, because what if this never happens again?—and another part wants to push him inside me already, have him fill me up, fuck me stupid.

This thought stuffs me up to the brim, like cotton punched down into a pillowcase. I whine shallowly and try to slot his thigh between my own.

A switch in his brain must flick on.

It’s like he’s inside my head, like he’s in on my desperation, like he can see and feel every sinful image and thought circulating my alighted brain. He knows it all so well, such that he uses his hips to press us firmly against the counter, spreads my legs with the nudge of his foot between mine, and immediately pushes the rough pads of his fingers right where I need it, through the fabric of my skirt, letting me grind myself against him, hips and all. He circles there generously. I can feel my need dripping from me. He can too, no doubt.

I sigh, he breathes. I gasp, he breathes. My eyes flutter open and shut, but he looks on, eyes half-lidded but stare immovable.

He then lifts his knee to place against my cunt.

“That feels good, don’t it?” he says gently, rocking me over his knee up and down, back and forth, fingers digging into the soft skin of my hips.

My legs widen. When I gasp out weakly, he raises his brow and scans my face, like he had predicted the shaky, wordless nod that I offer to him too late in return.

“Did you want it like this, girl?” His voice is low, intimate, a hit of something just shy of addictive. “Or did you want somethin’ else, too?”

He kisses the hollow of my neck.

His other hand grips at my ass, up my skirt, kneading the flesh there, manipulating it, and his fingers ghost my slit, spreading me around his knee. He fucks up into my hand. I slide my fingers through his hair, which is soft and warm like butter.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid, pretty curls. I’ve proved my point: regardless of whatever act he may try to put on afterwards, we’ll both know that Rust isn’t as numb as he wants to be, that I made him feel good, that I made him want me, and that he’s hot-blooded and thrumming with life. I can feel how alive he is . I hope he thinks of this again some time, whether by himself or surrounded by people. I hope it drives him a bit mad, remembering this.

A hot, sharp breath fans out across my cheek, his mouth slotting back over mine, open, daring me.

I rut against his knee, my fingers teasing the wet head of his cock. I look down between us, at my hand on him, with half a mind to drop onto my knees and make him cum down my throat.

Rust lets out a grunt and swallows hard again.

Then, he gently grabs my wrist and pulls my hand out of his pants, leaving me dazed and confused. With nimble fingers, he unzips my skirt, pushing it over my hips and dragging his hands over my bare skin. He asks me, “You want the bed?”

I step out of the pool of fabric around my feet, slide my shoes off. “‘s not a bed.”

I slide my fingers beneath his sweaty, white undershirt, feeling the taut muscle there, feeling the steady breaths that contradict his racing pulse. He holds my eyes, dipping slightly when I dip, tilting when I tilt. “Seems like one to me.”

How unlike him.

A smile spreads over my face, and his pupils blow wide, dark, imploring. “You wait ‘n’ see what happens when the dust-mites turn up.”

His eyes on me alone are enough to leave me breathless, chest caving in on itself. Of course, when he kisses me softly, it only makes things worse – his long fingers curl around the base of my throat, watching me watching him, and his other hand slides up under the hem of my blouse, palm spread over my bellybutton.

I sigh, try not to squirm.

“You want the bed?” he repeats, heavy, rough. I bite back a needy whine that sits at the back of my mouth. His fingertips press down slightly into my pulse, tightening my breathing.

I nod. “Yeah.”

Think of all the times I’ve sulked over his lack of eye contact with me. Was I annoying? Uninteresting? That, obviously, was an immature way of looking at things, definitely not improved by my distinct femininity undergoing some kind of unspoken disapproval by most I met on the job. This is the most present he has ever been in a moment with me around.

As he pulls himself away, steps back, his eyes are darting over my face, less like he’s judging me and more like he’s trying to find and memorise every detail. I do that, sometimes: if I pay well enough attention, it feels like I’m re-living the moment when remembering.

His hands slot sensibly into his pockets as if his cock isn’t blushing and poking out of his fly right now, belt undone, hanging low about his narrow hips.

Legs don’t fail me now. I slink out of the glowing kitchen and carry on to where the mattress lies in a dim, blue corner, the strange crucifix watching over, a long shadow cast over the empty wall upon which it hangs. He follows shortly behind me, his warmth radiating out onto my back.

I pause and look out onto the darkness revealed behind the half-open slats of the floor-to-ceiling blinds that shield the room from the window to the outside world.

Rust’s presence is intoxicating behind me. He smells like cigarette smoke, still, enticing. I’m trying to quit, but he makes it damn hard. His nose is just shy of my hair, his body so close to enveloping me into him – the prospect of it makes me shiver in delight. I must hallucinate his fingertips along my spine.

I unbutton my blouse with slow fingers, then slide it off and undo my bra.

His breathing is level and grounding by my ear as he comes close, sliding his strong, wide hand up my stomach, along my ribs, and cups under my soft breast. He rubs over my nipple in gentle circles before squeezing over me warmly. He then comes around to pinch the creamy tissue gentle between his fingers and thumb, closing his hot mouth over, drawing along his feverish tongue. I sigh, stroke his hair, let him press soft pecks and kisses to the curve of the soft flesh and to my sternum.

My fingers, cupped around the nape of his neck, dip under the collar, cool. This touch, for some reason, causes him to make some sort of breathless, pathetic noise against me. His eyes are half-shut.

“Anything else philosophical y’wanna get out before we fuck?” I quip smartly (though, not feeling so smart altogether), hand placed innocently on his hip.

He lifts his head, removes his hands from my body – he looks so tragically beautiful in this light. “You want me inside you?” he asks genuinely, seemingly aloof to the fact I’m naked in front of him, open and wanton and pressing my thighs together, his eyes never drifting from mine.

“What do you want, Rust?” I whisper.

He seems to really think about it – he’s always thinking. Briefly, his eyes flit down to my mouth. Then, he looks away, scratches at his forehead.

After a moment longer, he swallows thickly and tips his head down over to the bed, tells me, “Lie down on the mattress,” in a gentle, decisive tone. He’s so soft-spoken – it makes my toes curl.

I do as told, transfixed by the dark shadow in his eyes, and sink down to sit and then recline back on his coarse mattress, coarse bedsheets, with my weight on my forearms and chin tilted up towards him. He watches me, tucking his thick cock back into his underwear.

Still fully dressed in his work attire, he takes a step forward, looming over me, powerful, assertive. Saliva pools in my mouth—again—as I play with the thought of him sitting heavy on my tongue with his stomach tight, shaking, hands in my hair, fucking down my throat. I would let him. Hell, I’d probably let him do anything he wanted to me at this point.

Does he know that? Maybe. I don’t know.

As he reaches his hand out too smooth the hair out of my face, I try to figure it out, but I can’t – he seems too wrapped up in his own desire to be thinking anything at the moment. I feel a flicker of satisfaction jump up in the pit of my stomach. Or maybe that’s something else.

“Lie back, girl,” he tells me.

My cunt flexes.

I thump onto my back, breathless. “Take off your shirt, Rust.”

Without replying, he sinks down to his knees in front of me, my thighs. Instinctively, I prop myself up and watch him unbutton that wrinkled shirt all the way down, shrug it over his broad shoulders. I could fuck myself silly just over the thought of those shoulders, I remark inwardly. He tugs the wifebeater over his head, lean muscles catching the low light, strong, study, solid, and tosses the thing to the side thoughtlessly. My hands reach out to touch him, to feel him and know him. When my fingers press into his skin, glide up his neck and down over his chest, he sighs deeply. He then carefully removes my hands, urging me to sprawl down under him.

“Said lie back, didn’t I?”

Rust doesn’t say another word before placing his large hands on my knees and easing them apart, lowering himself to press pecks and slow, open-mouthed kisses to my thighs, closer, closer, stroking my sensitive skin gently. I almost flinch at his every touch, like it burns. His face is awful serious, like he’s concentrating. I wriggle in anticipation, eager.

“Rust,” I whisper purposelessly. He looks up, hums, searches my face for anything the matter.

I watch on desperately, on the brink of feral distress. A sob clogs my throat as he kisses my fluttering stomach, ducking his head down and curling his forearms, his hands, around my thighs. The dark stamp of his bone-bird tattoo curls over his arm. I realise he is waiting for my attention to return to him, his eyes patient but glazed over with something cardinal. Hungry.

“Can—?”

“Yes.”

He hums. And then he breathes hotly over my underwear before pressing his nose right there into the damp fabric, inhaling my scent there. I whimper at the pressure he applies with the strong bridge of his nose, at the wetness of his open mouth against me. He breathes heavily into me, groaning slightly beneath it all – I can’t tell past the thrumming of my heart in my ears.

“Rust,” I whisper again, my shoulder straining with the task of keeping me up and looking down at the sight of his sweet head buried between my glistening thighs.

“Lie back.”

He kisses me through my underwear, dutifully kneading the flesh of my hips, my inner thighs.

I thump back against the mattress, helpless, keening into his touch as this grey man roughly tugs my underwear down, down, all the way down, until they’re clean off my body, long gone, and then returns his nose to the cleft of my pussy, unseaming me with his tongue, opening me up, breathing me in. It’s enough to draw a shallow, hoarse cry from me. He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t say anything, biting down on my white knuckles.

Rust licks warm over my clit, sucking gently on the bud of nerves (then not so gently), before sliding down, down through my very centre.

Whining breathily, the twist in my stomach tightens and spasms as he presses my hips and thighs right down against the mattress, slow, strong, giving me time to notice it, realise it, give into it, deny the natural instinct to curl my limbs tight all over his face, his neck, his mouth.

Holy fuck. Rust Cohle has his face buried between my legs right now. I have Rust Cohle’s tongue pushing deep into my cunt – he sighs softly, a sound with its own powerful gravity a black hole to envelop me in, and grinds his hips against the edge of the mattress for a split second, just once. My mind pulses with the thought of making him cum. I wonder if he feels the same hunger.

Then, he’s sinking his long, elegant fingers into me, one, then two, and just the knowledge that those fingers belong to him makes my thighs quiver and shake, makes me sigh again. Thick, confident, they curl inside, slow like an experiment, right up to the knuckle. When he taps up against me, when I squeal and crimp up into his hold, he returns himself to mouth dutifully over my clit. My hand threads itself into his hair, holding him steady – I offer a breathless moan when his grip across my hips loosen, an invitation to begin rolling myself up over his pretty face. He pulls his fingers out of me, wet and hot, and encourages my thighs upon his beautiful shoulders, clinging onto them urgently. He shudders a little, I think, when I lock them firmly around his head and grind myself shamelessly against his mouth, his nose. He moves his jaw, his face, in tandem.

I cum after a while like that, because how can I not? The searing buzz reaches a roiling static.

I go loose, moaning softly, melted down flat, and stroke fuzzy fingers through Rust’s pretty hair as he sucks my clit still, as he inhales again and sighs again, reduced to something primitive and needy.

Thick, my heartbeat throbs and echoes like a drum in my skull, threatening. I feel so full that I could mistake the beat of pleasure for nausea pressing in my throat. It was silly to think that this could all be satisfied just from one time. My eyes closed, Rust’s light touch over my abdomen, up to my throat, is acute and heightened, like a million tiny, individual sparks. His fingers fumble over my jaw, then press lightly over my pulse.

He retreats just as I’m playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, coming to stand to full height above me, unthreading his belt from his trousers with quiet, precise hands. I press my shaking thighs together, watching him breathe strongly through his nose, trying to remain somewhat respectable in the presence of the darkening look in his eyes that is locked down on my body.

He pauses, wipes some shine from his nose. Before he can continue with whatever, I find myself sitting up on my knees, grabbing his hips hard enough to bruise all pretty and purple, shoving the trousers down to his knees, and palming him through his boxers.

We don’t have to say anything. He just watches me passively, pushing my hair back again, behind my ears, my shoulders, rolling my earlobe softly between his fingertips.

I remove his underwear, take him into my mouth, thick and long and wanting; he sighs, holds my head with two steady hands.

When was the last time someone helped him like this? I honestly couldn’t have told you, even given a loose theory, prior to this moment: Rust is simultaneously the hottest and most non-sexual being I’ve ever come across in my life. He just happens to be beautiful; he just happens to inspire these sort of feelings choking up inside me. No overarching intention that he’ll ever admit to, no vanity, no preening. So strict to himself, so tight, like a piston, something that fights and pushes and hurts.

So, as I hold him firmly and suck at the head of his blushing cock, kissing him, I watch his face, savour the tart taste of him, and press my thighs together: he’s becoming warmer, looser.

Still, as much as I want him, I know he’s wanted me. However vague he tells it, he’s wanted me. Good Lord, he looks even more stressed now, somehow, than when we had just been talkin’. Hands gently cradling my skull, he tilts his head away, watches the cross on the wall, as he succumbs to it, maybe, and begins to gently, languidly fuck my face. I tuck a hand between my thighs, and I love him, my other with the fingers digging into his hip, his ass. If I’m lucky, maybe it’ll leave some sort of mark, just to remind him I was here, so that, when he’s being all indifferent again, with his eyes lowered to the floor as he shares a report with me at my prim, little desk, we’ll both know that we were once in this room together, here like this.

Rust breathes and breathes, almost mechanically, and slides his cock further into my mouth. The weight of him in there drives me half-insane. If I could consume him, envelop him, and we could be one and the same, I’d readily allow it. When he sinks deeper still down my throat, I sigh around him, rub myself the way I like.

His eyes are determinedly shut, like some part of him refuses to be here.

Before I can make him cum, he shakes his head and tugs my hair back a little bit, mumbling for me to stop and sit away.

For all his mouthiness just a half hour ago, would you look at him now?—Rust Cohle, plundered by the human sensation of speechlessness. I’ve never seen him out of his element before. When he comes down and cages me with his body, hot skin flush against hot skin, I don’t mean that in a bad sense. Shit, he’s far from it. But there’s nothing to say. Nothing of note, nothing to pick apart, no deeper meaning, no theory. Just an itch that has to be scratched. He wants, he is, and it’s heaven to see.

In the dark, he sinks in to me as he is, eliciting from me a soft moan that curls over the shell of his ear. I have to bite down on his shoulder when comes the push, the stretch, the sink, the comfort of him inside. I curl my legs around his waist and grab at his ass, willing him deeper still. He shudders silently over me, thick ripples of pleasure rolling through his lean body.

I curse, but I’m sure it barely registers with him.

His head lifts and his eyes clamp shut as he braces an arm against the wall, lifting one of my legs up over his hip and fucking into me deeper, slipping out and in, and again, and again. I know what I’d see if I took a look down, saw his cock pumping into me, but I can hardly do anything but buck my hips up to meet his effort, my stomach stuttering with that building pressure, hands gripping desperately around his neck and shoulders.

Though, I’m not even sure it is effort that’s driving him.

I mumble into his shoulder, dumb, focussing on the feel and press of him in my belly. I doubt he’s really aware of anything more than the sensation of it, evident from the small grunt that passes his lips as he fucks deep in me. His stomach presses heavier down onto mine, crushing a delicious pressure there, teasing out a long, breathy whimper. He snakes an arm around my hips, pushes his free hand to the back of my knee, tilting my legs back a little more, and then pulls me wider. Tight, he moves me how he wants me, my flesh dipping and carving, fucking himself raw with me, with my hot cunt. His mouth moves over mine, not kissing me, not speaking, just there, present, hot, panting. He doesn’t open his eyes, so I close mine, and I breathe.

Rust stutters and cums and spills over into me with a grunt. He pants sharply, harshly, rhythmically into my mouth, tense again, and then he collapses over my body, and he lays there. I lay there too, burning on the far inside.

I think he only really remembers I’m there when I shift under him.

His eyelashes brush against my cheek. “Sorry,” he murmurs, but the sound of his voice scrapes directly against my brain with the shock of a flesh-wound.

I assume he’s referring to the thick cum that I can feel leaking out of me now. He shifts his hips, adjusting himself in the grip of my cunt. My fingers wrap around his arms, squeeze as I feel him easing out.

“It’s okay,” I reply.

He glances down between us and guides himself out with a lewd noise, swallowing hard. I shiver.

Quiet, sedated, he shrugs his trousers, his underwear, off of his ankles, slipping the bedsheet over both our naked selves. His hand spreads and flattens warm over my abdomen, feeling the gentle swell and sink of the breaths I take and release.

#true detective #rust cohle #marty hart #rust cohle x reader #rust cohle x reader smut #okay cool this is a bit niche hope you liked it #this show made me question my life's purpose #the first season at least #thanks matthew mcconaughey #anybody else here like Fiona apple or what

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blerb-f1 · 4 days

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"Lost" - Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Charles celebrates too hard and gets lost. More news at 6

Find more on my masterlist!

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“Sir?”

“Sir!”

“Wah?”

Charles awoke as he felt his shoulder getting ruffled, eyes dry and hurting. His throat was dry.

“Sir, please get up. This train is finished cleaning, you have to leave”

‘Train?’, he wondered in confusion. Hadn't he just been celebrating his win in Monaco? He took a look at the person shaking him. She was a train attendant, pretty looking he might add. Her uniform was not flattering the least. A light blue t-shirt with a dark blue vest thrown over it. Her accent was german. He attempted to get out of his seat but stumbled, bad leg control.

She supported his shoulder.

“Where am I?”

“Far off from any kind of civilisation you'd normally travel to, based on that watch on your arm” the attended reported. “The middle of nowhere, in Germany.”

Charles held his head. “I don't remember getting on this train at all.”

She looked at him with a lifted eyebrow. “Well, you had all the necessary tickets for your journey. Must have gotten them from somewhere.”

Together they walked outside of the train. The train station was small, one white painted building. Only two tracks, lot's off trees.

“Have you got anywhere to go to?”

Charles looked at her, thinking. Fumbling around his pocket resulted in nothing, his phone and wallet were gone. Shit.

“Apparently not. Let's just get going. You can stay the night with me, I've got space.”

“Can't I just take this train back to where I'm from?” Charles asked her in desperation.

“Good Joke, truly. This train runs every two hours during the day. And then you'd have to take more trains, none of which usually run in the night as well. Also, I've had a long day of work. I'm really, really beat up.”

Charles sighed. ‘What did I just get myself into? The people saying to not mix uppers and downers were right…’

She led him to her Car, a little silver Hyundai. Throwing her backpack in and settling into the driver's seat, she sighed in relief. “Finally done.”

“Done?”

“I've got the weekend off. Your arrival kinda ruined it but we gotta take the things as they come. I'm Y/N L/N. You?”

“Charles Leclerc”

“That sounds French”

“Monegasque”

“What? I don't know that word”

“I'm from Monaco!”

She looked at him in surprise. “Now you're pulling my leg. You got here from MONACO? You must have taken like 10+ trains!”

“Urgs, not so loud. My head hurts”

“God.” She groaned as she inserted the car key, starting the little engine. “Move your hand”

“Huh?”

“Either you move your hand or you loosen the handbrake. I can't get it with you spreading over there”

Charles quickly lifted his arms in the air. “Isn't it Electric?”

She just looked at him exasperated. “Do I look like I'm shitting money? I can't afford a car that new. Unless you'd wanna pay one Mr. Money Bag over there.”

“Oi, that's rude”

“You're from Monaco, don't y'all bath in money and champagne? Now, let's just get going.”

The car ride was silent with Charles looking out of the windows. This really was the countryside. Trees, fields, cows and horses. Lots of half-timbered houses.

After half an hour of journey, with them passing over roads he'd never even classify as those, considering the many holes and breaks they finally reached a large property. A large half timbered house with a similar looking barn and a long building houses garages presented itself to him. She parked the Hyundai in one of the Garages, the smaller one to be exact, and stepped outside.

Charles followed her as she unlocked the front door, revealing a house with small-ish rooms with low height walls painted weight. The most color each room spotted was oak- all the furniture and floor were oak. He had never been in a house like this before.

“Stair up, the left room is the bathroom. Soap's there, go shower. I'll put clean clothes and towels in front of the door for you.”

“Shower?”

“Sorry …Charlie. You stink. Long journey and all”

“Ah, I'm so sorry! I'll go shower immediately!”

Charles stepped into the bathroom, throwing his clothes on the ground. The second they left his body he noticed the less than stellar stench of sweat, alcohol and weed stuck on them. The water hitting his skin felt heavenly, scrubbing off layers of grime and dirt he never thought could amass so quickly. The water was different, as well. It didn't smell of chlorine as much, more like iron instead. Nonetheless, only after the shower did he realize what a stinky guy he had become. The clothes laid in front of the door were oversized on him. Some red, used polo shirt and cargo pants with frayed edges awaited him. Downstairs in the Kitchen, Y/N had changed into casual wear, foot already served on the table. Charles settled into the chair, staring at the provided meal. “What, you’re not hungry?” she asked him, tauntingly. “I don’t know how to eat this” he had to state.

“Look”, she said. The table was covered in two plates, each having a solid kind of bun laid on it and a pot with sausages swimming around. She took her knife, cutting a slit into the Bun. “Take the Brötchen-”, she then grabbed a fork and fished out a sausage, putting it into the ‘Brötchen’, “then put the sausage in there. "That's it.”

“Nothing else?” Charles asked, pretty confused.

“Yeah, simple meal you know. "Nothing fancy.”

“Hm.”

They ate silently, with Charles being confused at how hard that Brötchen was. He slept in the living room that night. The house didn’t have blinds but there were no street lights to keep him awake. Instead pure silence, something he never encountered anywhere. It was almost blissful - until the sun woke him up at 6AM and the birds were singing really loudly. He heard a loud mechanical noise and a cupboard clinking, then Y/N appeared in the doorway, offering a mug. “Coffee.”

The cup of coffee was hot, very nice.

“We’ll go to the electronics store to get you a phone, so that you can get your stuff in order. I can’t get you onto a plane without documents.”

“Aight.”

“Are we there soon?”

“Sorry mate, nothing’s close by.”

Driving to the electronic store took over half an hour and as they finally arrived, no grand palace was awaiting him. It was a dinky old little store, the bottom floor housing washing machines, fridges and vacuums. The upstairs was mostly TVs and DVDs, the phones tucked into the corner. Charles approached the few iPhones they had there, playing around with them.

“Dude, pick something cheaper”

"Why?" I’d just buy something that lasts.”

Y/N looked at him in annoyance. “I don’t know when you’ll be able to pay me back. That stupid phone is like a third of my monthly income. I can’t afford that.”

“A third?”, he asked in shock.

“Yeah, train attendants don’t earn much. Tickets want to be cheap right? Also…” she added. “We gotta get you a limited plan. Since you don’t have an ID, I have to be the owner. We should get a monthly one so that i can cancel it later.”

He simply agreed, settling on one heck of a cheap phone.

“Finally.” he sighed, installing his social media apps and creating a new WhatsApp profile. Contact to the outside world could be established.

“I need to call my team.”

“Please do, i bet they’re worried sick”

Charles leaned against the door as Y/N settled inside, as he heard the familiar call beep. Then, a voice he hadn’t heard in a while returned from the speaker.

“Who’s there?”, asked his friend, Andrea Ferrari.

“It’s me, Charles!”

"Charles?!" Where the fuck have you been ? We were so worried about you!”

“So fun story, i apparently took multiple trains and am now somewhere randomly in Germany. And I lost my wallet along with my phone.”

“Somewhere in Germany and no identification… Can you rent a car?”

“No, since I obviously have no ID, right?”

"Ah, shit. How’d you get a phone?”

“A train attendant took me in and bought it, but she can’t really afford more than that.”

Andrea seemed to think for a moment. “What if we send her money and she drives you back?”

“That sounds like a moronic, stupid journey…”

Shortly afterwards, Y/N made large eyes as insane amounts of cash appeared on her bank account. She didn’t believe that Charles actually was rich, especially not that he was an F1 Driver. For Ferrari as well! The Michael Schumacher Ferrari! She was quick to convince however, as a paid vacation like that sounded like a nice idea. They headed to the car dealership which also rented cars.

“Hyundai, again?” Charles complained.

Y/N just stared at him. “I know a guy there, the only spot where they won’t scam you.”

She had picked a car that looked quite similar to hers, just a bit longer with more horsepower. “I don’t like driving big cars. Want some power for the Autobahn though.” Charles whined in Response:” Can’t I drive? Pretty please? I haven't driven a car in a while~”

“Do you currently have a physical license?”

“No”

“Then shut up. I'd lose my license if we were to get caught. My car takes me to work, no options without”

He wanted to pout in response but that had quickly become not an option. The drive was sheer madness. Y/N was running on hopes and energy drinks, pushing the little car to its limit. Charles was gripping every piece of interieur he physically could as she drove at max speed for every stretch she could. Google had estimated the journey to take 13 hours, she shaved off 2 of them. He made a note of never saying that women were the calmer drivers. Blasting loud techno music that turned into a monotonous drone combined with the engine screaming as German countryside flew past him, only interrupted by gas station breaks.

Sweet, sweet silence they proved to be. A heaven of calm, shoved tightly between what most likely was an out-of-body experience.

Then, silence, white doves and heavenly goodness stopped: the return of techno. Y/N throwing the Car around Italy’s shit roads, ignoring all laws of traffic ever created. One goal in Mind: Maranello.

With the crack of dawn and the first worker’s arriving to open the doors, they saw something they had never seen in their long career. A crazed car coming to a full stop, brakes glowing hot directly in front of them. Passenger side flung open and their golden treasure stepping out. Il Predestino had returned, he had risen from the dead.

And was vomiting against a tree.

“Aren’t you F1 Drivers supposed to be tough or something?”

Charles tiredly leaned against said tree, face free of blood. “We’re tough but not tough like that. I can survive a long ass GP but not 11 hours of insanity”

The crazed driver laughed, her whole body shaking. She approached him, forcefully shaking his hand. “It was nice to get to know you, big boy. I want to go to sleep now, hit me up if you want to visit Germany again.” Y/N shoved a slip of paper between his tightly pressed fingers and walked off as an employee showed her the way. She was to stay somewhere close by as some NDAstuff needed to be handled now.

On the other side, more people were approaching. Charles' friends, the team and the media. Maybe Germany was actually a nice spot to vacation in. Without all the circus going on here. When was the winter break again?

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I pinky promise that i WILL continue this since i wrote it for my friend acexf1 over on YouTube. It's more set-up than anything rn. My other stuff is also getting continuations now!

#f1 x reader #blerb writes #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 7 months

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All Kinds of Trouble

Alfie Solomons x Reader, Fluff, 1.2k words

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: Hi guys!! Ok so maybe hiatus is over? I'm trying to be gentle with myself and not hold myself to high standards in posting schedules. Again, therapy and Bar prep are a lot to handle rn, but I was able to do this little piece! This is based of a request sent in by my sweet friend @jassiefayee !!!! I hope you enjoy this angel!! Anyway, love you all so much! Have an amazing day!

Alfie didn’t find peace in many things. The business and all. Made him toss and turn at night, and in the daylight caused him to explode from the pure idiocy of people around him.

But walks in the park with Cyril? Now that gave him peace. With Cyril by his side, anyone who may have wanted to cause trouble stayed far away. Cyril’s imposing stature and mean looking face kept many men looking to scrap at bay, but little did they know that Cyril was by far the sweetest dog in Camden. And the fresh air did Alfie good. Being out in the park, feeling the breeze, hearing children and birds milling about created a sort of temple for him. A quiet place for him to let his mind rest, talk to himself (or God if he had a particular question), or just hum to the beat of Cyril's paws on the ground. This was his rest. This was his peace.

Now it should be noted, that one of the reasons that Alfie loved this particular park was that it was free of distractions for both him and Cyril. While Cyril was a very sweet and good natured dog who hardly ever caused an unnecessary ruckus, he was still a dog. And dogs have this strange habit, if not fantastic ability, to completely change the course of their owner's life.

So it was during a brisk walk on a fine November day where Alfie was suddenly pulled with all the force of heaven’s angels by Cyril’s lead through the park. And just as quick as he was yanked he was halted, nearly tripping over his boots and coat, and falling into Cyril and what might possibly be one of those treacherous angels.

It had become a relatively new habit for you to take a few moments of your day to sit in the park. Whether strolling, reading, or simply listening to the music of the city, you found the meditative state you entered in the park particularly divine. Spending all day cooped up in the house was not doing anyone any favors, and your mother insisted that you look at the sky, breathe in fresh air, or do something to get your energy out. And you enjoyed the respite from your family’s eyes and ears, and the view you caught of other people’s comings and goings. Often making up stories for the familiar faces that passed your eyes.

You had seen Mr. Solomons and his a dog before. It was hard to miss them. Both imposing. Even if Mr. Solomons wasn’t physically too tall, the air in which he carried himself made him seem absolutely monstrous. And the dog he walked along with came with a silent stature to match. When you mentioned to your mother that Mr. Solomons frequented your park, she all but forbid you to go to the park again. He was dangerous. A brute. Nothing good was associated with him. He was an animal. Damned.

Everyone in Camden had a story about Mr. Solomons. Even if they personally had never met him, they knew someone who knew someone who had crossed his path and suffered greatly. Fewer than those who crossed his path, were the women who had the pleasure of spending an evening with him. Demanding. Particular. Incredibly cross with hardly a smile crossing his firm mouth and creased brow. You had heard them all, many a time. And each time you heard the stories more fantastical and gory and outrageous they became. From the way the neighbors spoke of him, he might has well been an ogre who ate good men for supper. A confidant of the devil himself.

Yet those stories never deterred you from letting your eyes wander over to him when he made his way to the park. Surely observing doesn’t damn one’s soul right? And wondering if stories are true surely cannot condemn. Besides, he was never close enough to truly make a difference. A glance and gaze and thought were all that you experienced with the fearsome King of Camden. Until this afternoon, when that monstrous dog came charging at you with a gleeful and slobbery smile. And for whatever reason you never moved from your seat. You stayed planted on your spot on the bench, waiting for whatever was to come. And your supposed attack was merely a disgusting kiss to the neck and chin from the dog, and happy pants from it as well. It’s master, cursing and bellowing at hundred pound puppy who was uninterested in the threats of its flustered master.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the reddened face of Mr. Solomons, clearly out of breathe from the exertion of the sudden chase. “Mr. Solomons are you quite alright? Do you need to sit?”

“Hmm? No, no don’t worry about me angel, m’fine. This damn dog knows better than to run full force in a park. You alright love? Hope Cyril didn’t scare ya.”

You smiled warmly at him, and he was convinced he must have died in the chase and gone to Heaven. Your sweet eyes and tempting lips all too pretty to be here in Camden. You scratched Cyril’s ears before answering, "Oh no Mr. Solomons, I'm fine. Cyril here is very very sweet."

"Now treacle, I think I'm at a disadvantage. Don't like that at all me. Now how is it yeah, that you know my name and now my dog's name... but I don't get to know your name sweetness?"

With a quirked brow you answer, "Oh Mr. Solomons, everyone knows your name. The ferocious King of Camden, and his demon dog. Lots of tales about you Mr. Solomons.”

Alfie allowed himself a smile at your cheek, “Lots of stories eh? Which one is your favorite?”

“The one where you bested the devil himself in a game of chess and won the keys to hell.”

Alfie made himself comfortable next to you on the bench, making sure that his thigh touched yours, “Is that so? Your mum tell you that little one?”

You shook your head, “No sir. She told me I wasn’t to go near you.”

“And yet here you are, talking to bad men. Tsk tsk tsk. Naughty ain’t you?”

“It’s fun to be naughty sometimes. Don’t you agree Mr. Solomons?”

Alfie couldn’t help but bring his shiny rings to your cheek, taking stock of your face. You never flinched away, keeping fiery eyes locked on his. He hummed a tune you didn’t know, and stated, “There’s an opera tonight at 8. You’ll come with me. Wear something nice.”

“I don’t go to operas with strange men.”

“I don’t go to operas with strange women. Yet here we are sweet. I thought you liked being naughty.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his brazenness. In truth, you couldn’t believe you allowed yourself to get this far. But it was too delicious to let go now. “You’ll pick me up on the corner of 10th and Victoria? At 6pm.”

“Now what will I do with you for two hours before the play treacle?”

You shrugged, “Show me how the King of Camden has a good night.”

Alfie laughed heartily, “Fuck me you really are a bad little thing aren’t you. Alright sweetness, I’ll pick you up there at 6. And let’s see what we can get up to.”

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic

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doctorbitchcrxft · 4 days

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Something Wicked | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, implications of verbal parental abuse

Word Count: 4885

Series Rewrite Masterlist

The two boys were bickering over coordinates Dean had received from an anonymous number.

“Dude, I ran LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers, I couldn't find a single red flag. Are you sure you got the coordinates right?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I double checked. It's Fitchburg, Wisconsin. Dad wouldn't have sent us coordinates if it wasn't important, Sammy.”

“Well, I'm telling you, I looked, and all I could find was a big steamy pile of nothing. If Dad's sending us hunting for something, I don't know what.”

“Well, maybe he's going to meet us there.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause he's been so easy to find up to this point.”

You sighed. You weren’t about to get in the middle of this argument and tuned the rest of it out. Alas, Dean won the argument, as he often did.

You stopped for some coffee along Fitchburg’s main street. The town itself was small, but it was quaint. A little too Middle America for your taste.

“Well… the waitress thinks the local freemasons are up to something sneaky, but other than that, no one's heard about anything freaky going on,” Dean sighed, handing you and Sam your respective coffee orders.

“Dean, you got the time?” you asked him.

“Ten after four. Why?”

You nodded in front of you at the playground you were looking at. “What's wrong with this picture?”

It was deserted aside from one child climbing on the jungle gym.

“School's out, isn't it?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. So where is everybody?” Sam added. “This place should be crawling with kids right now.”

You and the Winchesters walked over to a woman on a park bench reading a magazine. Dean approached her, saying, “Sure is quiet out here.”

The woman sighed, “Yeah, it’s a shame.”

“Why's that?”

“You know, kids getting sick, it's a terrible thing.”

“How many?”

“Just five or six but serious, hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it's catching,” she explained.

All four of you watched the little girl playing by herself, and the wheels in your head began to turn. Why would John send you all the way to Fitchburg over a few sick kids?

The three of you made your way up to the pediatrics ward of the hospital to investigate the sick children. Dean and Sam donned suits, and you wore a pencil skirt and heels. You couldn’t lie to yourself, Dean looked amazing in his suit, but you much preferred his usual leather jacket and biker boots.

“See something you like?” Dean smirked at you.

Your mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say. He just snickered in response while your cheeks burned.

A doctor approached you and the boys before Dean could taunt you any further. You introduced yourselves and headed down the corridor with the man. “Well, thanks for seeing us, Dr. Hydecker,” Dean said.

“Well, I'm glad you guys are here. I was just about to call CDC myself. How'd you find out anyways?” the doctor asked.

“Oh, some GP— I forget his name— he called Atlanta, and, uh, he must've beat you to the punch,” Dean lied.

“So you say you got six cases so far?” you asked.

“Yeah, five weeks. At first we thought it was garden variety bacterial pneumonia. Not that newsworthy. But now…”

“What?”

“The kids aren't responding to antibiotics. Their white cell counts keep going down. Their immune systems just aren't doing their job. It's like their bodies are... wearing out.”

“Wait, but are there any signs of leukopenia?” you asked. “Any history in these kids of that?”

Dean looked over at you, confused by what you were saying. You continued to talk to the doctor.

“No, actually,” Hydecker answered.

“What about neutropenia?”

He shook his head as a nurse handed him a clipboard full of papers.

“Then, whatever this is would have to be attacking the bone marrow as well as the respiratory system… Have you done biopsies?”

“No, we haven’t,” Hydecker answered. “I’ll give that a try.”

“You ever seen anything like this before?” Sam questioned.

“Never this severe,” the doctor said. “And the way it spreads… that's a new one for me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

“It works its way through families. But only the children, one sibling after another.”

“You mind if we interview a few of the kids?” Dean questioned.

“They’re not conscious,” the doctor replied.

You were shocked. “None of them?”

“No.”

“Can we, uh, can we talk to the parents?” tried Dean.

“Well, if you think it'll help.”

“Yeah. Who was your most recent admission?”

Hydecker directed you to a man sitting on a chair against the wall in the waiting room. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He explained to you the oldest girl was first, and then his youngest. He told you that her window had been opened, but there was no one who could’ve done so except for his daughter because her room was on the second floor.

You and the boys headed out of the pediatrics ward and back toward the car.

“(Y/N), how’d you know all that stuff?” Sam asked you, referencing your conversation with the doctor.

“I like to read,” you shrugged. Sam smiled at your response and walked a little ahead of you.

Dean came up next to you. “You were really serious about nursing, huh,” he said softly enough so Sam wouldn’t hear.

“I guess. I really do just like to read, though,” you smiled. “I think I just wanted to stick it to my dad. I always thought I’d be happier not hunting. But, uh, I just don’t think I could ever go back to being ‘normal’.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he responded.

Sam turned back to you and his brother. “You know, this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia.”

“No way,” you shook your head, “pneumonia wouldn’t be lowering white blood cell count. It’d have to be elevated for it to be true pneumonia. Infection and all that.”

Sam hummed. “Okay, so then what’s your theory?”

“Honestly? Not sure.”

“I'll tell you one thing,” said Sam. “That dad we just talked to? I'm betting it'll be a while before he goes home.”

***

“You got anything over there?” Sam asked Dean. The three of you had climbed through the home of the last two kids who had gotten sick looking for clues.

“Nah, nothing,” the older brother answered.

“Yeah, me neither,” you chimed in. You moved over to the window and paused. “Hey guys? I really don’t think it’s pneumonia.”

The boys came over and followed your line of sight to a rotted handprint with long, tendril-like fingers.

“What the hell leaves a handprint like that?” Sam asked.

Dean seemed to get pulled away into his own mind for a moment before he began to look a little sick. “I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job.”

Dean raced down the stairs to the window on the back of the house you’d climbed through. You followed him close behind. You would ask him what had happened to him in the little girl’s bedroom later.

Dean explained to you on the ride to the motel what he thought you were hunting: a shtriga.

“So what the hell is a shtriga?” Sam asked as Dean pulled into a motel parking lot. This motel was a little cuter than the ones you’d visited previously; centered around a white cabin with green shingles.

“It's kinda like a witch, I think. I don't know much about 'em,” explained Dean.

“Well, I've never heard of it. And it's not in Dad's journal.”

“Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about sixteen, seventeen years ago. You were there. You don't remember?”

Sam shook his head.

“And I guess he caught wind of the things in Fitchburg now and kicked us the coordinates,” Dean went on.

“So wait, this…” Sam paused, waiting for Dean to remind him how to pronounce it.

“Shtriga.”

“Right. You think it's the same one Dad hunted before?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“But if Dad went after it, why is it still breathing air?” Sam’s brows furrowed together.

“ ‘Cause it got away.”

Sam scoffed. “Got away?”

Dean was beginning to get frustrated, and you knew it was a cover-up for whatever was going on inside his head. “Yeah, Sammy, it happens.”

“Not very often.”

“Well, I don't know what to tell ya, maybe Dad didn't have his wheaties that morning,” snarked the older brother.

“What else do you remember?”

“Nothin'. I was a kid, alright?” Dean said defensively. You followed him into the motel lobby only to see a little boy watching TV in one room and a boy around ten or eleven walking out of it.

“A king or two queens?” The boy asked, looking between you and Dean.

“Two queens,” you and Dean answered quickly. “And one king, actually,” you added, stepping aside to reveal Sam behind you.

A woman entered smiling at you both. “Checking in?”

You nodded to her.

“Do me a favor, go get your brother some dinner,” the woman instructed the boy.

“I'm helping a guest!” he protested, but turned away under his mother’s hard stare. “Two queens. And a king.”

“Will that be cash or credit?” she asked you.

Dean took out his card. “You take MasterCard? Perfect. Here you go.”

You watched him look behind the woman at the boy pouring his younger brother a glass of milk. And there he went again; pulled into what you could only assume was memories of himself and Sam.

The woman before you held out his card to zoned-out Dean, and you took it from her instead. “Uh, thanks.” She handed you the keys, and you nudged Dean to bring him back to reality.

***

Dean explained to you and Sam what shtrigas fed off: children, most commonly. The only thing that could kill them were specially designed wrought-iron rounds while the thing was feeding. They often take the form of something unsuspecting; like an old woman.

“Hang on,” Dean said. “Check this out. I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now these are the houses that have been hit so far and dead center?”

“The hospital,” you noted.

“Now, when we were there, I saw a patient; an old woman,” Dean continued.

“An old person huh?” questioned Sam. “In a hospital? Phew. Better call the Coast Guard.”

You giggled at Sam.

“Well, listen, smart-asses, she had an inverted cross hanging on her wall.”

You and Sam stopped snickering and looked up at Dean. He raised an eyebrow at you.

And so, you headed to the hospital. Fortunately for her— but unfortunately for your hunt— the old woman with the upside down cross on the wall was just cataract-ridden and crotchety. Upon your return to the motel after thoroughly freaking out the old woman, you pulled Dean to your motel room for a talk before bed.

“What’s up?” he asked, sitting on a chair in your room.

You sat on the bed across from him. “Where do you keep going?” you asked.

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I just realized how stupid that sounded. You keep, like, disappearing into your own brain,” you responded. “Like in the motel lobby. You zoned out looking at that kid and his brother.”

“Oh, that,” he said quietly. “I, uh, it’s stupid.”

“Dean,” you leaned over your crossed legs and rested your hand on his knee. “I’m asking you. It’s not stupid. I just care.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Dean,” you said. “You made me a pinky promise at that scary asylum. You promised you’d tell me. Please?”

He huffed out a small laugh. “You know how I said my dad hunted this thing before?”

You nodded.

“Well, I’m the reason it got away.”

“How? Didn’t you say it was sixteen, seventeen years ago? You would’ve been ten, dude,” you responded.

“Yeah, but it’s complicated. My dad left us alone in motel rooms all the time. He made me repeat to him what I was and wasn’t supposed to do every time he would go out on a hunt. Sam and I would fight over the last bowl of Lucky Charms from the groceries Dad got us for the week; y'know, stupid kid stuff,” he chuckled. “But it’d been days. I was climbin’ the walls, (Y/N). I had to get some air. I went to an arcade to just… blow off some steam, I guess.

"When I came back, the thing was over Sammy’s bed. I was frozen. My dad came in and shot it a couple times, but it got away. Dad just... grabbed us and booked. Dropped us off at Pastor Jim's about three hours away, but by the time he got back to Fort Douglas, the shtriga had disappeared; it was just gone. It never surfaced until now. Y'know, Dad never spoke about it again, I didn't ask." He looked away from you attempting to swallow his emotions. "But he, ah, he looked at me different, you know? Which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order, and I didn't listen; I almost got Sammy killed.”

“Dee, you were a kid,” you said softly. He went to cut you off, but you stopped him. “No, let me talk. I know how that feels. My parents left me with Stevie all the time. I would've done the same thing you did. We were kids. We had to take on parental responsibilities. Anybody would be going stir crazy, especially at ten years old like you were.”

“(Y/N)—”

“No,” you told him, grabbing his hand. “You cannot blame yourself. I won’t let you. Would you let me?”

He shook his head.

“Exactly.”

He held your intense stare and rubbed a thumb over your hand. The two of you awkwardly pulled away from each other, and Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, thank you, for, y’know—”

“Yeah, any time,” you said, walking him to the door.

***

The next morning, you and Sam were teasing Dean about the old woman from the hospital the night before. You were headed to the car to go get some breakfast.

“ ‘I was sleeping with my peepers open’?” Sam laughed heartily, remembering the old woman's strange way of talking.

“I almost smoked that old girl, I swear. It's not funny!” Dean grunted.

“Oh man, you shoulda seen your face,” you giggled.

“Yeah, laugh it up. Now we're back to square one.” He looked over to the ten-year-old blond boy sitting on the bench behind his mother’s office. “Hang on.” He led you over to the child. “Hey, what's wrong?”

“My brother's sick,” he replied.

“The little guy?”

He nodded. “Pneumonia. He's in the hospital. It's my fault.”

“Ah, c'mon, how?” You could tell Dean’s mind was racing just based on his tone.

“I should’ve made sure the window was latched. He wouldn't've got pneumonia if the window was latched,” the boy lamented.

You watched, frowningly thoughtfully, as Dean looked away from the boy.

“Listen to me. I can promise you that this is not your fault. Okay?” Dean assured him.

“It's my job to look after him,” the boy frowned, tearing up.

His mother hurried out of the motel toward her minivan. “Michael, I want you to turn on the 'no vacancy' sign while I'm gone. I've got Denise covering room service, so don't bother with any of the rooms.”

“I'm going with you,” he protested.

“Not now, Michael.”

“But I gotta see Asher!”

Dean responded before his mother could. “Hey, Michael. Hey. I know how you feel— I'm a big brother, too— but you gotta go easy on your mom right now, ok?”

His mom dropped her handbag in haste, cursing under her breath. You rushed to pick it up for her.

“Listen, you're in no condition to drive. Why don't you let me give you a lift to the hospital,” Dean offered.

“No, I couldn't possibly—” she answered.

“No, it's no trouble. I insist.”

Michael’s mother handed Dean the keys and thanked him before addressing her son. “Be good.”

Dean turned to you before he went over to the car. “We're gonna kill this thing. I want it dead, you hear me?”

You and Sam watched Dean pull out of the motel parking lot, driving much more carefully than he ever did when you and Sam were in the car.

“C’mon,” you said. “You got the keys?”

“Yeah,” he threw them to you. “Where we goin’?”

“Wait, you’re letting me drive?” you asked Sam.

He shrugged.

You squealed childishly and jumped into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t lie, you loved this car. You loved how the steering wheel felt in your hands and the way the engine rumbled.

“Seriously, where we going?”

“The library,” you answered. “Town records, national records, internet, anything and everything. Dean wants this thing dead, and I intend to get it done tonight. And I gotta tell you, dude, something’s really bothering me about this whole thing. I mean, I never even formally went to nursing school, but I knew it couldn’t be pneumonia immediately. Why would pediatric doctors be unable to figure that out?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I get you. Something isn’t right.”

***

You and Sam poured through as many books you possibly could as quickly as you could. Sam was at his computer, scrolling with a furrowed brow when his phone rang. “ Hey. How's the kid?... We’re at the library. We've been trying to find out as much as we can about this shtriga… Well, bad news. I started with Fort Douglas around the time you said Dad was there?... Same deal.

"Before that, there was, uh, Ogdenville, before that, North Haverbrook, and Brockway. Every 15 to 20 years, it hits a new town. Dean, this thing is just getting started in Fitzburgh. In all these other places, it goes on for months. Dozens of kids before the shtriga finally moves on. The kids just languish in comas, and then they die… Ah, I don't know. The earliest mention I could find is this place called ‘Black River Falls’ back in the 1890s. Talk about a horror show.”

Your brain began to make connections between all of those events. “Wait, Sam, put Dean on speaker.”

He did so.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to stay with me on this one. This could just be me spitballin’, but—”

“Just say it, (Y/N),” Dean said through the phone.

“I’ve been thinking, why wouldn’t Hydecker immediately rule out pneumonia? If he’s such a spectacular and caring doctor, why wouldn’t he know that pneumonia ups your white blood cell count; not depletes it? And the chance of all six kids having a pre-existing condition that lowers your WBC is incredibly low. I mean, why else wouldn’t he biopsy the kids?”

“Okay, WebMD, what does that have to do with anything?” Dean asked.

“I told you to stay with me.” You began typing in your computer searching for articles on the earliest case Sam had found in Black River Falls. “The point is, I think Hydecker’s our guy. Think about it— the center of the kidnappings is the hospital. And any pediatric doctor would be familiar with what pneumonia actually does to a kid’s body.” You smiled sourly at a photo you pulled up of doctors surrounding a child’s bed in 1893. You turned the computer around to Sam. “Boom.”

“(Y/N), that is huge.” He leaned over and lightly punched your shoulder. “Good going.”

“Thanks!” you grinned. “Dean, meet us back at the motel. Don’t deck the guy in the face, please. Not yet, anyway.”

“No promises,” he grumbled.

“Dean—”

“Fine.” He hung up the phone.

“Alright, we gotta get back before Dean explodes,” you told Sam. “Can I drive again?”

“Sure, why not. Just don’t tell my brother.” He tossed you the keys and you giggled.

***

“We should have thought of this before. A doctor's a perfect disguise. You're trusted, you can control the whole thing,” Sam said.

You and the brothers were back in the motel room.

Dean threw off his jacket and paced agitatedly. “That son of a bitch.”

“I'm proud of you for not drawing on him right there,” you said.

“Yeah, well, first of all, I'm not going to open fire in a freakin' pediatrics ward.”

Sam nodded. “Good call.”

“Second, wouldn't have done any good, because the bastard's bullet proof unless he's chowing down on something. And third, I wasn't packing, which is probably a really good thing, ‘cause I probably would've just burned a clip in him on principle alone.”

Despite the situation, you found Dean aggressively grumbling about guns very attractive.

“You're getting wise in your old age, Dean,” Sam quipped.

“Damn right. 'Cause now I know how we're going to get it,” replied Dean.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Shtriga works through siblings, right?”

You knew what he was getting at. “No, Dean, I don’t like that.”

“What?” Sam asked, clearly not picking up where you and Dean were at.

“(Y/N)—”

“No, dude, we gotta get Michael out of here. I’m not letting you use him as bait.”

“Dean, what?! That’s out of the question!” Sam protested.

“It's not out of the question, Sam, it's the only way. If this thing disappears it could be years before we get another chance.”

“Michael's a kid. And I'm not going to dangle him in front of that thing like a worm on a hook,” Sam scoffed.

“Dad did not send me here to walk away.” Dean turned away from you and Sam and gripped the edges of the dresser.

“Send you here? He didn't send you here; he sent us here,” Sam replied.

“This isn't about you, Sam. I'm the one who screwed up, all right. It's my fault. There's no telling how many kids have gotten hurt because of me.”

“What are you saying, Dean? How is it your fault?” Sam paused, taking a moment to calm down. “Dean. You've been hiding something from the get-go. Since when does Dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away? Now talk to me, man. Tell me what's going on.”

Dean proceeded to explain what he had to you last night. Sam gave him the same lecture about how it wasn’t his fault, but Dean began to protest again. “Don't. Don't. Dad knew this was unfinished business for me. He sent me here to finish it.”

You were surprised at the tough facade he gave his brother in contrast to the way he was vulnerable with you.

“But using Michael— I don't know Dean. I mean, how 'bout one of us hides under the covers, you know, we'll be the bait,” Sam tried.

“No, it won't work. It's gotta get close enough to feed— it'll see us. Believe me, I don't like it, but it's gotta be the kid.”

***

Michael was completely against the idea and even threatened to call the cops on you. You and the boys returned to their motel room dejectedly.

“Well, that went crappy. Now what?” Dean groaned.

“What did you expect? You can't ask an adult to do something like that, much less a kid,” the younger brother sighed.

There was a knock at the door, and you opened it to reveal Michael.

“Hey,” you said, surprised.

“If you kill it, will Asher get better?”

“Honestly? We don't know,” Dean told him.

“You said you were a big brother,” Michael started, “You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?”

“Yeah, I would,” Dean replied quietly. Your heart swelled at how much Dean and Sam cared for each other.

The young boy nodded. “Me, too. I'll help.”

Dean had hooked up a security camera to the boy’s room, and you and he watched the monitor closely. You were beginning to feel cross-eyed from how tired you were. It was around three in the morning, and your body protested against your will to stay awake.

“You sure these iron rounds are gonna work?” Sam asked his brother.

“Consecrated iron rounds, and yeah, it's what Dad used last time.”

“Hey, Dean? I’m sorry,” the younger brother said softly. “You know, I've really given you a lot of crap, for always following Dad's orders. But I know why you do it.”

“Oh, god, kill me now,” Dean groaned.

You giggled to yourself, eyes returning to the screen. “Dean, look.”

There was a bit of movement off to the right of the screen outside of the window. You and the boys picked up your guns, holding them tightly and waiting for the right moment.

“Now?” you asked.

“Not yet.”

The shtriga moved closer and leaned over the bed. You could see Michael tense under the covers and draw them closer to himself. The creature leaned over the bed, pushing the covers down.

“Now?!”

“Now.”

You and the boys burst through the door and began to shoot the creature after Michael rolled away. It flew off Michael’s bed and fell to the side you couldn’t see.

“Mike, you alright?” Dean asked the kid.

“Yeah,” came his muffled reply from under the bed.

“Just sit tight.” Dean approached the shtriga, his gun at the ready. There was no movement for just a moment, before the shtriga shot up and grabbed Dean by his throat, throwing him across the room.

“Dean!” you cried, trying to run to him. The shtriga threw you to the side against Michael’s bed. Your back protested as you tried to roll and grab your gun that had fallen out of your hand in the chaos. You noticed the shtriga leaning over the top of the younger Winchester. Sam’s body went limp and began to go gray as the shtriga began to suck out his life force.

“Hey!” Dean gruffly spat. The shtriga turned to the older brother just to get shot straight between the eyes.

“Nice!” you said. You rushed to Sam’s side and smoothed a hand over his messy hair while he tried to catch his breath. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“You okay, little brother?” Dean called from behind you. You thought it was adorable how much he cared.

You and Sam stood and you tried to help hold the tall man up on his unsteady legs. You guided him over to the shtriga, and Dean shot it three times at point-blank range. The shtriga’s body fell in on itself, disintegrating.

You looked up at Dean, whose face was still set in hard lines.

“It's okay, Michael, you can come on out,” Dean told the boy peeking out from under his bed. He rose to stand beside you, smiling tentatively. Dean put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. You looked on, feeling your heart swell at what you knew was a full-circle moment for Dean. You knew these moments were few and far-between in a profession like yours, and you had learned to savor them in your memory.

***

You and the brothers returned to your rooms to pack now that the monster was dead. As usual, you were finished packing before the boys were and leaned against the Impala waiting for them.

You watched Michael’s mom’s car pull up in the motel parking lot. At that moment, the boys came out to join you.

“Hey, Joanna. How's Asher doing?” Dean asked the mother of the two boys.

“Have you seen Michael?” she asked him.

“Mom! Mom!” the child in question ran up and hugged him. “How's Ash?”

“Got some good news. Your brother's gonna be fine,” she smiled down at the boy.

“Really?” Michael grinned.

“Yeah. Really. No one can explain it; it's a miracle. They're going to keep him overnight for observation, and then, he's coming home.”

You smiled as Sam asked, “How are all the other kids doing?”

“Good. Real good. A bunch of them should be checking out in a few days. Dr. Travis says the ward's going to be like a ghost town,” she explained.

“Dr. Travis? What about Dr. Hydecker?” you asked.

“Oh, he wasn't in today. Must have been sick or something.”

You shot a knowing look to the boys.

“So, did anything happen while I was gone?” Joanna asked her son.

The boy looked to Dean before responding, “Nah, same old stuff.”

“Okay.” Joanna smoothed a hand over Michael’s blonde hair. “You can go see Ash.”

A wide grin spread across the boy’s face. “Now?!”

She nodded at her son, who ran into the car. “I, ah, I'd better get going before he hotwires the car and drives himself,” she told you and the boys. The three of you watched as Joanna’s car pulled out of the parking lot. Sam and Dean turned to you and placed their bags in the trunk next to yours.

“It's too bad,” said Sam.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” you assured him.

“That's not what I meant,” he shook his head. “I meant Michael. He'll always know there are things out there in the dark— he'll never be the same, you know?” He paused. “Sometimes I wish that....”

“What?” Dean questioned.

“I wish I could have that kinda innocence.”

Dean walked to the driver’s side door. He leaned on the roof of the car and said, “If it means anything, sometimes I wish you could too.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn

hi hi! quite a few tags were broken :( please let me know if i've misspelled your tag! make sure you have notifs for my blog on so you don't miss an update!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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aothotties · 8 months

Text

How they help you get over someone

Word count: 1016

Warnings: Levi is in his 30s, car sex, mating press, pet names (mama), squirting, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

“But i just feel so dumb, im literally so stupid” you huffed to your gym buddy, Levi as you spotted him.

He finished his set then sat up and turned towards you

“Y/N, you're so young. You're going to make mistakes plus you're a girl. No ones mad at you for believing what he said to you and having sex with him” he said plainly

You always vented to Levi when you were upset and he always found a way to give you great advice and help you through everything. Him being older made it easier to trust him because you felt like he was grown grown and had it all together

“I'm mad at myself. I feel like I'm too old to still fall for the same bullshit I fell for in highschool. Were you like me at my age?” you stated as tears threatened to spill from your eyes

“ I was worse” , he responded, “don't feel bad about it. Its a normal thing for you to be upset that he fucked you then never spoke to you again, youre not the problem. Any woman, no matter what age, would be upset about that. I mean there's some succubuses out there that just smash everyone and don't feel a thing, but most women aren't like that”

You couldn't lie, levi always reassured you and made you feel better about making regular human choices and never allowed you to beat yourself up for making mistakes

You both finished your workout and left the gym. He walked out next to you and made sure you were safe in the parking lot because it was late at night. You stopped at the car and he pulled you into a hug

“You'll be alright, mama. Don't be so hard on yourself” he said and you buried your face in his chest and began to cry

Even though his words made you feel better you were still sad. He rubbed your back and let you get it all out and refused to let go until you finished crying

You pulled away and wiped your tears on your shirt

“Thank you, i really appreciate you, Levi” you said to him once you composed yourself

“Dont worry about it, i'm always here if you need me” he responded.

You stared up at him completely enamored. You had the strongest feelings for him and had them for a while. You tried sleeping with that other guy thinking it would help you get over him but it clearly didn't work. You just ended up sad and crying in his arms which strengthened your feelings. You were convinced Levi didn't feel the same and you were too sacred to say anything in fear that it would ruin the friendship you have

“Aye aren't you glad you asked me to be your gym partner”, he said trying to change the subject

“yeah , i guess” you laughed as you responded

“You guess? You know you wanted to be like me, that's why you approached me and asked for my help” he nudged you a little bit as he teased

“That definitely not the reason i approached you but yeah let's go with that” you told on yourself before you even had the chance to realize it

He looked down at you and smirked as he nodded, “ yeah i know”

He confirmed in that moment that he knew exactly how you felt about him and apparently he felt the same because he grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you towards his car

Levi drove a nice white tesla and you had been dying to see the inside

He had you in the back seat folded completely in half as he pressed his weight onto you

His dick was reaching so far inside you that your mind went blank. All you could do was moan his name while he fucked you at a steady pace.

Sweat rolled down his abs as he was sliding in and out of your dripping wet pussy. He was mesmerized by the way you were sucking him in. He was also taken aback at how good your body looked folded under him.

Sometimes at the gym he would make slick comments about your ass but you never realized it was his way of telling you he felt the same.

“Fuck Levi, r-right there. Im gonna cum baby” you whined as you grabbed his biceps

His pace didn't change and he continued to fuck you all the way to your peak

“Mmhmm mama, cum for me” he said as he watched your face contort in pleasure

Your high flooded over you and you came hard all over his thick cock. You felt bad that you squirted on his perfectly clean seats but he couldn't care less. He wanted to see you cum for him over and over again and didn't care about what happened to his car.

He never let up and kept going until you came for him multiple times. Each time you came a mantra of praises left his lips.

His pace became more erratic as he came close to his climax. You could feel his dick throbbing inside you as he was about to cum

“ gonna cum inside you mama, f-fill you up real good” he stated between deep grunts

He slammed into you hard one last time then you felt as his hot thick cum spilled inside you. He slid out and watched as it pooled out of you but he quickly pushed it back in with his fingers.

You both threw your clothes on and you stepped out of his car and wobbled as you tried to stand up straight. He laughed at you and shook his head. He put his arm around you and walked you to your car

He leaned down and pressed a kiss on your forehead

“Best cardio i've ever done” he stated as he opened the door for you

You hopped in your car and deleted the other guy's number knowing damn well he did not match up to Levi in any way.

#aot #aot x black reader #aot smut #aot x reader #aot scenarios #aot imagines #aot x female reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi x reader #levi smut #levi x black reader

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ikeuverse · 9 months

Text

I WANT YOU — p.sunghoon

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader GENRES: fluff, a pinch of angst WC: 4.5k+

WARNINGS: mentions of drinking, coming home drunk (being carried, literally), a few swear words. and let me know if I've forgotten anything else.

NOTES: i don't remember ever seeing a story with sunghoon being the best friend in love, so i wanted to write something like this. i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing something for him like this.

masterlist

Friday night was the moment when you felt the peak of your tiredness beating against every fiber of your body. Taking off all the clothes you wore to work during that tiring day, getting into the hot shower was the only thing you needed for a moment.

Water on your skin, strawberry-scented soap and shampoo, and a lot of relaxation as soon as you turn off the shower to dry off and look for more comfortable clothes.

"Y/n?" the voice called out from downstairs in the apartment, indicating that your brother had just arrived home.

Putting on your baggy T-shirt followed by your pajama shorts, you went downstairs to meet him in the living room, turning on the television.

"Oh, did you just get out of the shower?" he asked when he turned to you. A smile played on his lips as you smiled back, without much enthusiasm for being completely tired from your exhausting day.

"Do you want something to eat? I'll order—"

"Actually" he interrupted you, walking with you into the kitchen where he leaned against the worktop, "I just came to drop off my backpack and let you know I'm going out with the boys."

Oh, your whisper came out softly, he was still smiling while his hands were flat on the marble in front of him.

"Be careful, please" you asked him "Don't come loaded tonight, okay? Tomorrow you need to study for your final exams."

His smile was contagious. And you felt the weight of your brother's body as he came up to hug you and put his chin on your head.

"I promise I'll take care of myself, okay?"

He didn't take care of himself.

You laughed at the brief thought earlier in the evening as soon as you hung up the phone. On the call, Jay's loud voice was indicating that your brother had already left about fifteen minutes ago with Sunghoon.

Park Sunghoon. That's why he hadn't come to see you that night, he was with your brother in that bar.

Of course. You couldn't just ask your brother's best friend to stay with you, when in fact your brother was a pit of jealousy. So your relationship with Sunghoon had to be a secret from the day you first kissed.

The party was going on and you would never have thought that Park Sunghoon, the high school skater, would have a crush on you. He kissed you. He kissed you so hard until you lost your breath - or until your brother threw you away in your last year before university.

After that, no one ever saw the two of you together again. Meanwhile, on the sly, the two of you couldn't keep your hands off each other. The only person who knew about you and Sunghoon was Callie, your best friend, and Jay's girlfriend, your friend and your brother's friend.

She was one of the only female figures completely close to you and your circle of friends, so opening up to her about everything that was going on was almost inevitable.

"He went to take your brother who drank too much" Callie muttered on the other end of the line. "I just got home with Jay and I think tomorrow's studies are going to be postponed."

"Really?" you scratched your temple with your free hand, already imagining the state in which your brother would arrive at the apartment.

You had asked him not to drink so much, but knowing his stubbornness, he certainly wouldn't listen to you like that. So you just shrugged.

"We can set up the session at your place tomorrow, what do you think?" your friend suggested a few minutes later, probably paying attention to the two of you calling and Jay mumbling something incomprehensible on the other end "That way you and Sunghoon can be together a bit more, since today didn't work out" she whispered, knowing that this had happened so that Jay wouldn't hear.

"I'd love to, actually" the sound of the doorknob made you jump up from the sofa, glancing at the door before it opened "They're here, I'm going to help them. See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow, kitten" Callie said goodbye and hung up, and just as you did the same to put your cell phone on the coffee table, the door opened.

Your brother was hanging on to one of Sunghoon's shoulders, who was struggling against his weight to stand up. You ran the few steps closer to the two of them, holding back your laughter when your brother raised his head and looked at you with narrowed eyes.

"Y/n?" he looked at you, then at Sunghoon "Are we home?"

"We're home" Sunghoon was panting, holding the other boy's body up high enough.

"Shit Jake, what's gotten into you?" your voice had a worried tone, ignoring Sunghoon's gaze on you the whole time since he closed the door and entered the apartment.

"We bet" he sobbed, disentangling himself from Sunghoon's arms, "and I lost."

He kicked his shoes off his feet, keeping his socks on as he unbuckled his belt, throwing it into a corner of the living room.

"Okay, no naked here" Sunghoon ran up to him and grabbed Jake by the hands "Let's go to your room, you need a shower."

He even tried to deny it and protest, but he knew he wasn't up to it, especially since even you were harder than he was. You almost pushed him into the bedroom with Sunghoon's help.

"But… Wait…" Jake stopped at the door to his bathroom, turning around "You're not going to see me naked, are you?"

"No" Sunghoon laughed, followed by you "I'll just go in, she can sort out your nightclothes, how about that?" his gaze was on you again, and with a nod, you went to Jake's closet to get some clothes.

Your mind must have been wandering as you picked out something for your brother. Sunghoon was right there, under the same roof as you. It was strange to see him so suddenly, even though you were looking forward to meeting him that day.

It was always a surprise when you saw him because, every moment, Sunghoon was different. Not physically, you mean. But his features. Sometimes he was frustrated about something at work or college. Or even his sleepiness, which made him so cute. You felt like kissing him non-stop when he mumbled into your pillow that he didn't want to leave.

"Have you chosen?" Sunghoon appeared in the bathroom doorway. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his pants were folded to his knees and yet all the fabric of his clothes was wet.

You realized that you had rambled on too long because Jake was already drying himself off while you were singing in the bathroom. Sunghoon just smiled in your direction as you handed him some clothes and he went back into the bathroom.

Less than a few minutes later they were both out. Jake with wet hair and a slightly better appearance. Sunghoon seemed to check the room, seeing the bottle of water that Jake always kept by his bed.

"It's full, he'll be fine" he said as he pointed to the object, you just nodded in agreement.

"Hey man, thanks" Jake yawned as he flopped onto the bed, still feeling everything around him spin. He waved for Sunghoon to come closer and so he did "Without you, I wouldn't be able to get home."

"You know I'm here for anything" Sunghoon smiled at him "Now, go to sleep, I have to go home and check on Heeseung and Jungwon."

Jake muttered something else that neither of you could understand, so all that was left was to agree and say goodnight. Letting your brother know that he would be in the next room if he needed.

You were the last to leave Jake's room, taking another look at your brother's sleepiness, who was now dozing off peacefully and so quickly. It was the effect of the drink that always made him fall asleep so quickly. So as soon as you turned off the lights, you carefully let the door close completely.

Before anything could be said, Sunghoon's hands traveled up to your face and, without effort, he got close enough to touch your lips with his. A slow kiss that tasted of alcohol because you knew he had been drinking too. Maybe not as much as your brother, but still, and that made the kiss taste so sweet on your tongue when you slid it into his mouth.

Kissing Sunghoon was incredible and dangerous at the same time, even more so in front of Jake's room. Knowing that he wouldn't wake up, nothing stopped the chill in your stomach from chasing you, even when Sunghoon pressed his body against yours at the exact moment your back met the wall. You moaned into his mouth, the contact of his fingers against your skin sliding down to your waist, lifting the T-shirt you were wearing to touch you there without warning.

"We… We can't…" you tried to catch your breath as his lips descended to your neck; without leaving a mark, but enough for his tongue to slide against your skin and send shivers down your spine.

"Shit" he cursed in a whisper before giving your neck one last kiss and aligning his face with yours. Leaning our foreheads against each other so he could be close enough to you "I missed you" he confessed.

That little sentence wreaked havoc on your heart, which was beating fast against your chest. You smiled, stealing another kiss from Sunghoon's lips and resting your hands against his face, one on each side.

"I missed you too" you said quietly.

"Leaving Jake was in my plans from the moment he asked me to go to that bar" Sunghoon's voice could only be heard because of how close the two of you were. Otherwise, it would have been difficult to hear him "I should have come to see you before anything else."

"It's okay" you tried to reassure him, leaving a kiss against his jawline "You're here now and I'm glad we were able to meet."

He was more than happy to see you too, and it showed in the bright look he was giving you. The small smile adorning his red lips and the subtle touch on your cheek before Sunghoon moved a little away from your body.

"Now I have to go and check on the boys" he slid his hands into yours, interlacing your fingers in his, "or it'll be dangerous kissing you here."

"Why can Jake see us?" you whispered jokingly.

He moved closer again, brushing his lips against yours as he bent down to meet you.

"Because I can dawdle in your room."

You felt your knees tremble at the intense gaze, the warm breath against your mouth, and the grip of his hands. But he was right. Sunghoon had to leave before it was too late.

"I'll see you tomorrow" he said, kissing you once more before pulling you out into the hallway, out of sight of Jake's bedroom door.

While you walked him to the door, stumbling on the way as you exchanged numerous kisses with him, your brother continued to sleep peacefully in his bed. Not even imagining the scene that was unfolding inside your shared apartment.

Jake thanked Callie for having a brilliant mind and suggesting study time in his apartment – or because she knew Jay's friends well enough to know that they would all be hungover – especially the boy who couldn't even open his eyes properly.

Your brother's head had been lying on your lap since everyone had arrived and gathered in your living room. You hadn't had much interaction with Sunghoon apart from the few minutes Jake had been in the bathroom when Sunghoon arrived, managing to steal a quick kiss from you before sitting down on the other side of the sofa and facing you.

"Man, I don't think I'll ever drink again" Jake whined, looking up to meet your eyes, which had previously been on the notebook you kept for studying.

"You say that every Saturday morning" you said, causing all his friends to laugh.

"You all could have at least taken it easy" Callie finished writing something down in her notebook, looking at Jay who was squinting at his book.

"Yeah, tonight I think we crossed a line" Heeseung almost cried when he felt a twinge in his head.

"How about some coffee?" you suggested.

"We love you more than we love your brother. You know that, don't you?" Jay looked at you with eyes that were so affectionate, but at the same time so pleading, asking you to really make yourself something strong to drink.

"Stay away from her" Jake huffed.

In the middle of the laughter and side conversations, you quickly glanced at Sunghoon to see him already looking at you. With a wink in your direction, you contented yourself with not running to grab him, let alone trying to look so shy at the way he stared at you.

You only came back to reality when you felt Jake get up from your lap and sit down next to you on the sofa while you chatted with the boys.

Study time taking a break for them to reminisce about last night's events. You and Callie just laughing at their antics or how Jungwon had done so badly at the billiards. He and Jake were a team, hence your brother's state last night when he got home, having lost a whole round to Jay and Heeseung, drinking more than he should have.

"But the winner last night was our friend, Sunghoon" you hoped your brother wouldn't notice that the moment Sunghoon's name was mentioned, you stopped typing your report on the laptop in front of you. Looking from the screen to the boy on the other side of the room, you knew he was avoiding you when he cursed your brother.

"Fuck off, Jake. Don't talk nonsense" Sunghoon said.

"Am I lying?" Jake laughed a little, followed by the other boys.

Your gaze quickly fell on Callie. She was already looking between you and Sunghoon, trying to think of something she could do.

"That girl lied when she said she didn't know how to play billiards just so Sunghoon would help her" Jay said nonchalantly, putting his notebook aside and running a hand through his hair.

"I think she was interested in another cue" Heeseung said "Ouch" he shouted as Callie threw a cushion in his direction, hitting him in the face.

Everything seemed too far away as they talked and insisted on talking about Sunghoon and what had happened. You heard enough to know that this subject was the cause of your blurred vision and the burning in your eyes.

It was impossible to type a single word, let alone to know whether they were calling you to a meeting or not. You just looked at Sunghoon, who kept his hands clenched into fists, his gaze on you as he kept himself from getting up from the sofa and walking towards you.

You got up with the excuse that now you could make the coffee they so desperately needed. Sunghoon managed to follow you saying that he would help you since he was the only one in the room who wasn't hungover apart from you and Callie. By some miracle, your brother didn't even object, going back to talking about something when you and Sunghoon disappeared from everyone's view.

"Y/n…" his voice entered your ears like a heartbreaking sound. You didn't turn around immediately, concentrating instead on getting the container from the machine to prepare what you needed "Y/n, please…"

Your work in ignoring him was proving successful. Concentrating on getting the number of cups you needed and putting the coffee you needed in the machine were enough for you not to focus on his presence right behind you. But it all came to nothing when Sunghoon's hands grabbed your waist, pulling you around and turning you to face him.

"Listen to me, please" he asked once again.

"I'm making the coffee" you tried to change the subject, but it was getting harder and harder as his fingers tightened around your waist. Sunghoon looked disappointed and you didn't understand why, after all, you were the one who had heard things that really made your heart sink.

"Absolutely nothing happened in that bar" he began, his hands softening around your waist when he noticed that you had your attention on him "She stood in front of me, asked me to teach her how to play, and when she leaned over the table I walked away. I walked away and—"

"Why are you telling me this?" the image of the events flashed through your mind and made your eyes sting even more. Sunghoon knew you would cry and it killed him inside because he was feeling guilty enough.

"Because you deserve to know."

"Guys" Callie whispered, making you and Sunghoon almost jump in your seats. He turned away from you for a moment, and that was enough for the tears to fall freely down your cheeks "Jake went to the bathroom, but I think he'll be in soon to check on the coffee."

"Thanks for the warning, Callie" Sunghoon thanked. He didn't know if he was worthy of such a thing.

"Can you two finish without me?" your voice was broken and you didn't want to go on, so you quickly walked past Sunghoon and Callie out of the kitchen and straight up to your room.

Your best friend stood there, knowing that Sunghoon had a lot to say. And since you didn't want to hear it now, maybe she could do it in your place if he wanted to tell you right now.

"Are you sure you don't want to go?" Jake looked at your figure wrapped in the blanket and sitting on the edge of the sofa. You agreed, giving your best smile to your brother as he left a kiss on your forehead and walked out the door.

Counting the weeks you avoided Sunghoon, adding up the times you cried because you refused his calls or didn't want to cross his path when he came to the apartment you shared with your brother. It was painful to have to think about it, even more so because you were in a fucking secret relationship… And why? Because of your brother's idiotic jealousy? Because Sunghoon didn't want to lose Jake's friendship? Or because both you and Sunghoon were cowardly enough not to say anything?

Too many questions and no answers to what you were feeling. That was unfair. So long in hiding to have to end up like that, with him after you and your tears falling every night because you couldn't forget the bloody scene that was described. And what's more, with all his friends - including your brother - commenting with the greatest joy. Of course, none of them knew about you and Sunghoon, but it still hurt. It hurt so much that it suffocated you in a way.

"Fuck" you almost shouted in fright when your phone rang.

Watching the movie credits roll by and noticing that you'd rambled on so long that you hadn't even looked at the ending, but it didn't matter, that comedy had been seen so many times that you'd even memorized the line.

On the second ring, a loud music noise was heard for the first time. You even thought about saying something, maybe they'd hear you, but your best friend's voice was quick enough.

"Y/n? You have to come here" Callie practically shouted to overpower the music, which had worked because you heard her voice so well.

"I told you I don't want to leave…"

"No, you don't understand. You have to, y/n" she emphasized, and something inside you screamed. Jumping up from the sofa and not even knowing why, you ran upstairs to your room.

"What happened?" while you put the call on speaker, looking for an outfit, Callie seemed to be looking for a quiet place to talk to you. Finding the party bathroom, she locked the door behind her to continue the call.

"Well, let's say Sunghoon told your brother about you and him" she said, "and now Jake's furious and swearing to kill him."

You almost tore the T-shirt you were wearing, running to your phone with a hysterical scream.

"He what?" you reached for the handset before taking it in your hands "Shit, shit, shit. What did Sunghoon do?"

"Baby, I don't know. But you need to come quickly."

That's what you'd do, of course. You just didn't know that getting changed in five minutes, ordering an Uber in three, and being at the party in ten minutes would seem like an eternity to you.

Meeting Callie and Jay at the entrance, your friend hugged you quickly while Jay wrapped his arms around your body.

"I'm sorry, please y/n, I'm sorry" Jay said while still hugging you, slowly releasing your body until you could face him.

"For what, exactly?"

"For that stupid thing" he said as he walked you and Callie into the party "If we knew about you two, neither of us would joke about it."

The only thing you could do was agree and lean on one of Jay's arms so as not to get lost in the party. Thanking him for his words that had really made you smile, warming a little of your heart that was getting faster and faster as he guided you and Callie to a more secluded spot.

A corridor illuminated by red and pink lights, hurt your eyes so much that you wondered how people managed to stand there. It was almost impossible to walk past and not get a headache or something.

When you stopped walking, Jay stepped in front of you and you felt Callie's arms intertwine with yours. A way of saying that she was there without saying a word. That's why she was your best friend.

Everything seemed too quiet for your liking. Your eyes traveled from your brother to Sunghoon, neither of them with any bruises or cuts on their faces, everything intact and without any scratches. At least no physical force had been used.

Jake was the first to get up, walking towards you as he watched Callie disentangle herself to get some distance away from you.

"Jake" you called him.

"Y/n" he called back, taking your hand and clearing his throat in the process "I'm an idiot."

"What?" your eyes flicked past him and then to Sunghoon. Your heart raced and your legs trembled at the small smile that adorned your brother's mouth.

"I heard some truths from Sunghoon and I know I was extremely stupid."

"You… You two…"

You looked at Callie and Jay, the two of them close to the others while you were further away with your brother. Only Sunghoon looked at you and Jake.

"We got into a bit of an argument, but it wasn't that big" he said, "Heeseung had the idea for Callie to call you like that or you wouldn't have come to us tonight."

"I'll kill that asshole" you whispered, feeling your eyes fill with tears as Jake pulled you into a hug.

"I'm sorry if everything that happened hurt you, I really am, y/n" he whispered between your hair, wrapping his arms even tighter around you "I let my stupid jealousy speak louder and I didn't realize what was best for you."

"I think I can take care of myself and you can do it with me too, Jake" you whispered back before he pulled away to kiss your forehead "You just don't have to deprive me of a relationship…"

"Did it have to be with one of my best friends?" he whined.

"Of course! She can't do that to anyone else" you and Jake abruptly turned to Sunghoon. He had a faint smile at the corner of his lips as he looked at you both and then fixed his gaze on your face.

"Is this the time I go out and leave you two alone?" Jake asked, seeing you and Sunghoon agree "Okay. I'll be right there, whatever" he nodded, turning away from you and going to find the rest of the group of friends.

Sunghoon moved a little closer, his hands coming out of his pants pockets to reach for your hand and entwine your fingers in his, pulling you closer.

You thought about calling him, saying something or simply cursing him for telling your brother without telling you first. But as soon as his lips touched yours, the softness of his mouth against yours, everything was forgotten.

That's where you had to stay, that's where you belonged from the first kiss you exchanged. Sunghoon knew it too. He was sure that he had found everything he needed from the first moment he saw you, and touched you. He also knew that it would be a huge obstacle to tell Jake and try to get around his enormous jealousy of his little sister. But he didn't know how he'd managed it. The drink might have helped him a little to confess, even though he'd heard Jake swear at him a lot and almost threaten to hit him again.

But it would all be worth it if he had you in the end. He wasn't going to give up and that's what motivated him to do what he did. That's why he was sharing that kiss for the - second - first time in front of everyone.

"Sunghoon" you called after him as you ended the kiss, controlling your breathing as his hands went to your face and caressed your cheeks "Why did you do that? Tell Jake…"

"Because I want you, y/n. Since the first time, I've always wanted you" his voice lowered so that you could hear him, his lips still brushing against yours as he kissed you slowly once more "I was a coward not to tell your brother before and I almost had to lose you to realize it."

"But you didn't lose me, you idiot" his laugh tickled your lips, loving the way he was holding you so precisely.

Sunghoon left one last kiss on your lips before pulling away and entwining your fingers in his, pulling you into the group and sitting back down on the sofa. He pulled you along, and you sat next to him in the circle while smiling contentedly at the happy looks on your friends' faces.

They all shared in the joy of finally being able to see you and Sunghoon together. Jake controlled his jealousy because he trusted his friend enough to take care of his sister.

"You know, I should have taken that bat and hit that girl in the head" Heeseung finished his can of beer after everyone had changed the subject, congratulating you and Sunghoon on the secret that everyone had just discovered, except Callie.

"Heeseung!" Sunghoon laughed, slapping the arm of his friend who was sitting across from him.

"What? It's serious!" he sounded serious, which made you laugh too. Because Heeseung managed to lighten the mood while the conversation took another turn.

Now and then you managed to catch Sunghoon's eyes on you, and this time with the certainty that you could kiss him in front of everyone, without having to hide.

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon angst #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon angst #enhypen masterlist #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #sunghoon fanfics #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen imagines

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helloalycia · 2 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 [𝐓𝐖𝐎] —𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

summary: Jackie and you become closer and she takes it as a challenge to make you fall for her charms.

warning/s: none.

author’s note: part 2 is finally here, sorry for the delay! i’ve had a migraine all day otherwise i would’ve posted this earlier 😅 hope you like it!

one / three / masterlist / wattpad

A month passed and any reminder of my conflict with Leroy and Tiffany had faded into oblivion. Jackie was correct in assuming they'd drop their beef with me, and once my hand was healed and Jackie's face no longer looked like an overly inflated balloon, there was nothing left to remind me of the incidents that occurred.

The only thing to come out of the whole experience was being a little more than acquaintances with Jackie. I couldn't go as far as saying we were friends, but she definitely felt the need to greet me more whenever she saw me in class, and I didn't mind returning the favour.

The real shift in our relationship began when Van, Jackie, Shauna and I were grouped up for a History class project. It was a presentation we needed to pull together, so we'd all made plans to meet up to discuss everything over coffee, which is how I found myself driving there with Van in my new car.

"You know you're gonna have to take me everywhere now," Van pointed out from the passenger seat with a grin. "I'm gonna be your passenger princess."

I laughed. "Hey, I don't mind. It's a bit of a rust bucket, but it beats skateboarding everywhere." I paused, then added, "Who am I kidding? I'm gonna miss skateboarding everywhere."

"We can still hit up the skate park every now and then," she promised. "But driving is a lot easier, you can't lie."

I smiled in agreement. After using some of my savings and convincing my parents it was time to get a car, they bought me an old, second-hand banger from one of my dad's friends who owned a garage. It wasn't the best looking car, but after a wash and a little bit of sprucing up with some car accessories, it looked decent enough to serve its purpose.

Conveniently, I pulled up at the coffee shop at the same time as Shauna, who was parking a few spots down. When Van and I jumped out the car with our bags, Jackie and Shauna were already approaching us.

"Hey," Shauna greeted us both with a smile, before nodding with approval at my car. "Love the new ride, Y/L/N."

"Thanks," I said with proud smile.

"You got to the part where you have to fill the tyres with air?" she asked with amusement. "It's so awkward when everyone watches you do it."

I snorted with amusement. "I'll be lucky if I get that far. This thing is trying its best right now."

She chuckled and glanced over it once more. "It's still pretty nice. Gets you from A to B, right? Driving saves so much time, trust me."

"Very true," I agreed, before I noticed Jackie checking it out curiously, having greeted Van already. I quirked a brow as I jokingly asked, "What? Not up to the princess' standards?"

Van and Shauna exchanged amused glances whilst Jackie shot me a playful glare.

"That's not what I was thinking," she said matter-of-factly.

I stopped by her side to look at it like she was, giving her a sideways glance. "I was kidding. Kind of."

She gave me a knowing look. "It's nice."

I tried not to laugh as I said, "Thank you."

She rolled her eyes playfully before the four of us headed inside to find a table. After claiming a booth in the corner, we pulled out our supplies and textbooks to get started.

"I'll go order our drinks," I offered, before we got stuck in. "Everybody know what they want?"

After they shared their orders with me, I slid out the booth to get in the queue, but Jackie slid out alongside me.

"You might need more hands to carry it," she said, when I quirked a brow.

I shrugged and the two of us got in line to order. It didn't take long to reach the front, and after giving the barista our order and paying, Jackie decided she wanted a muffin that was on display.

"Shoot, I'm so sorry to be annoying," she said with her signature smile, albeit a little apologetic, as she pointed to the muffin. "Please can we get that too?"

The guy, probably no older than we were, nodded eagerly and got the muffin for her, placing it on the tray. "Of course. It's on the house."

I resisted the urge to smile as I raised an eyebrow, watching Jackie laugh flirtatiously.

"No! Really?" she asked with bright eyes. "You're too sweet!"

The guy shrugged casually, his cheeks turning pink as she gave him all her attention in this moment. Before we knew it, our drinks were added to the tray and I picked it up to leave.

"Thanks again," she said with a tilt of her head and a matching smile.

He watched her leave distractedly, and only when we were walking away did I let out a quiet chuckle at what I'd just witnessed.

"What?" she asked, glancing at me, as if she didn't know what she'd done.

I gave her a look of disbelief. "Seriously?" Her confused expression forced me to continue. "You just bat your eyes and get what you want?"

She looked up thoughtfully before nodding. "Pretty much."

Breathing out through my nose, I shook my head with amazement. It made sense that even strangers fell victim to the Jackie Taylor effect.

"Can you get some napkins?" she asked, flashing me the same smile she gave the barista, but I would be damned if she thought she could fool me.

"Not a chance," I said with a stifled laugh, equally amused by her frown as I was her audacity.

I returned to the booth as she went to grab some napkins for us, and the four of us got stuck in immediately. As well as getting the base of our presentation researched, we also had a nice bonding session. To be fair, Van already knew Jackie and Shauna well, but I enjoyed getting to know them too.

I especially learnt that Jackie was pretty used to getting what she wanted whenever she wanted, and having people fall head over heels for her. This was something that came to light the more time we spent together working on this project. I guess you could say that the project is what intertwined our lives again once more.

—

After yet another studying session with Jackie, Shauna and Van in the library last night, I realised I grabbed Jackie's notebook by accident and planned to return it to her the next morning at school. I found her by her locker, but she was in a conversation with Jeff and I debated whether or not to interrupt.

They weren't together, the two of them surprisingly staying broken up unlike the many other times they'd somehow got back together, so it was odd to see them talking. But it wasn't any of my business, even if I was a little curious to whether they were back together – especially after everything that happened – so I just sucked it up and politely interrupted.

When I stopped by their side awkwardly, their conversation fell quiet and Jeff glanced at me, no doubt thinking of the whole Leroy incident. Without another word, he walked away, leaving Jackie and I alone.

"Sorry," I said to her uncomfortably, before holding out her notebook. "I just wanted to give you this."

"Oh, thanks," she said, blinking, before accepting the notebook. "I was looking for this all morning."

"Yeah, I must've grabbed it by accident," I said with a small smile. "My bad."

She nodded, and I was about to leave, but then she met my eyes and said, "That wasn't–"

She'd stopped, so I prodded, "Wasn't...?"

Uneasily, she explained, "He's been trying to get back together with me. Jeff."

I chewed on my lip, unsure what to respond, because she didn't owe me any kind of explanation. But a small part of me was nosy enough to want it.

"I'm not stupid, obviously," she continued.

"Obviously," I repeated in agreement, otherwise stumped for words.

"But yeah," she finished, a small, awkward smile on her lips. "That's it."

I mirrored her smile, nodding. "Awesome... er, thanks for the update."

She cleared her throat, nodding too, and then an uncomfortable silence filled the air. I was relieved, though I would never admit it, to know that she wasn't considering going back to him. It only reaffirmed all she'd said about listening to me, and it showed that she respected whatever friendship we seemed to share.

"I'll see you in class," I said, straightening up.

She relaxed her shoulders. "Yeah. See you."

—

Shortly after finishing our group assignment together, Jackie felt the need to work with me more often, for whatever reason. She had a lot of friends, so I couldn't see why she needed me in the mix also, but I guess I wasn't totally against it.

I was walking into Chemistry class when I spotted the blonde sat where my usual lab partner, Dennis, sat. Getting a sense of deja vu, I watched her questioningly as I set my stuff down in my seat.

"Is there a particular reason you're sat there?" I asked, when she flashed me a nonchalant smile.

Placing her chin in the palm of her hand, she stared at me through her lashes. "I feel like you don't know me well enough. So, I switched partners."

I resisted the urge to laugh, oddly intrigued by whatever game she was playing. "I mean, we've only been in the same classes all our life, but–"

"It's not the same," she insisted with a wave of her hand, making me laugh.

Not caring enough to be opposed to her trading seats with Dennis, I took a seat beside her and began to get my books out. As I did, our teacher, Mr Turner, approached our table with a stern expression.

"Miss Taylor," he addressed her. "Can I ask why you're not sitting in your assigned seat?"

I watched on with amusement, wondering how she'd get herself out of this one. But if she was sweating in the slightest, it didn't show.

Shooting Mr Turner her signature smile, she said, "I'm sorry, Mr Turner. I was just about to come and ask you permission. I thought moving beside Y/N here would help improve my grade and be less of a distraction than my old partner."

I quirked a brow, glancing between him and her, and watched as his expression softened slightly. Holy shit. The Jackie Taylor effect worked on teachers too?

"Very well," he conceded. "I suppose that's alright, if it's for the betterment of your learning. Just don't let me catch you chatting through my teaching, alright?"

She nodded innocently. "Of course. I'd never disrespect you like that."

My mouth opened slightly with disbelief, her pure arse kissing astounding me. Mr Turner nodded appreciatively before returning to the front of the classroom, and Jackie turned to me with a cheeky smile.

"I'm impressed," I admitted. "Everybody really loves you, huh?"

As she grabbed her book, she shrugged, though gave me a sideways glance as if she was pouting. "Almost everyone."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "C'mon, Jackie. You have the whole school– heck, probably the whole world at your fingertips. Why are you so adamant on making me like you?"

She raised her brows impatiently. "Because I'm likeable!"

The pink tinge on her cheeks, darkening her already-existent blusher, paired with her impatience only served to make me grin. If I'd known treating Jackie Taylor like this would get her so flustered, I would have done it more often. It was definitely entertaining, and she was going through more effort than she needed to, which only made me laugh more.

As amusing as it was though, I knew she'd give up soon. I simply refused to let myself slip under the Jackie Taylor spell that she had over everyone – doing whatever she wanted, treating her like she was god's gift, there at her beck and call... Unlike every other poor soul who genuinely believed they had a chance with her, no doubt because she had a power to make you feel that way, I wasn't naive. Jackie Taylor was out of my league, as a friend or anything more.

I wasn't blind. Her powers of seduction were rooted in her beauty and ability to turn heads wherever she went. It was normal to have a tiny crush on her, I was sure of it, but I'd never let it be more than that.

Of course, there were small micro-moments where I'd let myself indulge for once, to be a little selfish and delirious. Like now, as she sat beside me in class, nodding along to what Mr Turner was explaining. From the corner of my eye, it was easy to make out the perfect curve of her jaw, the glossiness of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes. And it would have been even easier to give into it all, especially when she asked me to grab her a lab coat from the back of the classroom, a soft smile on her lips and a single bat of her eyelashes.

But all it took was one relinquishment of power and I'd be just another fool who let Jackie Taylor create delusion in their heads. And I refused.

"I don't know what the arrangement between you and your last partner was, but here, you do things yourself," I said with a suppressed smile, appreciating the way her face dropped.

She tensed her jaw slightly, before trailing along behind me to grab a lab coat. After suiting up, we returned to our desk and I got out the lab equipment whilst she read over the worksheet we'd been given.

"Okay, first step is to turn on the bunsen burner," she read aloud, glancing at me expectantly.

"Great." I pushed over the bunsen burner to her. "Go on."

Indifferently, she straightened up and began to connect the hose to the bunsen burner, shooting me a knowing look as she connected the whole thing to the gas tap.

"I know how to do things myself, y'know," she said disapprovingly.

I chuckled. "I know, it's just fun watching you actually do it."

She huffed dramatically before twisting the gas tap without warning, making me jump back quickly as the flame lit up. Her eyes widened as she twisted it off, before falling to me with both concern and amusement.

"Shit, are you okay?" she asked, hand covering her mouth, but a smile was threatening to break out.

I released a breath, touching my shirt which almost set on fire, and shot her a look. "I am, yeah. No thanks to you!"

She began to laugh quietly. "I'm sorry. See? If you'd just done it for us, that wouldn't have happened."

"Oh, if I'd just done it for us?" I asked sarcastically, mimicking her voice.

"Yeah, you should've just listened–" she started, eyes darting between mine with entertainment.

"I should've just listened," I agreed, still as sarky as ever.

"Yes," she agreed between laughter.

I sighed, giving into my smile as she watched me with dismay. This was going to be a long lesson.

—

As much as I hated to admit it, I was enjoying having Jackie as my lab partner, looking forward to the hour lesson where she was as careless as ever when it came to our experiments, but to the satisfaction and humour of me. Of course, she could never know that all of her efforts to sway me were working, so I played it cool.

I definitely didn't expect to see her beyond that, so I was especially surprised when I showed up to the local community centre after school with the intention of improving my college application and saw her waiting outside with a few other students. I did a double take, her face being the last I expected to see.

"Hey," she said when she recognised me, moving to stand beside me with her usual blinding smile.

"Are you stalking me, Taylor?" I asked jokingly.

"You wish," she retorted with a playful eye roll. "I'm here because it looks good for my college application."

"Ah, of course."

She lifted a brow. "You?"

"Same," I admitted sheepishly, making her laugh.

Once the other students turned up, there were thirteen of us in total and the manager of the community centre met us outside to brief us. We were to work on the community garden over the coming weeks, helping to clean it up and plant some fresh produce and flowers to brighten up the place. Only once it was complete would we get a certificate of recognition for our efforts.

We got stuck in straight away, everyone assigned to different areas. Jackie and I were working on planting the flower beds, so the first thing to do was bring over the soil to the designated area. I heaved the giant bag of soil over my shoulder and brought it over, dropping it to the ground with a sigh and wiping the sweat from my head.

Giggling made me look up, and I watched as Jackie got some freshman to grab her bag, twirling her hair and fluttering her eyelashes as he dropped the bag beside mine.

"You're too sweet, Johnny," she said with a classic tilt of her head, touching his arm. "Thanks again."

He shrugged casually, clearly affected by her attention. "Anytime. You need a hand with anything else, just let me know."

She nodded in agreement and watched as he walked away before her eyes found mine.

"What?" she said like it was obvious. "It would've gotten my nails dirty."

I glanced down at the soil staining my shirt, before giving her a knowing look. "Wait until you start to plant the seeds."

Kneeling down, I used the spade provided to dig out the old dead plants from the flower beds. She kneeled down beside me, careful not to dirty her skirt as she did, and watched my hands work.

"I'm curious," I said, glancing at her. "Were you planning to help at all?"

She straightened up with a sense of pride. "Of course." And then reluctantly, she used her hands to help me remove the old plants, but not without pulling a face.

I tried not to laugh as I watched, finding a sense of satisfaction as her fingernails did indeed get stained with soil. Working alongside her, I used the spade to dig out the next plant, but it skidded across the soil, the plant too firm, and I ended up flicking a handful of soil at Jackie.

"Oh, shit," I said with a stifled smile, watching as she looked down at her clothes. "Sorry."

She breathed out slowly and dusted the soil off, but it left dark tracks in its midst. "It's fine."

"Good thing you wore your old clothes, right?" I asked, biting my lip to contain my smile.

She hummed in agreement, jaw tensing slightly, and a grin fell upon my lips. Everything she wore looked too nice to be considered old. Poor Jackie was probably not expecting to lift a finger.

For whatever reason, whether it was to prove me wrong or to prove her own point, she actually helped me with our tasks, no longer using freshmen to get everything done. It was fun, working with her, and it only gave me more time to appreciate spending with her.

Once we'd done our assigned two hours, it was finally time to leave for the day, and Jackie and I walked out together. Parked a few cars down from mine was Shauna's, and I gave Jackie a look of disbelief.

"You made Shauna pick you up?"

"Duh," she said with a shrug.

I breathed out slowly, looking up and shaking my head. "Why do I still get surprised?"

"What? That people love me?" she asked with a teasing voice.

"Yes."

She rolled her eyes, lips pressing into a smile. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Until then, see you tomorrow."

I waved goodbye to her as she kept walking, trying to understand the hold she had on everyone. Her and her silly smiles and silly hazel eyes and silly raspy voice.

Annoyingly enough, I was starting to see it.

—

I found myself in Chemistry class later that week, doodling on my notebook as I waited for class to properly start. Jackie arrived as usual, greeting me, and when I looked up, I took a moment to find my words.

"You look different," I said without thinking, trying to figure it out.

"I'm pretty sure I don't," she said with a chuckle, sitting beside me like always.

But no, there was something different about her today, something that had me admiring her a little more closely than usual. And as I was subtly studying the freckles on her face, the slope of her nose, the golden flecks in her eyes, it hit me.

"Your hair," I said with realisation, making her look up. "It's up. You never have it up."

She lifted a brow with amusement. "I guess, maybe not often, but..."

She'd worn her hair up before, obviously, but her signature look was to leave it out, freshly curled. So, seeing her with it up just happened to draw my attention more, and also show off her pretty face a bit more, which I guess is why I noticed.

Satisfied that I'd figured it out, I nodded. "Yeah, that's it. It looks pretty like that."

Her lips curved into a soft smile, eyes darting away from mine in an uncharacteristic manner. "Er, thanks."

I didn't think much more of it as I returned to my doodling, but then from that day onwards, I noticed she began to wear her hair up more often. And every single time, I found myself admiring her secretly, letting myself indulge just that little bit more.

—

Promising to pick up Van from soccer practice today, I headed to the field to wait in the bleachers for her, having killed time studying all I could before my brain would fry itself. I was a little early, so the Yellowjackets were still practicing.

I took that as my opportunity to get comfortable at the bottom of the bleachers, feet leaning on the ones in front of me as I pulled my headphones on and focused on my book. I was deep into it when something hit me and I jumped, startled.

Yanking my headphones off, I looked down to see a bottle cap, and then looked up to see a laughing Jackie stood by the bench on the field, bottle of water in hand.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, before tossing the cap back at her, which she swiftly dodged.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a grin.

Admittedly, she looked really cute right now, dressed in the school gym kit, a little sweaty and her face flushed pink from all the running she'd done. But I would never give her that satisfaction, so sarcasm was my next best defence.

"Oh, I just had to come and see Jackie Taylor in all of her team captain glory."

She raised her brows, pausing. "Really?"

"No. I'm here to pick Van up."

She scoffed gently, rolling her eyes.

"As much as your many admirers would love to watch you practice, I'm not one of them," I teased.

"Hilarious," she said with narrowed eyes, making me grin. Dismissing my mockery, she asked, "Are you coming to the pep rally tomorrow? First game of the season is this week."

I leaned back, thinking about it. "Eh, why not?"

Hand on her hip, she shot me a disapproving smile. "Don't sound too enthusiastic or anything."

I crossed my legs comfortably as I met her challenging stare. "I'm not big on the whole soccer thing. I'm just going to support Van. That's what a good friend would do."

She began to smile, a glint of amusement in her gaze. "A good friend, huh? Pat yourself on the back much?"

"Someone has to."

She looked away with disbelief, hiding a smile. "Wow, I see."

I quirked a brow, smile forming on my lips. "See how annoying that is? That's what it's like having a conversation with you."

She pursed her lips as she looked over me with feigned irritation. "Touché, Y/N."

I flashed her a satisfied smile as she finished the last of her water before flipping me off then jogging back to the others. I chuckled to myself as I watched her leave, admittedly checking her out as I did. Stupid Jackie and her stupid cute face.

—

We were well into October when it happened. I couldn't have seen it coming in the slightest.

Lottie, one of Van's teammates, was hosting the ultimate Halloween party at her mansion of her house, able to get away with it because her parents were away. Everybody was attending, and if Van herself didn't invite me, at least ten other people had because of how awesome it was supposed to be. Naturally, I said yes, loving a party more than anyone else but especially a costume party.

So, I showed up with Van and Taissa, the latter opting for a Catwoman costume that she very much pulled off, and Van and I dressing up as two of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles – her as Michelangelo and myself as Leonardo. They were iconic outfits, what could I say?

Of course, I may have felt a little stupid when we met up with the rest of Van's team, including Jackie who looked drool-worthy in her Supergirl costume.

"Wow, you two look...," she began when she saw Van and I, eyes flickering between our matching costumes. "It's very you."

Van swung her nunchucks in agreement. "I thought so too. Love the sexy Supergirl getup."

Jackie stifled a smile as she nodded in acknowledgement, before her eyes fell to me. "Which one are you? Raphael?"

I pointed to the blue bandana over my eyes. "Leonardo, obviously."

A grin broke out on her lips as she touched the bandana, pulling it over my eyes a bit better and also sending goosebumps all over my skin at her touch. "Obviously."

I swallowed thickly, trying not to let my eyes drift below her head, because her costume was very tight and she looked very good right now.

"Nat's pouring everyone drinks in the kitchen," she said, looking between the three of us. "You coming?"

"Hell yeah," Van spoke for us all, raising her nunchucks in the air, before glancing back at Taissa and I. "Leonardo and Catwoman, on my six!"

I cracked a smile as I readied my sword and followed after my idiot best friend.

It was admittedly an eventful first few hours, with Van and I stressing Taissa out enough times that she was forced to take our pretend weapons off us for the rest of the party. Apparently assuming the personas of our costumes wasn't going down well with her, which, in hindsight, was fair when I remembered how drunk we got.

At one point, I found myself rambling to some random guy about the lore of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, aware that he was passed out on the couch beside me but still talking anyway, when Jackie strolled over to me, just as drunk as I was.

"There you are," she said with a grin. "Come dance with me."

"Jackie, I'm in the middle of a conversation," I said, motioning to my passed out friend.

"He's asleep, idiot," she pointed out, before outstretching her hand and wiggling it. "Come on."

I batted her hand away. "I don't dance."

She lost her smile as her patience ran quicker now that her inhibitions were lowered. "Y/N."

Finding it amusing, I motioned around us. "There's a billion people here. One of them would kill to dance with you. Why not ask them?"

"I'm asking you," she said through gritted teeth.

Not really aware of her anger, I pushed myself off the couch with a stretch. "I'm hungry."

She glared at me as I walked away, pushing through the party-goers and intending to find the kitchen, but Lottie's house was huge and I'd already forgotten the layout. I opened several wrong doors, and then on the last one – some sort of games room – I felt someone shove me from behind, forcing me in.

"Hey–!"

"Why does nothing work with you?!" Jackie interrupted my complaining, shutting the door behind her and fixing me with a frustrated stare.

I blinked, confused.

She scoffed, uncrossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "I've been trying to get your attention for months, you idiot! I even started–" she faltered, embarrassed, "wearing my hair up because of one stupid compliment you gave me."

My brain was working slower than usual, so her words were catching up to me little by little. "I noticed that."

Still not happy, she narrowed her eyes at me. "Why do I even try?"

Realising this was about the Jackie Taylor effect, as I'd rightly dubbed it now, I said, "Everybody loves you. Why is it so important if I don't?"

Her eyes flickered between mine, and I was certain she was going to slap me or berate me or shout at me. But then her expression softened and she admitted, "Because I want you to."

I didn't get chance to register her words before she stepped forward, pressing her lips to mine. Her fingers curled around the back of my neck and I found myself melting under her touch, falling right into her. Her lips tasted like alcohol, tobacco and strawberry lipgloss, and I was suddenly eager to taste her concoction even more, all my senses heightened as I pulled her close.

She moved her lips against mine eagerly, fingers sending shivers down my spine as they tickled my skin, and I pushed my tongue between her lips in retaliation, not even thinking about anything other than her. We broke apart for air, barely seconds passing before our lips reconnected, and I was infatuated with every part of the blonde that had been on my mind these past few months.

Time was a drunken haze – we could have been there for seconds or hours for all I knew – and we were unfortunately interrupted by the sound of the door suddenly opening. Our sloppy movements meant we pulled apart a second too late, and we turned to see Van standing there in her Michelangelo costume. God, did I look that stupid right now?

"You're both trashed," she said, words slurred, before she looked to me. "C'mon. Catwoman is taking us home." Then she looked to Jackie, adding, "Shauna's looking for you."

I glanced at Jackie, heart still racing and her taste still on my lips. The state I was in made everything feel like it was so distant, as if it was happening to someone else, so I still hadn't truly acknowledged what had just happened between us. Jackie was already looking at me, eyes half lidded and cheeks flushed. I almost wanted to kiss her again, but Van impatiently calling my name snapped me out of it.

"Coming," I told her, before tearing my eyes from Jackie and following after Van.

#jackie taylor x you #jackie taylor imagine #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor #ella purnell #yellowjackets imagine #yellowjackets

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lookwhatitcost · 2 months

Text

How can you love me? Chapter 1: What the fuck is going on?

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x !OFC

Warnings!: mentions of sex, slight drinking, Mentions of self harm, Noah is just a warning himself, let me know if I need to add more!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Noah and Adriana both rockstar's, both caring, both don't really believe in love.

They met as children in a park in Richmond, since Noah helped Adriana with a scrape on her knee that day, they'd been inseparable. Even though they do live together and have known each other for almost 20 years they've never even had the thought of being each others other, being their partner, loving each other unconditionally, except as friends of course. Even though they were each others first everything, first friend, first kiss, first time, first home, they would never admit their love for each other because it would ruin their friendship, and especially not now that Adriana is not looking for love and, Noah is in love with his girlfriend Chelsea, right?

Will they let each other break their glass houses or will they stay eternally quiet?

May 13 2020 (Adriana's POV)

"Noah where the fuck are you!"

I was out of breath from running after him after he shot me like 20 times with a fucking nerf gun! I was getting payback right, now.

I was trying to be as quiet as possible until I reached my room, of course the motherfucker would be here right? I was creeping through my room, I looked under my be-

"HOLY SHIT NOAH PUT ME DOWN!"

He was carrying me and maybe I had no way out.

I knew what his next move was, he was going to throw me on the bed and try to attack me, so I did what I first thought of, I hooked my leg around his waist and I basically threw myself on the ground, but if I was going down he was coming with me. I'm pretty sure everyone heard the loud BOOM downstairs but at least this time I beat Noah to attacking me.

Of course it hurt a little but I'll get over it.

I stood up and fixed my hair and clothes.

"Aughhhh why the fuck would you do that adri?" Noah said in pain

I just giggled while looking at the 6 foot 3 giant on the ground groaning.

"come on I'll help you get up dumbass."

I grabbed his hand and helped him get off the floor, we were laughing until we heard footsteps coming upstairs, me and Noah scrambled to the bed trying to look as calm and normal as possible, with me finding my phone on the floor and picking it up and Noah quickly snatching a blanket off of my bed and pretending he was tired.

"Did you guys finally kill each other this time?" Jolly asked as he walked into my room.

"What do you mean? We weren't doing anything, we're just here chilling" Noah falsely explained. Jolly just rolled his eyes and walked out of the room, me and Noah looked at each other and started laughing until our ribs were tired.

"NOAH YOU'RE PHONE IS RINGING AND ITS GETTING FUCKING IRRITATING" jolly yelled clearly irritated of our bullshit.

"WHO IS IT?"

"THE GIRL YOU LIKE TO FUCK A LOT"

"Oh shit its Chelsea let me go get that" Noah said as he panicked running out of the room to his room, I obviously also left the room but I went to bother jolly instead.

'hey jolly can I ask you something?' 'What do you need now adri' he said with a fake annoyed tone. ' its nothing serious, I was going to ask if you could make dinner tonight because me and Noah were going to be in his room gaming.'

"well actually.." I hear from behind me. 'What happened noah?'

"um look I'm gonna visit Chelsea at her house so I probably won't be here until very later on."

"oh ok yeah that's fine, are you going to be here for dinner or do we eat without you?"

"Nah adri I think he'll be eating something better than what we're having" jolly said in jokingly matter. 'Oh shut the fuck up jolly do I ever make fun of you when you bring girls home?' Noah said clearly rushed and irritated.

"yes actually you do." Jolly said in a matter fact tone.

"No I dont!"

"YES YOU DO last time I brought a girl home you literally said to he-"

"OH MY GOD GUYS, just shut the fuck up and stop acting like 17 year old boys, noah, are you going to be here for dinner or not." I say sternly. 'No I don't think so bu-' ' okay then I'll make dinner for me and the guys and you go visit Chels ok?'

"Um ok..." He stood like I just gave him a lecture. 'Cool, oh and can you give Chelsea the dress that I told her I would gift her please?' I asked as I remembered the promise that I made her.

"Yeah sure but, I could try to get here before dinner so we can all eat togeth-"

"Noah." I cut him off

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and go visit your girlfriend."

"Ok"

Time skip.

I was cooking dinner for me and the guys, listening to music while they were upstairs in their room. I was cooking spaghetti with meatballs and also making a salad on the side. I was doing the usual, chopping up vegetables, using the knife as a mic, which I know is dangerous but its fine.

"WHO THE FUCK IS BLASTING SUGAR BY SLEEP TOKEN RIGHT NOW!?!" I hear and know right away who it is.

Jesse.

"Jesse shut up I wasn't the one screaming the lyrics to Taylor Swift's You belong with me 2 days ago."

"you have no right to say that when you know its quality music." He said as he stood in front of me.

"yeah yeah yeah, I will admit it is amazing music."

"Hey do you need help with anything there?" He said. 'Oh yeah please, um could you help me chop those vegetables while I make the sauce?' I say as I'm pointing to the needed vegetables.

"Okay yeah, oh my god did you see the news?" Jesse said beaming with excitement. 'No what news?'

"Okay so do you remember whe-"

SLAM!

What the fuck who's slamming doors right now?

Me and Jesse stood there wondering who walked through the door like he fucking could do whatever he wants

"Noah"?

he passed through the kitchen and stood right in front of us with his eyes bloodshot and puffy as if he'd been crying for hours.

"If Chelsea calls any of you and asks for me, don't tell her anything. Got it?" Noah said as he walked and reached for the alcohol cabinets.

Now what the fuck is going on?

Noah stormed out of the kitchen with a bottle of tequila to go to what I imagine would be his room. 'WAIT, DID SHE NOT CUM?' Jesse called after Noah probably trying to get him to laugh, 'JESSE! Why the fuck would you say that to him can't you see he's pissed?' Jesse looked at me while trying to hold in his laugh.

I was wondering what had happened if he left so happy that he was going to see her and even though Jesse went a little too far with the comment he was right he was also happy because he was probably going to have sex with his girl. I needed to figure out what happened to noah, I mean I'm pretty sure I could fix this, I was the one who introduced them to each other.

"Jesse can you finish this while I try to see what happened to him?"

"sure thing."

I walked in to Noah's dimly lit room excepting him to tell me to 'FUCK OFF!' Like he always does, but when I spot him on the edge of his bed he just looks at me and takes a swig of the tequila.

"Noah what the fuck was that out there?"

"Nothing, why?" He said in a monotone voice. 'You want some?' He asked as he was putting his arm out to hand me the bottle.

"No, Noah what happened with Chelsea? Did you guys fight? Or was it something else?"

He just sat there with his head down, and I thought he wasn't crying until I saw a tear glisten down his face. I sat on the edge of the bed with him and put my hand on his back, rubbing it in circular motions, just like did THAT night.

Noah took yet another gulp of the drink and sighed.

"She broke up with me."

What?

"Noah what do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean, she broke up with me just like that." He said clearly trying to keep his anger inside. 'oh, Noah I'm so sorry. Do you know why she did that?'. Noah chuckled before he said.

"No, I got to her place and when I said hi to her she asked me if we could talk, when we sat down she just said it, no sugarcoats, she just said, I wanna break up."

Oh. My. God.

"well maybe she was just confused, I mean, you guys have been together for 2 years, that's a lot of commitment and maybe she was just nervous."

"nah, its fine she's just like any other girl who's dated me, they spend time making me fall in love just so then they can throw me away like some type of garbage."

I understand how rough it is for him, I mean the last relationship he got into before Chelsea made him almost commit suicide when they broke up, she was cheating on him with two guys so the night he found out, I saw him in locked in his bathroom gripping a piece of glass in his hand from the mirror, thank god I found him before he did anything, but I understood him especially since I already had tried to do that before, so I guess you could say I was an expert.

"Noah, please don't say that, look lets do this, you stop drinking so the hangover isn't as bad in the morning, I will try and call Chelsea tonight and if she doesn't pick up I'll call her tomorrow, and you can get some rest in the meantime ok?" I said as I gently took the bottle from his hands and stood up.

"I guess, sure." He said still looking depressed.

"Okay, well goodnight Noah I'll tell you if anything happens tomorrow."

I gave him a kiss on the forehead and heard him say a quiet 'thank you'.

When I say I keep my promises, I'm not joking.

I called Chelsea about 50 times on my phone, on Noah's phone, on jolly's phone, and the list goes on and on. I was just trying to figure out what happened even though yesterday her and Noah were smitten over each other, calling each other every five minutes, which at some point did get a little irritating but it was fine. I sorta feel guilty because I introduced them to each other and I was the one who told chels that she should date noah, obviously she had a crush on Noah first, who doesn't? I mean, even I had a small crush on Noah when we were teenagers, but that passed after a while. I could feel the frustration creeping up my body as I tried calling Chelsea for the 52 time in a row. I let out a frustrated sigh, 'what the fuck do I do now?'

"Don't stress about it adri, at this point she's not gonna talk to anyone." Noah says behind me leaning against the bedroom door with only his gray sweats on,

"Noah? What are you doing up? I thought you were asleep."

"nah I couldn't sleep, plus I didn't want to anyway" he waves it off as if I can't see the tired and sadness in his eyes. 'uh huh totally, because you hate sleeping.' I say sarcastically. 'Where are the other guys?'

"ah shut it, the guys are all asleep." he says then looks at my phone in my hand, then grabs my hand gently and holds it up in front of him. 'How many times have you called her?'

"52 times" I whisper embarrassed. 'what? I couldn't hear you.'

"52 times." I say clearer. 'WHAT. You called her 52 times!?!'

"Yeah... Look I'm sorry but I just don't like seeing you like this plus I also have to check up on her, remember she's also my friend." I say trying to justify my devotion. 'Look, I appreciate that but at this point please, just give up.'

I knew what I was about to do, I was going to rant.

"no Noah I know you love her and I at least want you two to talk so you guys can at least see what happe-"

What. The. Fuck. Is. He. Doing.

I felt his soft lips lightly touch mine testing the waters, until he kissed me... He took my face in his hands and he kissed me. The kiss felt soft, he was kissing me as if I were fragile, I kissed him back and put my arms around his torso feeling as if this was a piece of heaven. He pulled back, eyes soft, and lips rosy pink from kissing me.

What the fuck, this man was heartbroken an hour ago why is he kissing me now?

"Noah?" I said confused. 'Yeah?"

"What the hell was that for?" I said thinking he wasn't in his right headspace. 'Nothing. I knew you were gonna rant so I needed to shut you up in a kind way.' He said in a mocking way.

We just stood there in front of eachother, I swear we were having a secret eye contest.

"Well adri um I'm gonna head to bed, ok? Goodnight." He said giving me one last peck on my mouth.

This guy is out of his mind.

He walked out of my room like if nothing happened. until he turned around and quickly came in to my room just to say.

"sweet dreams angel." He said adding a wink at the end.

I was shocked, and asking myself so many questions.

Why would he do that?

Is he drunk?

Was he actually trying to shut me up?

I didn't know what happened. What I did know is that, I ended up with an aching need that night, so lets just say my vibrator was dead by the time I went to sleep.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #heavy metal #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens band #noahsebastian #badomens #noah sebastian x reader

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obsidianbaby · 13 days

Text

Don't Love Me Like A Brother - Prologue

Brothers Best Friend Series - PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 -

series synopsis - ronnie's younger brother, tyler, is a famous youtuber & influencer and is best friends with the sturniolos. This series will be following ronnie's life as she befriends the triplets and catches herself developing feelings for a certain someone...

**series will contain smut as it develops but warnings will be added to those specific chapters

**found myself writing a few flashback chapters before present day just to build up the established friendships bc I'm impatient and don't want the slow burn to drain anyone 😭

warnings/notes - no smut in this as it's just the prologue to introduce y'all to the story.

a/n - starting this series and im very exciteddddddd i hope y'all fuck with a slow burn, friends to lovers best friends brother type beat. Buckle up mfs it's gonna be an angsty ride

a/n pt 2 - im not gonna share who ronnie develops feelings for just yet I want y'all to be on edge okok enjoy MWAH xx

__________________________________

PROLOGUE

ronnies pov

having a brother who's famous on social media is humbling to say the least.

The amount of fan girls who have followed my accounts just because they're obsessed with him makes me question many people's sanity (including my own).

But tyler is one of my best friends. And thank god for my dad, who from the jump, did not tolerate any misogynistic bullshit from my brother.

Raising two kids as a single dad after my mom passed away (before ty and I were older than the age of 5) was tough for him and he embraced the times when he needed support (like when i first got my period, bless his heart he bought almost every type of menstrual product off the shelf).

His values were the perfect structure for us to grow up following; respect, open communication, giving our best efforts to everything (even if the only effort we could offer up was a 60% instead of a 100%)

My childhood friends would always whine about how "chill" my dad was. And it's not cause he didn't care, (he probably cares too much) but he didn't want to shield us either, knowing we need to learn how to exist in the world without him constantly up our asses.

"As long as we can talk about shit at the end of the day then we're good" one of his favorite mantras he would spew to me and ty when we would get caught doing something you might call a "right of passage" as a teenager.

And since it was just the three of us, we've always leaned on each other a lot. Sunday family dinners at nans' every week, taking turns helping my dad at his shop after school (he's a car mechanic), movie nights every thursday night where my dad would close up shop early, setting up the projector in the shop garage and ordering us pizza. My brother has been a best friend to me since I held him in my arms at the age of 3 when he was born.

And of course, we have the usual chaotic fights to the death like most siblings do, him pranking me in the most annoying ways, me making fun of his dumbass, him eating all of my food, me stealing his cool clothes, him begging me to uber him around everywhere, etc.

But we also just really enjoy each other's company too; going on late night walks around town, sitting in bed staying up talking all night, playing mario cart for hours (id always kick his ass), going adventuring together to forests or beaches, hanging out at the skate park together (me laughing at him eating shit and him chasing me around trying to whack me with his board), us both ditching our friends to stay at home and yap to each other instead, us having campfires in the backyard with both of our friend groups together, working on restoring mom's 1967 ford mustang together that she left us when she passed.

So when he came to me a few years back, during the pandemic, asking my thoughts on him posting on youtube, I was in full support (after teasing him that no one would find him, an 18 year old lanky white boy about to graduate high school funny or interesting. I have to keep him humble ya know?)

But his first few videos on youtube went viral and his following kept growing daily, especially when he started posting on tiktok too.

He's had me (and even my dad) featured in his videos which i don't mind at all (since im the one that's editing them)

I can see why the internet loves him (i did help raise him of course).

But since he's hit over 3 million on youtube last year, he's been doing a shit ton of collabs with other influencers and youtubers; the sturniolo triplets, larray, emma chamberlain, jake webster, tarayummy, vinnie hacker, carrington, etc.

And these days I try to stay behind the scenes as much as possible, trying to enjoy my solitude away from the opinions of crazy fans. (why do they care so much about what im doing anyways?)

Yet he understands (thank god) and he's always inviting me to come hangout with the friends he's made through social media, and i can't lie and say i don't enjoy being in the company of such dope (and attractive) people.

END OF PROLOGUE

______________________________________________

a/n - hellooooo i have a few more parts already written for this but im gonna wait to see how this post goes first (because i have a dire need for validation and praise) anywaysssss thank you for reading mwah xx

#sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #chris sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo fanfic

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bigwishes · 1 year

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So I’m a kinda skinny guy, try going to the gym often to keep my six pack, and there’s this guy at the gym that’s hot as hell. Sweaty, musky, bulky. Big pecs, arms, every muscle is just huge. He never looks my way though, I wish I could impress him, could you help?

he never looks your way? not from what I've heard mate, from what I hear he's be trying to find a way to ask you out for a while, he even wished for things to go smoothly so I guess things seem to be working.

You were surprised when the big hulking goliath came over and sheepishly asked you out on a date, without even a moment to think about it you jumped at the chance.

Later that night he picked you up in his black car, it was cheap and sounded like it needed a service but you weren't gonna complain about some guys car. Once you got in he sheepishly said hello, he was acting like this was his first date and you could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest. You noticed he was in workout gear whilst you were in a nice shirt and jeans.

"s-sorry I'm underdressed bro, my jeans don't fit no more"

You laughed at what you thought was a joke but there was something else behind the serious tone of his voice that had you worried. Something else, his car was a mess inside and he stunk. Sure the musky sweat was hot in the gym but when you saw sweat pouring from his pits like a waterfall and saw big sweat marks from where his hands touched his steering wheel whenever he lifted them off.

Soon you pulled up in the carpark of a junk food place. All your excitement for this date completely died off, It wasn't the gym wear that was a turn off, a guy that big clearly wants to show off, but he didn't even shower after the gym? and now junk food as a first date, not even junk food looking at the sunset on the beach or something outdoors, just junk food in the parking lot of the place. You and your nose had had enough, you were already to go home but you felt sorry for him. He was clearly shy and embarrassed, you thought it best not to make a fuss and just not call him back after the date.

The two of you had dinner in his car, You watched him practically inhale 3 deluxe family meals, 3 thick shakes and a hand full of burgers, after which he sat flexing his biceps in his rear view mirror whilst burping. He drove you home and right as you were ready to leave the car the big guy thanked you for giving him a chance, "sorry it was just take out for dinner bro, can't really get into fancy places, look I know I stink and I'm a bit muscle obsessed when I see myself in the mirror but...do you mind if I kiss you bro?"

After the worst date of your life a moment of weakness hit your heart as this giant looked down hanging his head in shame. You leant forward to give him a kiss, when he kissed you he let out a small burp that bypassed your lips, his hot breath flew straight down into your lungs. You leant back feeling like the air was flooding out of your chest to other parts of your body. Your arms ballooned out, your legs tore your jeans to shreads. You felt you underwear start to get caught up in your growing ass. Suddenly you began to sweat like a pig and you smelt a wave of B.O twice as bad as the guy sitting next to you flow out from your skin. You felt you seat grow damp and squelch beneath your now hulking frame as you shot up a foot and a half feeling your head collide with the roof of the car. You continued to change as you heard the giant speak.

"Sorry bro, I made 1 wish, a few months ago, I was dumb and horny and asked some guy to turn me into a muscle slob online, I didn't think I'd really become one. Turns out its really hard to hold down a job or a boyfriend when all you care about is size and your own B.O"

You felt your head fill with blood, you could barely remember where you were or what was going on, it was almost impossible to focus on his last words.

"at least this way we both get what we want out of it"

You head was suddenly re-written, you remember your life, and your old life was like a dream, like something that happened...but never really happened. You remember graduating highschool, but also remember flunking out, too obsessed with the gym? your head was filled with multiple memories and you didn't know what was truely yours. You turned your head to look at the guy who was now slightly shorter than you.

"eeeer?? were you sayin somthin babe? I like totally brain fogged huhu, you thanks for picking me up, lets go get take out"

With just one kiss from the guy you wanted so badly to notice you, you were erased and replaced with a new you, a stinking meat head version of yourself totally and utterly in love with the guy next to you.

#male transformation #muscle #muscle transformation #male tf #gay transformation #tf story #reality change #transformation #musk

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automaticpizzahologram · 1 year

Text

I'm not German or speak German so sorry if I translate it wrong just blame Google translate

Both bill and the reader are 16

" Hallo i-ich bin y/n" ( hello I'm y/n).

I say, well try to say. I'm trying to learn German by myself just for something to do. I don't think I will ever need it but it's gonna be awesome to say I can speak more than one language and that's German, plus German people have amazing accents that make them sound fantastic.

I sit on the swings staring down and the miniature sized book in my hands . Even though I'm swinging slightly the swing still screeches . It's not the best park, it has a broken roundabout that barely spins, the slide gives kids burns no matter what you wear. The over flowing bin thats full of beer bottles and other stuff I probably don't want to know about.

Everything in the park has worn out, dull paint on it. It looks like no one has been in for years and that's kinda true ever since the new park was added all the younger kids go there, it's in the nicer part of town as well.

It seems as though only drug addictics, drunkes and some teens go to this park now which is normally at night so sometimes I get this place all to myself.

My eyes quickly skim the page.

"alright so they pronounce their 'w' 's as v' s. So wine would be vine?" I look up to the clear blue sky and sigh. Closing the book I put it on the floor. I pick up my phone from the ground and skip my music till I find a more upbeat song, I place my phone back on to the floor then I start to swing getting higher and higher.

I sit swinging for about 45 minutes being in my own little world while listening to music watching the world go by. I slowly slow down draging my feet on the gravel and pull myself to a stop. I slip off my headphones and place them around my neck. Jumping of of the swing I bend down and pick up my book, phone and my bottle of water, I place my phone into my Jeans pocket. I start to head out of the park when I drop my waterbottle . I reach down stretching my arm out ready to grab the bottle when another hand beats me to it. I look up at the person ready to say thank you and I'm met with a really pretty, tall, skinny boy with longish black hair.

" Thanks, you didn't have to do that but I appreciate it"

"Don't worry, it was no problem. I'm Bill" the German accent catching my attention. Bill holds my bottle out and I reach to get it.

" Thanks" I say again "I'm y/n" grabbing the waterbottle.

Bill steps to the side slightly and that's when I notice another boy with dreadlocks.

"This is my brother Tom."

" it's nice to meet you but I probably should be going. Have a nice day" I say and continue to walk out of the park and along the path heading home. I turn to look back at the park and catch bill still looking at me, he doesn't turn away quickly as I thought he would, he just continues to look. I turn back around and continue my way home.

~~~~~~~°°~~~~~~~°°~~~~~~~°°~~~~~~

I kick my shoes of at the door and set down my book and waterbottle on the bench. I look at my waterbottle thinking back to the boy in the park and his brother, they looked about my age.

I open the snack cupboard and take out a pack of sour patch kids I grab my book and water and head up to my room.

Closing the door I chuck the sour patch kids on my bed as well as my waterbottle .

My room isn't very big. It has light gray walls with windows on both the front and the back of my room. My beds near the front of the room, my conserlation bedding make my room look more neater for some odd reason. I have about fifty thousand plants dotted around in different coloured plant pots. My room doesn't really have a theme it's just random.

For a small room I have a lot of stuff and I don't even need it. I don't use the things so there's no point in having them but it's the fact that most of the stuff is gifts and things that I might in the future, who knows.

I walk over to my bed and get on. lying on my stomach I reach to my right and put my book on my book shelf that has far to many books for it, and if I'm being honest I have 4 books on the go that need finishing.

I open the bag of sour patch and start scrolling on Instagram.

After about 15 minutes I get bored. I chuck my phone to the side and get up from my bed streching as I do so.

I hear the door open and close from my mum coming in from work.

"I'M BACK " she shouts. My mums pretty chill, just don't get on her bad side.

"OK" I shout back

"is your sister In?"

"no, she's staying at jasmine's tonight"

" should we order in tonight then"

I run out of my room and down the stairs into the sitting room. Not only is my room small every rooms small. My mum's sitting on the sofa scrolling through what I'm guessing is a takeaway menu.

"how does Chinese sound?" mum says looking up from the menu on her phone.

"yeah that sounds great"

We normally order in if maddison is out because she doesn't like eating fatty foods, she says its going to ruin her skin and figure . I mean when I was 14 i had okay skin a few spots every now and then but I didn't stop eating stuff because of it. The acne has gone now thankfully, and I'm happy about how I look because I relised that unless I get plastic surgery, which is hella expensive, I can't change the way I look.

About 12 minutes later mom gets a phone call.

I don't pay attention until I hear my name being mentioned, I turn my head towards mum now interested in the conversation that mums having.

"No, I'm sure she'll be fine with going, one sec, I'll tell her"

"y/n, sweetheart, maddison wants to go to this concert thing with jasmine in 2 or 3 weeks, apparently they have vip tickets or what ever you call them. And they want you to go are you okay with that" she says looking over to me

"yeah, sure, I don't mind" mum turns back to facing forward again.

" your sister says yes she'll go with you"

"Okay, bye love you" mum hangs up the phone and turns back towards me.

" Are you sure you're okay with going?"

"yeah I need to get out anyway, did she say who we're going to see"

"no I don't think so, only that they have back stage passes, apparently jasmine's parents bought them for her and accidently bought 3 instead of two without knowing. You know how rich people are"

Hi everyone thanks so much for reading.

I have no clue what happens at a concert cause I have never been to one never mind back stage so please bare with me. I'll try and update as much as I can.

#bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz #fem reader

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inkskinned · 2 years

Text

i sat next to him, dipping chips into the bowl of salsa, thinking about how i couldn't have enjoyed this 5 years ago. something strange: recently it's been about chaos theory for me.

a butterfly makes a tornado. the infinitely small becomes the chaotic whole. the universe bends towards entropy, and yet, chaos theory seems to argue - small motions make big changes.

chip goes into salsa. i eat a little bit. later, the chip is energy. later, the energy is movement. later, the movement is a memory. later, the memory shapes who i am.

i used to pretend i had already eaten. i used to be 30 minutes late so i could say eat without me. i used to say i didn't like chips or salsa. i'd chug my water and pray nobody noticed i was still nibbling the same chip i'd first picked up. i missed a lot of hangouts because i didn't want to grab lunch. i would eat by myself, curled up in the parking lot of a supermarket. hurried, anxious, embarrassed to be overcome.

5 years ago, i started saying yes to one more chip. 4 years ago, i could munch my way casually through a couple dozen. these days i am the one saying - can we have more chips when you get a second?

it didn't start with big changes. i thought it would have to - something was massively wrong with me, so i assumed recovery would take a natural disaster. the only way to fight fire was with an explosion. i would buy organizational journals, angrily clean my house for 10 hours straight, promise myself never again and know - i'd always slip backwards. i'm always going to be this way.

it wasn't big, though. 5 years ago i made a promise to stop it with the i'm going to kill myself jokes. for the sake of additional challenge, i also stopped saying i'm stupid. just two things.

i'm genuinely funnier these days. people laugh more with me. i find more things funny. when i mess up, it doesn't crush me. suicide no longer sits at the front of my brain. it is no longer the first option i picture. i forgive myself so easily. i no longer believe every mistake is emblematic of my personality. i have actually started to believe i am clever and smart - although i still want to add the prefix barely.

i still apologize too much. i still beat myself up. i still agonize over certain choices. i know i am not perfect. recovery is not linear.

but the joy in me is bigger. every time i choose to believe in it, every time i choose to make a little change towards hope - that joy in me grows.

when entropy rises up in my heart and i backslide and everything goes dark: the joy doesn't fully evaporate anymore. i slide just a little less. i bounce back just a little more. i go further this time. learn about myself. crawl up that slope with new skills in tow. i know what i'm doing these days; am getting good at finding handholds. i have started to learn how to catch myself while falling - instead of letting myself go.

a little change. ten years ago i googled depression self-help tips. little butterfly keystrokes. in the moment, nothing really happened.

ten years in the future: my life is full of love and healthy coping mechanisms. i have minimized a great deal of my symptoms. i spend a lot of my time laughing and creating and going out with friends. every time i hit a wall, i convince myself to get up, keep going, if it's hard just be harder, choose hope, choose just a little bit further -

i want to tell that version of myself, stranded in the desert: if you keep walking, all that sand will one day be water.

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haitanology · 19 days

Text

big-shot ; hanma x fem!reader

warning: smut (mdni) ! oral (f receiving), face-sitting, degradation, sub!hanma, meandom!reader …

!!! note: this is a chapter of a wayyy bigger fic, with very heavy plot and lots of other characters as love interests. you can find it on wattpad under HAITANITE or ao3 as haitanology

Flickering lights and loud music, getting lost between many bodies swaying to the rhythm —invasive, breaking skin into light sweat.

A perfect formula for the remedy to a chilly summer night.

2017's been treating you well. You are successful, you can buy anything you want and have people answer to you in seconds.

Just like always. A fact meant to be.

Call it destiny, if you will.

Chugging down the rest of your drink, you leave it somewhere you won't remember and make your way to the dancing mass.

Your eyes dart around the room, flicking between different colored shapes that jump and blend in with the dark based club.

You don't spot one that stands out. Tall, a brooding presence who shakes you up by a mere appearance.

Your body begins to follow the flow of the beat, the song wrapping around you as your tongue recalls the lyrics. The words are lost among many, yet your hips keep syncing to the music, closing your eyes and leaving the rest to your heart.

"Your friend's looking for you outside." Somebody whispers behind you, breaking the symphony for he stops you from enjoying yourself.

Not taking a single glance around, leaving the male voice to his own doings, you become one with the crowd as you look for the exit.

Unnoticed, you leave the club.

You've never been there, ever.

A lone car rests outside, parked and tinted dark. You make your way with steady feet, opening the passenger's door and closing it just as quick. The car starts up, carrying the thud and the clicking of your seatbelt along with it.

"You know I can't be seen in public." Hanma's deep voice, playfulness lost with the years, comments.

From the corner of your eye, you watch as he drives with one hand, staring straight ahead. You rest your elbow on the side, supporting your head with your hand; you take a deep breath.

"I know." Your eyes dart to the view from the window, Tokyo's nightlife carried by its luminosity. "I also don't care."

Disinterest follows tiredness, just as silence follows death.

"I don't get why you wanted to meet up," He speaks up against the emptiness you've left. His next words are all over eachother, most unrecognizable. "not that I'm complaining."

Punishment follows sin, the same way sin follows punishment.

He sighs when he doesn't receive an answer. His fingers hold tightens around the steering wheel, the same way his free hand does over your leg.

Sex follows passion, much like passion follows desire.

"Y'know," The strained chuckle he heaves punctures through his chest. "I enjoy myself when I'm with you, I have fun, but it's different."

But does love always follow desire? The same way desire always follows love.

"Different, how?" You follow up, words longer than they should be. Hanma doesn't care, almost grinning at the sound of your voice.

Though, it's only a small smile.

Many things follow love, but love doesn't necessarily have to follow anything. Instead, emptiness fills in for the role; following after them.

Ironically.

"Different than Kisaki."

You grimace, lips twitching at the thought.

"Good," Tapping your chin with a single finger, you blink once. "glad to not compare to that weird ass specimen."

The car stops in front of one of the many business buildings in Tokyo. It stands high with might, most lights turned off due to the recent hours.

Hanma's hand crawls up to your nape, staying there. He turns his head to yours, violet eyes sizing you up before he closes them.

"I don't like when you talk about him like that." He gulps, violet now overshadowed by the darkness of his pupil. "But I'll let it go, just for tonight."

Love follows people, but love doesn't follow you.

Interest does.

Is this why you find yourself in Hanma's spacious apartment, lost in the contact of his lips against yours —tongue following a pattern with his own— as you bask in the slight roughness that comes with his kisses?

Yes, indeed.

In the best way he can, Hanma attempts to lead you to his bedroom between guttered groans that leave his throat everytime your lips move down to his neck.

He heaves a sigh, arm sliding across your waist and bringing you closer to his chest. Your ear presses against his heart, hearing the rapid bumping grow exponentially, in the same way his erection begins to poke your thigh.

Straying your eyes away from his body, they widen at an ajar door that hides an office inside. The light in them glows, your smirk stretching across your face before you are pulled inside Hanma's bedroom.

The cold contact of Hanma's fingers ghosting over your back, break your trance. They grasp your nape, tugging your face closer to his own, his breath caressing your parted lips.

Eyes set on his lips, you tilt your head, ready to taste them again. When Hanma leans in, closing his eyes at the touch of his nose with yours, his breath is cut short.

He gulps, finding himself laying on his bed with you on his lap. Both of your hands rest on his chest, one moving to grip his chin and bring it closer to you.

"I don't care how much power you have over Kisaki's lackeys." You mutter, turning his face around so you do so close to his ear. Your eyes narrow, fingers closing on his face. "You aren't gonna tell me what to do."

Your hand feels the vibration through his chest as Hanma chuckles. Passing one hand through his hair, observing the painted 'Sin' afterwards, his lips form a close smile.

Voice deep as ever, you stay still once you see the gentle smile that carves Hanma's expression. He calls you over, both his index and middle fingers massaging your cheek.

"It's you." He tugs on your bottom lip, dragging it down, fingers following a path to your collarbone. "If it's you, you can do all that you want to me. Use me, for all I care."

Hanma's brows shoot up, his fingers now moving through your trembling lips. His eyes burn, his entire body does, hips bucking into your clothed cunt as his clothes begin to strain him.

"I love being with you," He whispers, helping your hands undo his suit. "it's always so fun."

Words fall on your deaf ears, taking a deep breath before trying to forget who it is you are using.

Your chest hurts, it's tense. You purse your lips, shaking your head unnoticed by Hanma's shut eyes. Your mind shows you the office you've passed by, yet the light in your eyes only dims.

Gritting your teeth, taking Hanma's clothes off gets aggresive, throwing them somewhere along with your own. Taking his cock in your hand, you squeeze it, hearing a yelp from him.

"Shut up!" You bark out, same hand stroking his dick at a rapid pace, not giving him time to word out his thoughts. "Stop talking, just close your useless fucking mouth."

A drop of cold sweat runs down the side of your face, your mind shut as Hanma's groaning and cursing plays a loop in your brain.

"That's it..." You coo out, your voice barely audible. Not that he's paying attention to it, busy with the much needed attention you are paying to his cock, throbbing in delight.

A breathless laugh escapes your lips, smile growing.

"Stop making me feel pity for you, good job."

Swiping your thumb over his tip, wet from the precum coating it, you ignore Hanma's pleads to slow down. You keep pumping, eyes unfocused and pupils dilated.

"M'gonna..." Hanma calls out, biting his lip. "M'gonna cum soon."

Managing to listen to Hanma's slurred words, you blink and your hand stops, moving away from his pulsating cock.

"Huh?!" Hanma's eyes snap open, your hand over his mouth.

You glare down at him, lightly palming his dick, playing with it on your hand.

"You're dumb." Slapping his face without force as you utter each word, you taunt him. "So fucking dumb, it's unbelievable."

"Please—" With a single move of your index finger, now lifted, he stops. You place it over his lips, face hovering over his.

A moan suddenly tries to leave his shut mouth, eyes rolling back at the soft friction of your pussy over his cock. Itching for more, it twitches.

"How many girls have been in the position you are in, with you treating and using them like pathetic little whores?" You question, not expecting an answer; humming when you don't get one.

You take his hand, punishment staring right back at you. You raise it, slapping his face with it, not measuring the strength you used.

"You thought it wouldn't come back to bite you in the ass?"

Hanma's breath grows erratic, eyes close to sparkling at the sight of your pussy over his face.

"At least your mouth will be useful this way."

Unconsciously, his hands move to grab your waist, leading you down to him. A content sigh escapes from your lips when his tongue licks your slit, uttering a silent moan at the touch of your clit and the tip of his nose.

You close your eyes, your mind blank as Hanma's hands glide down to your ass, gripping it while his mouth works on your cunt —just like clockwork.

Grabbing the blonde and black strands of his hair, you tug on them when his nose hits the spot. His tongue laps at your folds, eating and sucking you out as if it's his last meal.

You lean your head back, Hanma's quiet mewling going straight to your pussy, causing you to bite down a whimper.

"I hate that you're so good." You hiss out, hips beginning to rock back and forth on his face —craving more of his tongue lashing out. "Fuck!"

A thrust of his tongue has you cursing out his name, thighs enclosing his head between them. He doesn't care, though, continuing to play with his mouth on your cunt —kissing it, worshipping you.

While your mind, now cleared out from the shock of Hanma's moves, doesn't let you forget why you are here; Hanma's only ongoing thought is how godly you taste, how he doesn't want to stop.

He's pussy drunk. Utterly and completely.

The tip of his tongue licking every crevice, moving a path through the slit to the clit, estimulated by his nose once you move in a certain way. It's all enough to send you over the edge, thighs closing in farther as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Soon enough, Hanma's lapping at your folds like a cat, tasting your orgasm as his sturdy hands help you ride it out. He licks you clean, audibly gulping and leaving an open mouthed kiss on your cunt, letting you move back to his lap.

Through your panting, you barely listen to Hanma's sultry tone. His tongue passes through his lips, getting all the cum he can get, smiling at you.

"Best meal of my life." His blown out pupils take a look at your naked body that he didn't get to see before, salivating at the sight. "Did I do a good job?"

You run a hand down your face, covering the lower part with your palm. Your head's pounding, actively playing thoughts like a broken record.

There's a scratch, and you blink, hiding the light coat of water that covers your eyes. You curse, averting them away from Hanma's awaiting face.

"No, no you didn't." You take his hands, leading them away from your body and holding them together by the wrists. "It's infuriating..."

The words die out in your throat, mutter lost before Hanma can hear it.

"Wha—What?" He breathes out, panicked eyes growing bigger at the clicking of your tongue. Hanma can't stop the loud moan that breaks out of him when you sink down on his cock, shouting at him through short puffs.

"You're so fucking useless, it makes me sick!"

Hanma can't process what you spat out to him, busy writhing from the pleasure that rains down on him with the way you're riding him.

A single hand stops his own from moving, Hanma perfectly capable of breaking that hold, yet he can't. Your hips move up and down, rocking on him and sending a knot tempted to break at the slightest move through his body, washing down on him.

"S'good..." He mumbles, tongue poking out from his lips. "You're s'fucking good, keep—"

You moan when his tip hits the perfect spot, closing your mind from any intrusive thoughts.

Hanma joins you, begging for more.

"Faster, please—" Though you can't hear his pleads, nor the way he tells you he's about to cum, deprived of it throughout the entire night.

You are in bliss, squeezing your eyes shut and following the same pattern, letting the tip of his painfully throbbing cock send you to a state where you can't think, where your brain doesn't take over.

You keep chasing after your release, ignoring Hanma's still hips, who have stopped meeting your own; leaving you full of his cum, legs trembling before you from the harsh orgasm he's having.

You don't give him time to recuperate, bask in the aftermath, mercilessly pounding on his now softening cock to keep going. Hanma's brows furrow, the ache in his body increasing with your pace.

"S—stop, hey..." He trails off, not able to pronunciate correctly due to the fog that covers his brain. "Please, I—I can't take it."

Hanma's eyes widens when his hands are free, your hand now wrapped around the lower part of his face, not letting him continue. Through blurry eyes, a single tear running down the side to the pillow, he's able to see his own cum leaking out of you, followed by your own as you finally reach your orgasm —huffing out a broken sigh, your back arching ignoring the buckling of your knees.

Hanma groans, the pain subsiding and now able to rest. In a starfish position, missing the heat of your body as it leaves his lap, his sight begins to obscure.

He hasn't experienced something quite like this ever, not with any woman he's had a chance with.

He's said it before, you've always been something else. It explains why his heart can't calm down once you're with him, or why a strange heat burns through his chest everytime he thinks about you.

Because in all these years, he's never not thought about you.

He can't put a name to the feeling, yet deep inside him he knows.

He knows because, before passing out from the ecstasy of the sex, he has the strong urge to have you in his arms. Since he doesn't understand why so many tears are streaming down your face.

Is he not good enough?

He'll never get to know, sadly.

thanks for reading <3 as a reminder, you can find the full fic (my ordinary life ; tokyorev x reader) on wattpad (HAITANITE) or ao3 (haitanology)

#hanma x reader #hanma shuji x reader #hanma smut #tokyo revengers x reader #hanma #hanma shuji #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers

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