#big on the pwp bc i didnt want to come up with a classic rust monolouge 💀

[cobwebbedcat]

When I Have Nothing But My Aching Soul

MINORS DNI

Warnings: amab male soft dom top reader, 2012 bottom Rustin Cohle, post-carcosa (minor spoilers), pre-established relationship, feminization, daddy kink, barebacking, breeding kink <- deeply under-negotiated, smoking, PWP ,~3k words

The first time he talks to you about it, Rust is tipsy. He’s running his finger around the rim of a shot glass, illuminated by the low light behind the bar, and you’re leaning over the counter to hear his muffled confessions. He'd loosened up, but delicately whispered then, handling each word as carefully as he held onto the glass he’d been fidgeting with.  

You talk about it again when he’s sober, though he’d nursed a single beer through the conversation. He’d paused to take long swigs, letting himself sit with what he wanted. His gaze had never met your eyes, but his hands and head were steady.

He’s fully sober now, even if he’d smoked through a handful of cigarettes to relax his nerves. 

Rust looks good like this. 

“Well?” he hums, standing in front of you, hip cocked to the side, all aloof like he isn’t awaiting your approval.  

“You look good,” you tell him honestly, leaning and taking his rough, worked hand in yours, pulling him into your lap, “real good, baby.” 

Rust stares you down, acting like the pet name you called him isn’t something he loves. You know he can feel your steadily growing erection as he settles himself onto your lap.

He slowly wraps his arms around your shoulders, letting you take him in. Your gaze drags from his face, slightly flushed but otherwise composed, down to legs. He’s wearing a jean skirt and flannel with his hair tied up as per usual. When he’d talked in the bar, the first time, all loose lips and defenses down, he’d told you about wanting to wear a dress. You suppose he’ll work himself up to that.  

Once you know he won’t run, you unlock your hand from his and let your hands slide under the hem of the skirt, where it falls near his knees.  

“Outfit’s a bit plain, ain’t it?” 

“No it isn’t,” you counter before leaning in to kiss his neck sweetly, sliding your hand further up his thigh. Rust twitches in your lap, “it’s pretty, and you love it,” you murmur against his skin. 

He doesn’t deny it; melts against your body, humming softly as you bring a hand to cup his half hard cock.  

“Shit,” he hisses, low and sweet. You move your hands away from him, holding him steady with one hand and cupping his face with the other as you kiss him sweetly. His mustache rubs against your skin, tickling you, and you can taste the sweet tea he sipped on earlier, an attempt to hide the flavor of his smokes under sweetness. 

“Touch me,” he growls against your lips, grinding into your cock. You’ve fucked him enough that he knows to add a soft, “please,” if he really wants anything. And he does, for you imagine he’s been wanting this for a long time.  

Looking down you can see the way his erection tents the skirt and you moan. “Yeah, you’re looking real good, baby,” you praise softly.   

Rust watches with bated breath as you bunch his skirt up around his waist, and laugh softly at the sight of the briefs he normally wears underneath.  

“You didn’t get any panties to match your pretty outfit?” you tease gently, fingering at the soft, simple fabric. Rust looks elsewhere, swallows heavy, 

“Nah. Looked at ‘em at the store,” he swallows again, “was gonna get some. Didn’t know if you would’a liked me wearin’ them.”  

“I’d like seeing you in anything,” you hum, “get yourself some next time, if you want. You could get yourself a pretty little bra too, if you want it,” you lick your lips imagining him in a little matching set. Rust must think it’s funny, you fantasizing about him in such a state, as he laughs a little. 

“Perv,” he huffs, trying to sound like he’s had enough of you, but it’s all laced with affection. Rust pushes your head towards his chest, cutting off any rebuttal you’d had on your lips.

Your hands leave his waist, moving up to unbutton his shirt. His breath is steady and sure as you go down the buttons, one by one. Once his body’s revealed to you, you kiss between his pecs, fingers lightly tracing the scar on his stomach, the freshest one, that’s only just started to fade. 

It’s then that his breath hitches, a hiccup in the scene, a ripple in the fantasy that he wants tonight. You move your hand quickly down to his hips once again, like it was never there to begin with, and take his nipple into your mouth.  

“Shit,” he cusses again, clutching onto the back of your shirt.  

“Like having your tits sucked on, pretty girl?” you ask softly, ending your sentence with a lick to his spit slicked, hardened nipple.  

“Yeah,” he responds bluntly, his voice all soft and thick with lust. You reward his honesty by sucking him into your mouth, grazing his nipple with your teeth. Rust groans softly, drawing mindless shapes on your back with shaky fingers as you warm him up.  

“Fuck, man, more,” he finally groans through gritted teeth once you’ve thoroughly given attention to each pec, littering his chest with kisses between sucking and nibbling on his skin. 

“That’s not what you said you wanted to call me tonight, pretty girl,” you hum, looking up at him. Rust inhales heavily, shuddering as he lets go of his breath. 

“Please,” and there’s a long pause, where you rub circles into his hips and give him time to work out what he wants, “daddy.” 

And fuck, it sounds so good, twinged with his southern drawl; a little shaky now but you’ll get him crying it later tonight. “There we go,” you praise easily, leaning up to kiss him softly. Rust whines at the feeling of your lips against his, then again when you slip your hand into his underwear and take hold of his cock.  

“How do you want me, darling?” you ask gently, giving long, slow strokes to his cock. Rust whines, low in the back of his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows spit in his mouth.  

“Fuck, want you on the bed,” you let out an approving hum and Rust twitches in your hand, “I wantcha over me, wanna be on my hands and knees.” You give his dick a quick squeeze, running your thumb over the tip, wiping away the pre leaking there.  

“We can do that Rust,” you pull his underwear back up, over his leaking cock, and squeeze his ass, “think you can walk pretty girl?” 

“Fuckin’ course I can,” he huffs. 

“Then get up and go. I’ll follow you,” you promise, unperturbed by the bite in his words.  

On shaky legs he eases himself from your lap, and slowly he walks away from you towards the bedroom. You watch him go, entranced by the way his skirt swishes from side to side as his hips sway, squeezing yourself in your pants at the sight of it. 

Rust stops as he reaches the doorway, for just a moment. He doesn’t look back at you though; he knows you’ll be quick to follow.  

You stand as soon as he’s out of sight, snatching a—now near empty—pack of camels, and following him to the bedroom.  

You find him laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, clutching the fabric of his skirt in balled up fists.  

“Having second thoughts, Rust?” you ask softly, joining him on the bed. He snaps out of his haze, looking at you with the softest eyes.  

“No, just thinkin’” he reaches out, linking his arms around your neck and pulling you into a kiss. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout you inside me. If you’d hurry up, I wouldn’t have to think so much,” and that’s not the truth (at least not the whole truth), but you drop it for now.  

Kissing him again, you toss the pack of cigarettes to the bedside table, and hold his hips, making yourself comfortable between his legs.  

“Thought you wanted to be on your hands and knees?” you mumble against his lips. Rust grunts then bites your bottom lip. Brat.  

“Alright, I get it,” you say as you pull away from him. You tug his skirt and underwear down, helping him out of them, then tossing them to the side. Leaning over, you grab lube from the bedside dresser.  

“Relax baby, let me get you ready,” you hum softly, coating your fingers. Rust watches you intently, his brows furrowing when you press a finger against his hole.  

“Christ. Fuckin’ cold,” he grunts, though it sounds more whiny than anything.  

“Aw,” you coo, kissing his cheek, “sorry.”  

Rust doesn’t complain any more as you rub slow circles against him, getting him good and relaxed before pressing your finger into him gently.  

He sighs softly, melting into the bed beneath him as you slowly work a finger into his entrance. 

“There we go pretty girl,” you fuck him nice and slow with just one finger, feeling him loosen and relax for you. 

Rust usually goes quiet during this part, his breathing getting heavy and slow. He told you once that he likes to focus on whatever his synesthesia brings forward while you stretch him open. He’d tried to describe what it was like for him when you made him feel good, and you’d told him he sounded awfully poetic, which he’d immediately denied.  

You don’t mind him going quiet, instead focusing on the task at hand, which makes it easier to ignore how painfully hard you are. You kiss his face and neck, murmuring sweet praises as you do.  

“Ready,” he finally gasps, his eyes shooting open. You’ve got three fingers lodged up inside of him, curling to press against his prostate. His cock is leaking against his stomach (and you’re glad you’d unbuttoned his flannel earlier, otherwise he’d have bitched about it staining). He’s definitely ready. 

“Still wanna be on your hands and knees?” you ask as you slowly pull your fingers from him. Rust nods, tugging off the shirt entirely and going to move as soon as he’s empty.  

You’re so fast getting out of your clothes it’s like they’re on fire. You’d nearly gotten dizzy with lust, thinking about how he’d feel twitching and clenching around you as you’d fingered him open.  

Then you’re nestled up behind him, your hands all over his body, taking note of where his skin is soft and where it goes hard with scar tissue.  

“Condom?” you ask, massaging Rust’s ass as you rut your length against his sticky hole.  

“No,” he replies, looking back at you with sharp blue eyes. You lean down and kiss his bare back before lubing your cock and lining up with his hole.  

“Don’t ask me if I’m ready, I’m fuckin’ ready daddy,” he mumbles, holding onto a pillow in front of him.  

Rust’s breath hitches as the blunt head of your cock presses against his hole. You slide in easy. 

“There we go,” you coo softly, pressing into him, “taking me so well.” Rust whines, low and deep as you push into him with little resistance.

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts when your hips meet his ass, balls deep inside of him.  

“That good?” you hum softly, beginning to slowly move your hips, “like having your pussy stuffed?” Rust groans, babbles something incoherent, twitches violently around you.  

“Faster,” he gasps, working himself back against you, “please.”  

You make him wait a moment, getting him really adjusted and comfortable with your length, before snapping your hips into him. Rust chokes, letting out a pleased moan when you start to fuck him into the mattress.  

Carefully, you tug out his hair tie, tossing it elsewhere, then moving his hair to the side, over his shoulder, so you can bend over his body and kiss his shoulder. 

One hand stays steady on his waist, the other sneaks around his body to touch his weeping cock.  

“So wet, Rust,” you murmur against his ear, stroking him in time with your relentless pace “feel so good around me.” He twitches, both around your length and within your hold at that.  

“Daddy,” he keens, his eyes clenched as tight as his white knuckled grip on the pillow is.  

“Perfect, so pretty,” you groan, “fuck, gonna let me cum inside?” He nods, clenching like a vice around you.  

“I’ll cum in ya, make you fuh-full with it sweetheart,” you kiss his skin, rubbing your thumb along the slit of his cock. "Gonna look so good, hah, with it leaking out of your fucked pussy,"

“Please,” he gasps, so soft, but you hear him loud and clear.  

“Want that?" He nods, "Want me cummin’ in you, pretty girl, getting you pregnant?” as soon as the words leave your mouth, you regret saying them. You’re hot all over and your brain is thoroughly muddled with lust, foggy, not thinking about the immediate or long term consequences of what spills from your lips.

“No,” he gasps, eyes shooting open, blue and wild. If his hands weren’t holding onto the pillow they’d be trembling. He chokes, his eyes welling up with tears in a way you’ve seen many times before. You pull back a bit, an apology is going to come ripping out of you, but then Rust is gasping, “yes.”  

“Yeah,” he hiccups again, groans your name and brings a hand down to cling onto your arm, “yeah, wanna baby, fuckin’ please, wanna—” he’s gasping, blinking tears away. You kiss his skin gently,  

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay,” you change your pace, fucking him nice, slow, and deep.

"Fuckin' want it, please," he begs, pleads.

"Darling I'll give you anything."

Rust cranes his neck back then, and you capture his lips in yours. He’s close and you can feel it; he’s breathing heavy, moaning and whining into your mouth, digging his nails into your skin, and clenching around your cock. You’re not far off either, in fact you might’ve been close a couple times now, holding off for him to find his climax first.  

You move your hips, readjust your position, just a fraction, and hit his prostate hard.  

Your name falls from his lips like it’s punched out of him, the only warning you get before Rust is spilling into your hands.  

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling back to bathe in it, “god, daddy.” 

You follow soon after, feeling him milking your cock, working his hips back against your body, needy and fulfilled all at once. 

He lets out a noise akin to a sob as you fill him with cum. You let go of his slowly softening cock, and hold onto his hips tight, picking up the pace to fuck him through your orgasm.

“God Rust, did so good for me,” you groan once your hips slow to a stop, kissing his back affectionately as you ease yourself out of him. Rust doesn’t respond, which you’re used to.

He turns over with a satisfied sigh, leaning up against the headboard. You slide up next to him, and Rust lets you kiss him lovingly before you grab his smokes and a lighter. 

Passing Rust his ash tray, he sets it to his side before taking a cigarette loosely between his fingers. He has you light it for him, gazing at you as he sucks in that first breath of smoke.

He blows away from you, but leans against your body, knocking his head against your shoulder. You make yourself comfortable next to him, wrapping an arm around his body, tugging him close.  

He snuggles up next to you, a closeness you only came to know after months of this. There’s a peaceful quiet between you two, and it’s not until he’s halfway through his cigarette that you decide to break that. 

“You wanna tell me what you were really thinking about back there?” you ask softly, talking about when you’d first entered the room, because that’s easier to touch than the baby stuff. You massage circles into his skin, where you can touch, letting him take his time with answering you.  

Rust doesn’t respond for a long time. In fact, he’s smokes nearly the entire cigarette before licking his lips and clearing his throat. 

“I felt real—” he chokes, coughing to cover it, “felt real good. Felt pretty. I guess. Was just thinkin’ about that.”  

“You’re always pretty, you know that?” Rust lets out a disbelieving laugh at your words, snubbing out what little is left of his cigarette “I’m serious.” 

“Been told that father time wasn't so kind on me,” he grumbles. You kiss the top of his head, and hold him closer to your body.  

“I guess I’ll have to tell you that more often. That you’re pretty. Until you believe me.” 

“Sure,” and he might've wanted that to come out as dismissive, but Rust can't help the fondness that seeps into it. “Get me cleaned up first, then you can think about callin’ me pretty, daddy.”