#it felt like he was staring into my soul 😭😭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

creamflix · 1 month ago

Note

Hiiiii queen, not sure if your requests are open but what are your thoughts on a reader x gym instructor Toji fic? as a gym girly, I’m feining for that shit bjsjsbsh 😭 If you’re not into it, no worries at all, just ignore this! thankyou loveyou 😛 hope u have an amazing day <3

HOT GIRL SUMMER! — toji fushiguro x female reader

18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. gym trainer toji, gym trainee reader. mentions of gojo satoru. toji's kinda a dork. lots of sexual tension. big dick toji yessir. orgasm control & denial. doggy style. fingering (f. receiving). big four: dirty talk, degradation, teasing and praise. slight dacryphilia. overstimulation and mindbreak. hair pulling. semi-clothed sex. locker room sex. p in v sex (protected!! no creampies today folks). crack + fluff ending, somewhat aftercare?

thank you to anon who requested this <3 i hope you enjoy!

— general masterlist ☆ read on ao3

your first day at the gym felt a little like the first day of school — except instead of a backpack full of supplies, you had a duffel bag stuffed with coordinated athleisure and just a tiny bit of misplaced confidence.

toji fushiguro. the name echoed in your head like a mantra, which was completely coincidental and not at all the result of a quick late-night “gym instructor thirst trap” google search. nope, not at all.

as you walked in, the gym smelled of disinfectant and...testosterone? was that what testosterone smelled like? you weren’t sure, but it had a distinct, musky gym-bro-y vibe. before you could question your life choices, a deep, gravelly voice boomed over the general clatter of weights and treadmills.

“alright, rookies! welcome to hot girl summer bootcamp. i’m your instructor, toji. keep up, and you’ll love me. fall behind...and you’ll still love me, just a little less. maybe. let’s go!”

oh.

my.

god.

this man wasn’t just hot. he was illegal. broad shoulders that could probably carry a family of four, a scar on his lips that somehow made him hotter, and those arms — did the gym air conditioning suddenly malfunction, or were you overheating just looking at him?

play it cool, you thought, adjusting your cropped tank top and hoping you looked effortlessly sporty rather than like someone who stayed up all night watching his gym tutorials on youtube.

“you, newbie,” toji pointed in your direction, his sharp green eyes locking onto yours. “what’s your goal for the program?”

your brain short-circuited. goal? what goal?

“uh, uh...i want to — uh…” you stammered, your mouth suddenly drier than a protein shake with no milk. “be able to...carry all my groceries in one trip?” nailed it.

he raised an eyebrow, smirking as if you were the funniest thing he’d heard all morning. “realistic. i respect that.”

as he moved on to interrogate another poor soul about their fitness dreams, you caught yourself staring at the way his tank top clung to his chest. focus! focus! groceries!

the first warm-up nearly killed you.

it wasn’t even anything extreme — just high knees and jumping jacks — but you were convinced your spirit left your body halfway through. toji, however, didn’t seem to notice your imminent demise.

“c’mon, grocery girl,” he teased, jogging over to you during a plank hold. “don’t tap out on me already. what’s that, two minutes?”

two minutes felt like two hours.

“easy for you to say,” you panted, glaring at him. “you look like you eat kettlebells for breakfast.”

toji crouched beside you, his smirk growing wider. “nah, i eat waffles. protein ones. maybe i’ll make you some when you hit your first milestone.”

oh, so you’re a malewife too? just take me now.

you managed to survive the rest of the class, though it involved more wheezing than you’d like to admit. as you grabbed your water bottle, toji sauntered past, giving you a casual, devastating grin.

“good hustle, grocery girl,” he said. “see you tomorrow?”

you nodded, cheeks flaming. “yeah, tomorrow,” you replied, already dreading the soreness that was about to hit you in waves.

walking out of the gym, you made a mental note:

stop chanting his name during your nightly activities, because that would definitely get weird if you slipped up in class.

figure out how to be normal around the human equivalent of a greek god.

spoiler alert: you wouldn’t succeed.

— ☆

toji leaned against the front desk, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he eyed satoru, who was fiddling with his phone instead of paying attention to literally anything else. typical.

"seriously, satoru," toji grumbled, his voice a low growl. "five grand for this program? five? you think these rookies deserve me for that price? do you know how many squats i had to watch today? squats, done wrong."

"aw, c’mon, toji," satoru drawled, not even looking up. "think of it as community service. you're making the world hotter one newbie at a time." he flicked his snow-white bangs out of his annoyingly perfect face.

"besides, you love attention. what are you complaining about?"

toji's scowl deepened. "attention doesn't pay my rent, dipshit. if i wanted praise, i'd do push-ups on the street. and don't call this ‘community service.’ i ain't some saint."

satoru grinned, finally setting his phone down. "you're just mad because you can't charge extra for...specialized instruction." his grin turned wicked. "you know, one-on-one, intense focus...maybe a hand here, a hand there."

"you're disgusting," toji deadpanned, though he didn’t bother denying the accusation.

"but i'm not wrong," satoru shot back, leaning on his elbows. "soooo? any student caught your eye yet? some sweaty rookie got your heart racing?"

toji huffed, his lip curling into a smirk. "isn’t it obvious?"

satoru blinked, genuinely curious. "wait, for real? who? the one in the neon pink outfit? or the guy with the weight belt who clearly didn’t need it?"

toji ignored the question, grabbing his water bottle from the counter. "none of your business, dipshit. but let’s just say someone’s got a long way to go before they’re carrying groceries in one trip."

“groceries?” satoru cackled, almost doubling over. “oh, man. you really know how to pick ‘em, huh? let me guess, rookie can’t plank for more than thirty seconds without praying for salvation?”

toji’s smirk widened just a fraction, and he turned toward the gym floor. "thirty seconds? generous. more like twenty. but...they've got potential."

“potential or a cute face?” satoru called after him, earning himself the bird as toji disappeared into the weight room.

satoru shook his head, still chuckling. “toji, you greedy bastard. just don’t make it weird, yeah?”

as if that was possible.

— ☆

day three, and your thighs felt like they’d been personally cursed by the devil himself. you were convinced that even sitting down was a workout at this point.

but toji? toji looked fresher than a damn protein shake commercial — biceps bulging, sweat glistening, and his sharp green eyes scanning the room like a predator hunting his next meal.

and maybe, just maybe, you were on the menu.

you caught him staring again. or maybe that was just wishful thinking? nah. those weren’t just glances — they were slow, deliberate, and paired with that cocky little smirk that said he knew. knew you were stealing glances at him every time he turned his back. knew you were biting your lip and adjusting your shorts every time he got too close.

“grocery girl!” his voice cut through your haze, and you nearly tripped over your own feet.

“y-yeah?” you stammered, clutching your water bottle like it was a lifeline.

“plank position,” he ordered, stalking toward you with a towel slung over his shoulder. “let’s see if you’ve improved since day one.”

improved? babe, i can’t even look at my floor without flashbacks to this torture.

still, you dropped down, doing your best to hold the position without trembling too much. but then he crouched next to you — close enough that you could smell the clean, heady scent of his sweat — and suddenly, holding anything became a challenge.

“hips down,” he murmured, his voice low, and your brain went static.

before you could process it, his hand was on your lower back, pressing gently to correct your form. “like this. don’t cheat yourself.”

cheat myself? i’m about to cheat on my sanity if you don’t move that hand.

“you good?” he asked, his tone dipping into something almost teasing.

“uh-huh,” you croaked, feeling the tremble in your arms spread to every inch of your body.

“ya sure?” he leaned in just enough for his breath to ghost against your ear. “y’er shakin’ like a leaf.”

if you weren’t so oxygen-deprived, you might’ve said something snarky. instead, you clenched your jaw, determined not to crumble under his gaze — or the weight of his stupidly attractive hand.

“good girl,” he finally said, pulling back.

your entire body locked up.

did. he. just.

“keep it up,” he added casually, walking off like he hadn’t just detonated a dirty bomb in your brain.

you managed to hold the plank for another ten seconds before collapsing into a heap, thighs burning and mind spinning.

grocery girl? more like gone girl.

but as you left the gym that night, legs wobbling and sanity in tatters, you couldn’t stop replaying his words.

maybe next time, you wouldn’t just be locking in groceries. maybe you’d be swinging something a little more...muscular.

— ☆

you burst into the gym like a bat out of hell, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, cheeks flushed, and already out of breath — and you hadn’t even started the workout yet.

the weeknd’s smooth, sultry vocals blared from the speakers, which only made the scene more ridiculous. this wasn’t exactly the kind of music that screamed “fitness bootcamp.” but then again, satoru — ever the chaotic piece of shit — was in charge of the playlist. because why not let the white-haired menace control everything?

“late again,” toji’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and low, cutting right into your frazzled panic.

you froze mid-sprint, your brain short-circuiting as you turned toward him. he was standing at the front of the gym, arms crossed, one brow raised in a perfect arch of judgment.

“got caught up,” you said, lamely holding up your water bottle like it explained anything.

toji didn’t budge. he didn’t even blink. instead, his eyes dragged over you slowly, assessing. it wasn’t the fun kind of eyeing-up you hoped for; it was the “how much time are you about to waste” look.

“class started fifteen minutes ago,” he said, his tone laced with that signature mix of annoyance and condescension that had you wanting to melt into the floor.

“yeah, well, blame the playlist,” you blurted, motioning toward the speakers. “you ever try running on time to ‘earned it?’”

the corner of toji’s mouth twitched, but he quickly covered it by rubbing the back of his neck. “don’t try blaming satoru for your inability to read a clock.”

you swallowed, your cheeks heating up even more. “i’ll make it up, promise!”

toji snorted, shaking his head as he stepped closer. “oh, you’ll make it up alright.”

you blinked. “huh?”

“stay after class,” he said simply, his gaze locking onto yours. “you can finish the session one-on-one. wouldn’t want you wasting that bargain-bin fee you paid for this ‘hot girl summer’ thing.”

your jaw nearly hit the floor. stay back? alone? with toji?

your brain immediately jumped into overdrive, filling in all the blanks with...decidedly non-fitness-related scenarios.

“uh, sure,” you managed to squeak, your voice somehow two octaves higher than normal.

“good,” he said, already turning away. “get moving, grocery girl. we’re doing circuits today.”

as you stumbled to the nearest mat, still reeling from the interaction, satoru leaned out from behind the front desk, earbuds dangling.

“one-on-one, huh?” he sing-songed, loud enough for you to hear over the weeknd’s crooning. “careful, rookie. toji’s not great with boundaries.”

toji flipped him the bird without even looking back, and you bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing — or screaming.

you didn’t know whether to be mortified or excited, but one thing was certain: this program was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

toji leaned against the squat rack, arms folded over his chest, watching you with a smirk that had trouble written all over it. sure, he didn’t care who rolled into class late — hell, he didn’t even care if they showed up. paycheck was a paycheck. but you? oh, you were special.

watching you stumble in all flustered and breathless, making excuses about playlists and time management? priceless.

now, you were sprawled out on the bench, your brows furrowed in determination as you pushed up a whole ten kilograms like it was the weight of the world. your form was...passable, at best.

“careful there, champ,” toji drawled, stepping closer. “don’t wanna overdo it. wouldn’t want you pulling a muscle with that massive load.”

you shot him a glare, though the pink creeping up your neck betrayed your attempt at nonchalance. “’s fine. i’ve got this.”

toji crouched down next to you, resting his forearms on his knees as he tilted his head, studying your face. “uh-huh. ya sure? y’er arms shakin’ like a chihuahua in a thunderstorm.”

“they’re not!” you protested, though your voice wobbled a little.

“mhmm,” he hummed, leaning in just enough to make your pulse spike. “y’er breathin’ all wrong too. gotta pace yourself. in through your nose, out through your mouth. like this.”

before you could argue, he demonstrated, exhaling slow and deliberate, his lips quirking into a smirk when your eyes flicked to them.

“got it?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

you nodded quickly, your grip on the bar tightening as you tried to focus.

“good,” he said, standing up and moving behind the bench. “because i’m upping the weight.”

“what — wait!” you yelped, nearly dropping the bar as he added an extra plate to each side.

“relaaxx, grocery girl,” toji said, his smirk widening. “y’er stronger than ya think. or is it all talk?”

your jaw dropped. “i’m not all talk!”

“prove it.”

you gritted your teeth, determined not to give him the satisfaction of backing down. with a deep breath, you pushed up the bar again, your muscles screaming in protest.

“there you go,” toji said, his voice annoyingly calm. “juusst like that. keep goin’. you wanna make it to after-class, don’t you?”

you nearly dropped the bar. “excuse me?!”

toji chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. “you heard me. gotta be in top shape for...extra training. wouldn’t wanna disappoint, would you?”

you sat up, face burning, and watched him walk away, his broad shoulders and infuriating smirk seared into your brain.

what the hell had you signed up for?

— ☆

toji cursed under his breath, leaning on the counter at the front desk where satoru was spinning a pen between his fingers like he had nothing better to do.

“the hell are you even doing here?” toji grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “you’re not even working today.”

“who says ‘m not working?” satoru chirped, not bothering to look up. “i’m in charge of morale. and you look like you could use some.”

toji rolled his eyes. “whatever. just...ya got a condom or what?”

that got satoru’s attention. the pen stilled, and his blue eyes flicked up, wide with mock surprise. “toji fushiguro asking me for protection? man, didn’t think i’d live to see the day!”

“shut the hell up,” toji growled, looking around like the floor might swallow him whole.

“relax, big guy,” satoru teased, standing up and fishing through his gym bag. “why do you need one anyway? didn’t know you were into ‘safe sets.’”

toji’s eye twitched. “just hand it over.”

“ohhh,” satoru grinned, pulling out a foil packet and dangling it between two fingers. “don’t tell me this is for grocery girl? you finally gonna ask her if she’s dtf?”

toji swiped the condom out of his hand, shoving it in his pocket. “shut up, and dtf doesn’t mean what you think it does.”

“doesn’t it?” satoru grinned, leaning on the counter. “down to flexibility? full-body workout? man, she’s been killing those planks lately. bet she could handle it.”

toji muttered something incomprehensible, walking away before he could throttle the smug bastard.

back in the gym, you were finishing your last set, your face flushed and sweat dripping down your temple. despite the tremble in your arms, you racked the weights with a triumphant sigh.

“better late than never,” toji said, his voice low and smug as he appeared beside you.

“jesus, do you ever not sneak up on people?” you snapped, though your smile betrayed the irritation.

“you survived,” he said, ignoring your jab and eyeing you with a mix of approval and something darker. “good. now you ready for your after-class session?”

you blinked, tilting your head in confusion. “after-class? i thought we were done.”

toji smirked, leaning in just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “oh, we’re just getting started.”

his eyes flicked over you, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

“now let’s see how flexible you really are,” he murmured, straightening up and motioning for you to follow him.

your heart pounded as you trailed behind him, the faintest smirk tugging at your lips.

maybe satoru wasn’t entirely wrong about the full-body workout after all.

— ☆

you may have looked like the epitome of gym-girl confidence on the outside, with your matching hot pink spandex set, a perfectly executed high ponytail, and that “accidental” giggle whenever toji smirked your way, but inside? absolute chaos. a full-blown mental spiral.

did you stink? like...bad enough to ruin the vibe? gym sweat wasn’t exactly the kind that screamed sexy glisten. and no, BO unfortunately didn’t stand for bend over — though give it a few minutes and maybe that could change. if you played your cards right.

was your hair still in place? you couldn’t even check without making it obvious. sure, it felt secure, but your elastic had seen things today, and who’s to say it wasn’t moments away from snapping like your sanity?

and your lips — oh god, your lips. you’d spent twenty minutes on that routine before leaving the house, crafting the kind of pout that was supposed to say “effortlessly kissable.” the process itself had been more intensive than a skincare regime, involving a lineup of:

a honey sugar scrub (scrub, rinse, repeat),

a hydrating lip mask (because you weren’t about to let crust ruin the vibe),

a peach-toned lip liner to enhance the shape (read: fake plumpness),

a glossy pink-tinted balm for the natural flush, and

a strategically placed clear gloss dab right at the center for that “i’m dewy and so is my life” illusion.

now? that careful work had probably melted into oblivion, and you were too chicken to check in case it looked like you’d been eating barbecue wings during your bench presses.

but there was no time to worry about any of that now. because toji — yes, your gym instructor toji — had waved you into the locker room with one of those stupidly smug smirks, the kind that promised trouble.

and now here you were, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty space, his broad frame taking up way too much room as he leaned against the lockers, arms crossed.

“so,” he drawled, his deep voice practically dripping with amusement, “you gonna stand there all day, or did you actually wanna get to the...extra training?”

you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry despite your meticulous hydration schedule all day. “oh, um, yeah. totally. i’m ready.”

toji arched a brow, taking a slow step toward you. “you sure? because you look a little...distracted.”

“i’m not distracted!” you blurted, louder than intended. “i’m just...focused.”

he chuckled, low and gravelly, closing the space between you in two strides. “focused, huh?” his gaze flicked down to your lips, lingering just long enough to make your knees wobble.

“then prove it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “show me just how much you’ve been paying attention.”

your breath hitched as he leaned in, his hand coming to rest on the locker beside your head.

mental checklist? forgotten. lip gloss? nonexistent. your name? who even knows.

but whatever was about to happen, you were damn sure it was about to be worth it.

— ☆

toji had this all planned out — or so he thought.

he was supposed to be the cool, non-chalant one here, the collected gym instructor with the alpha energy. though just thinking that phrase made him grimace. alpha energy?

yikes. he’d rather drop his dumbbells on his own feet than lean into that nonsense.

but still, he had a role to play, didn’t he? lead the charge, keep it professional until it wasn’t. you know, manly things. hot-gym-instructor-guy things.

except now, as he leaned casually (or so he hoped) against the locker, one arm propped above your head, his brain was running through a thousand different scenarios, none of which involved him being the one to lose his cool first.

toji couldn’t help it though — he was sweating. not just the faint gym sheen kind of sweat, but the sweating bullets kind, the kind that made him worried he’d be the one stinking up the confined space of the locker room. which, really, was the last thing he needed when he was trying to exude effortless charm.

he opened his mouth, ready to play it smooth. “so, you —”

and then your lips were on his, crashing into him with so much urgency it almost made him stumble.

oh. okay then.

toji froze for half a second — half a heartbeat — before the message clicked loud and clear in his brain. whatever he thought he was going to say, whatever stupid quip he had lined up, melted into nothing as he cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer like the damn door to the locker room was about to disappear and leave you stranded.

you tasted faintly like strawberries, probably from whatever overpriced lip product you’d slathered on before this, and toji had to suppress the urge to groan. the kind of groan that might make you think he was more desperate than he wanted to admit. but the way your hands fisted in his tank top, tugging him even closer, made him reconsider — maybe desperation wasn’t so bad.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, your lips flushed and eyes wide, and gave a low chuckle that felt more confident than he actually was in the moment. “well,” he drawled, his voice rougher than he intended, “guess we’re skipping the warm-up.”

you rolled your eyes, but your breath hitched as his hand slid down to your waist. “don’t act like you weren’t waiting for it.”

toji smirked, leaning in until his lips brushed against your ear. “message received, loud and clear, sweetheart.”

he might’ve thought he was supposed to be in charge, but hell, he wasn’t complaining about this turn of events.

“now let’s see if you’ve been keeping up with your endurance training,” he murmured, his voice teasing, but his grip on your hips told you he was already taking this challenge seriously.

training? oh, the session was just getting started.

— ☆

you thought you had an idea. you’d done your research, watched enough videos of the kind of stuff that should’ve prepped you for moments like this. but this? this was an entirely new level of freaky, toe-curling, brain-melting insanity.

toji had a system, a stupidly cruel system that you were 90% sure he cooked up just to mess with you. it was simple: he’d trace a muscle on your body, one agonizingly slow swipe of his rough fingertips at a time, and if you guessed the name of it right? well, you’d cum that many times.

easy, right? wrong. so wrong.

especially because right now, this cocky little shit had your gym spandex yanked down to your thighs, your ass perched high in the air, and was treating this whole situation like it was a damn trivia segment on who wants to be a millionaire. except the prize wasn’t cash — it was a full-blown ride to pound-town.

“alright, genius,” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement as his fingers brushed over the curve of your shoulder, down to your upper arm. “name this muscle.”

you froze, your breath hitching as the cool air brushed against your heated skin. “uh — uh, the...deltoid?” you stammered, hoping the few snippets of your high school bio class would come in clutch.

toji snorted, clearly unimpressed. “correct. guess you do pay attention sometimes.”

the next second, he was gripping your hip, his free hand sliding between your thighs in a way that made your brain short-circuit.

oh.

“‘s one,” he muttered against your ear, low and teasing. “don’t get cocky yet, though. we’ve barely started.”

you barely had time to catch your breath before his hand trailed lower, stopping just above your thigh. “now,” he continued, his tone infuriatingly calm for a man currently wrecking your ability to think straight, “what’s this one called?”

you blinked, frantically rummaging through the dark corners of your mind for an answer. shit, what was it? quad? hamstring? quad-something?

“uh...quadricep?” you ventured, your voice shaking.

toji hummed, the sound vibrating against your skin. “good girl. maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

then he moved. his hand, his lips, the sheer weight of him — every part of him was suddenly everywhere at once, dragging you so close you could barely breathe.

and just when you thought you might lose it, he leaned back, smirking like the devil himself.

“next question,” he said, his fingers brushing over the curve of your back. “get it wrong, and we start all over again. think you can handle that, doll?”

you groaned, face buried in your arms. “‘s isn’t fair,” you muttered.

toji chuckled, dark and low. “oh, sweetheart, life isn’t fair. but this?” his grip tightened, his breath warm against your ear. “this is me being generous.”

generous? you’d show him generous. if you didn’t pass out first.

— ☆

“well, well,” toji murmured, his breath hot against your neck as he trailed his lips down your spine, his rough palms kneading the soft curve of your hips. “looks like someone paid attention in class after all. didn’t think you’d actually pass my lil’ quiz, but here we are.”

you should’ve felt victorious, proud even. but all you could focus on was the heat pooling between your thighs and the way his voice dipped into that gravelly tone, each word laced with promise.

“so here’s the reward,” he drawled, sliding a hand beneath you to spread your thighs just a little wider. “two orgasms. back to back. think you can keep up, sweetheart?”

you shuddered, biting down hard on your lip to stop the whimper threatening to spill out.

toji smirked, watching you squirm under him. “oh no, no. don’t get shy on me now,” he teased, his fingers dragging along your slick folds, collecting the evidence of just how desperate you were. “your little cunt’s doin’ all the talkin’ for ya anyway. she’s real chatty tonight, huh?”

you buried your face in your arms, heat blooming across your cheeks as the filthy squelch echoed in the confined space of the locker room.

“awww, embarrassed?” he chuckled darkly, pressing two fingers into you without warning. “don’t be. she’s got a lot to say, and trust me, ‘m alll ears.”

you gasped, clamping a hand over your mouth as he started a slow, deliberate rhythm, curling his fingers just right.

“ah-ah,” toji chided, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the locker above your head. “none of that. i said quiet, but not that quiet. lemme hear you, baby.”

you whimpered, hips bucking against his hand as his pace quickened, his free hand gripping your ass to keep you in place.

“fucckkk,” he muttered, glancing down at the ruined fabric of your hot pink pants. “look at that. already makin’ a mess, huh?”

your head shot up, panic flashing across your face. “toji! these are new —”

“not my problem,” he interrupted, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he pressed his thumb against your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “you shoulda thought about that before you wore somethin’ so tight. can’t even blame me. ya lil’ cunt’s the one makin’ all the mess.”

you groaned, half from frustration and half from the sheer overwhelming sensation as he added another finger, stretching you just right.

“tell ya what,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned closer, lips brushing against your ear. “if you make it through both without ruinin’ those pants completely...maybe, just maybe, i’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

“but if ya don’t?” toji chuckled, biting gently at your earlobe. “well...guess you’ll just have to wear ‘em messy next time.”

— ☆

“fucckk, you’re s’tight,” toji grunted, his fingers dragging slick trails over your thighs as he teased his tip against your entrance. “first with those tiny-ass weights, now this? guess i gotta stretch you out for the real deal, huh?”

you whimpered into your forearm, legs trembling from the aftershocks of the first orgasm he’d just coaxed out of you with his damn fingers alone. your head was a haze of pleasure and overstimulation, too lost in it to even realize how thoroughly you’d ruined your cute pink pants.

“hey,” he rasped, smacking your ass lightly to snap you back. “don’t go floatin’ off on me just yet, sweetheart. we’re just gettin’ started.”

his voice dropped lower, the sound rolling through the locker room like a growl as he pressed the fat head of his cock to your slick entrance, giving just the slightest nudge. “shit, you’re fuckin’ drippin’ already. you want it that bad, huh? bet you couldn’t even tell me when your pants hit the floor.”

“toji,” you whimpered, trying to form a coherent thought, but it all shattered the moment he pushed just the tip inside.

“ohh fuucckkk yeah,” he groaned, his head tilting back, a shudder running through his massive frame. “ya feel that, baby? nice and slow…fuckin’ perfect fit.”

he sank in another inch, his girth forcing you to stretch around him. the burn was sweet, electric, and you couldn’t stop the high-pitched cry that escaped your lips.

“shi, don’t go cryin’ on me now,” he muttered, though his voice was laced with a smirk. “or is it just ‘cause s’too big, huh? couldn’t handle me even if you tried.”

your walls fluttered around him at his words, and he hissed through his teeth, gripping your hips to steady you. “oh, ya like that? filthy lil’ girl. already squeezin’ me like you don’t want me to pull out.”

you tried to push back, eager to take more of him, but toji’s hand slammed down on the curve of your back, holding you in place. “nuh-uh, not s’fast. you’re gonna take me slow, jussst like this,” he grunted, rocking his hips forward and shoving another few inches inside.

“fucccck,” he hissed, leaning down so his chest pressed against your back, his voice all gravel and heat in your ear. “you’re gonna break under me, baby, but you’ll fuckin’ thank me for it later.”

you moaned, gripping the locker for dear life as he finally bottomed out, his cock buried so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“there we go,” he growled, pulling back slightly before slamming back in, the force jolting you forward. “shit, look at you, takin’ it so good. bet you’ll be thinking ‘bout this every time you put those tight little gym pants on again, huh?”

he thrust again, harder this time, his cock dragging against every nerve ending as he set a brutal pace.

“fuckin’ mess,” he groaned, looking down at the slick mess coating your thighs and dripping onto the floor. “but don’t worry, baby. promise i’ll make it worth ya while.”

toji’s pace was merciless, each snap of his hips pushing you further into the lockers as your trembling hands scrambled for something — anything — to hold on to. the metal surface was cold under your palms, a sharp contrast to the fiery heat pooling low in your belly.

“fuck, look at you,” he grunted behind you, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “all that attitude earlier, now ya can’t even keep your knees steady.”

you whimpered, trying to push back against him, but your legs were too weak to cooperate. toji didn’t seem to mind, one arm looping around your waist to pull you flush against him as his other hand dipped between your legs. the first stroke of his fingers over your clit had your head lolling back against his chest.

“shit,” you gasped, barely able to form the word as he worked tight, relentless circles against the swollen bud.

“what was that, baby?” toji’s voice was a rough purr in your ear, laced with amusement. “can’t hear you over all that babblin’. ya sayin’ somethin’ real important, huh?”

you weren’t, not really. every attempt to speak came out as a mix of incoherent cries and choked moans, your brain too fogged up to string together a single coherent thought.

toji chuckled, leaning back just enough to grab your tit through the snug fabric of your gym top. “shiit, look at these,” he murmured, giving it a firm squeeze that had you arching into his touch. “what’s this one called, huh? c’mon, grocery girl, don’t tell me you’ve been skipping anatomy class.”

you blinked rapidly, trying to summon any semblance of a logical response, but the only thing that tumbled out of your mouth was a breathy, “b-boobs.”

toji froze. for a moment, the locker room was silent except for the wet, obscene sounds of your slick and his choked laugh. “boobs?” he repeated, his tone a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“uh-huh,” you nodded dumbly, too far gone to register the trap you’d just walked into.

toji groaned, but not the kind that promised satisfaction. he pulled back just slightly, the absence of his cock stretching you leaving you whining in frustration. “wrong answer, sweetheart.”

“w-what?” you stammered, your brain slowly catching up.

he pulled his hand away from your clit, ignoring your desperate whine. “told you, you gotta earn it. and what ya just said? ain’t even a muscle.”

“but —”

“nah,” he interrupted, gripping your hips to keep you from squirming against him. “you don’t even get the extra credit for effort.”

you felt him shift behind you, his cock brushing against your inner thigh, just out of reach.

“toojiiii!” you practically wailed, your voice pitching in desperation.

“naaahh, don’t ‘toji’ me now,” he drawled, smirking even though you couldn’t see him. “guess you’ll just have to wait for round two to get it right.”

the realization hit you like a truck: no correct answer, no dick.

“it’s the pectoralis major!” you blurted out, your voice cracking with panic.

toji chuckled low in his throat. “shit, there’s my smart girl,” he murmured, thrusting back inside you with one sharp, fluid motion that knocked the air out of your lungs.

“fuck, baby,” he grunted, picking up his punishing pace once again. “next time, don’t make me work so hard for it, yeah?”

you’re not sure who to thank first — god, your ancestors, or that one stray eyelash wish you made last week — because the way toji’s pounding into you feels like some divine intervention. maybe all of them had a hand in it. you’re sobbing — like, genuinely sobbing — and not just because of the hair-pulling or the fact that toji’s filthy mouth has been spewing the most degrading things you’ve ever heard.

“shit, cryin’ already?” his voice is rough, tinged with smug amusement as he fists your hair tighter. “can’t handle it, baby? nah, you’re tougher than that. gotta be — still lettin’ me wreck this tight little pussy like it’s mine.”

you hiccup a broken moan, legs trembling so violently you’re barely upright, and the lockers are the only thing keeping you from collapsing. your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through your body so hard you swear you lose all sense of time and space.

“therrre she goes,” toji groans, his grip on your waist tightening as he drives into you harder, chasing his own high. “look at this mess. got you so fucked out you don’t even know where you are, huh?”

you can’t respond — not with how your body’s spasming, clamping down on him like a vice, dragging him closer to his edge.

“fuck, gonna cum with me, yeah?” he growls, voice strained, his hips stuttering as he holds you so close it feels like you’re merging into one.

him cumming is the final nail in the coffin, sending you careening into an aftershock so intense you’re genuinely concerned you might pass out. both of you stay locked in place, panting heavily, sweat dripping off your bodies as the reality of your very messy situation sets in.

toji’s the first to break the silence, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk. “guess you’re gonna need a new gym set, huh? no savin’ this one.”

you groan, burying your face against the locker as if it could somehow swallow you whole. “yeah, no shit.”

he chuckles, pulling back just enough to smack your ass lightly, earning a half-hearted glare from you. “don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, baby. besides…” he shrugs, flexing a little in his tank top as he adjusts it. “i still look good in this, so we both won here.”

“we truly live in a society,” you mutter under your breath, earning another laugh from him.

he leans down to kiss the side of your neck, smirking against your skin. “damn right we do. now, c’mon, let’s clean up before satoru comes snoopin’. dude’s nosier than a fuckin’ bloodhound.”

— ☆

toji, ever the professional, seems to flip a switch the moment your sweaty, blissed-out bodies part. he’s tugging his tank top back into place and wiping his face like he’s about to lead another class. the audacity.

his voice takes on this infuriatingly instructional tone, his hand on your lower back steadying you as he rattles off something about muscle recovery or post-workout hydration.

“you’re gonna wanna stretch that hamstring later,” he mutters, glancing down at your wobbly legs that threaten to betray you with every second. “looks like you overworked it — shouldn’t push yourself too hard, sweetheart.”

you blink at him, utterly dumbfounded. this man — this man — is casually chatting about hamstrings while his cum is literally dripping down your thighs and your legs are trembling so hard you could probably register on the richter scale.

“you’re seriously talking about muscles right now?” you deadpan, crossing your arms even though they feel like noodles. “toji, ’m boutta faceplant, and you’re out here giving me a biology lecture.”

he grins, a little too pleased with himself, and leans down to plant his hands on his knees, face so close you can practically feel the warmth of his breath. “what, want me to kiss it better or somethin’?”

“kiss me, idiot,” you huff, tugging him forward by the neckline of that stupidly tight tank top until your lips meet his.

and just like that, the gym instructor act shatters. his shoulders relax, his hand curling around your waist with a gentleness that feels so at odds with how he’d been handling you not five minutes ago.

he hums against your lips, pulling back just enough to mutter, “damn, baby, you’re somethin’ else.”

“soooo, does this mean you’re carrying my groceries now?” you tease, brushing some of your messed-up hair out of your face.

“depends,” he smirks, straightening up and patting your ass with zero shame. “can you walk without lookin’ like a baby deer? if not, ’m keepin’ my hands free to catch ya when you inevitably fall on your cute little face.”

you roll your eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “big talk for someone who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“can’t help it,” he shrugs, leaning in close again with that wolfish grin of his. “you make it too damn easy, princess.”

if he keeps this up, your next gym session might be less about training and more about dodging toji’s wandering hands in the frozen food aisle.

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the-offside-rule · 3 months ago

Text

Franco Colapinto (Williams) - Dulce

Requested: no it just reminds me of the time i tried mate on my exchange year in spain😭

Warnings: nope

Y/n set up her phone on the counter, the familiar red light blinking as she began recording her TikTok. Today's video? Making mate for the first time. Well, at least pretending to. She had watched her boyfriend Franco make it countless times, taking it very seriously, as any true Argentine would. Today, though, she decided to throw in a little twist; a joke that would surely catch him off guard.

The kitchen was warm, and she could feel Franco's presence nearby, lounging in the living room, trying to act uninterested. He always grew curious whenever she pulled out the mate gourd, even though he pretended not to care. Y/n started the video with a playful tone, smiling at the camera. “Alright, guys! Today I’m going to make mate. Argentine style. My boyfriend is the expert, but I’ve picked up a few things.” She threw a glance over her shoulder, catching Franco's eyebrow rising slightly, though he remained focused on his phone.

She handled the yerba with an impressive level of confidence, pouring it into the gourd just as Franco had shown her. So far, so good. She leaned toward the camera, whispering with a mischievous smile, “I’m going to show you how to make it the right way… with a little twist.” Reaching for a small jar of sugar from the counter, Y/n kept it hidden from Franco’s line of sight. The moment the jar clinked, she felt Franco shift on the couch, his attention now fully on her. His head popped up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Che, amor! What are you doing?" Suppressing a grin, she maintained her TikTok persona. “Adding a little sweetness, babe! I’ve read that sugar makes it taste better!”

Franco's eyes widened in shock, and within seconds, he was off the couch, hurrying toward her. "No, no, no, no!" He exclaimed, voice panicked. “Y/n, no podés ponerle azúcar al mate!” He stared at the gourd like she had just broken an ancient law. Y/n could barely keep a straight face as she continued to sprinkle the sugar onto the yerba. "But it makes it sweeter! People put sugar in their tea all the time, why not mate?" Franco, clearly distressed, snatched the jar of sugar from her hand, holding it up as if it were some forbidden artifact. “Because this is not tea! Es mate, entendés? You’re supposed to taste the bitterness, the soul of it!” He gestured wildly, his accent thickening with the urgency of his words. “It’s tradition! No se toca con azúcar!"

That was it; Y/n couldn’t hold it in any longer. Laughter spilled out of her, causing Franco to blink in confusion. "Oh my god, you’re so cute when you get all worked up! Franco, relax. It’s a joke. I’m not actually putting sugar in the mate." For a moment, he just stood there, staring at her, trying to process what she said. He glanced back at the gourd, realizing she hadn’t actually added any sugar, she just pretending for the camera. His tense shoulders finally relaxed, and a sheepish smile crept onto his face.

"Dios mío, Y/n." He muttered, relief lining his voice. "You almost gave me a heart attack. You don’t mess with mate like that. It's sacred." Y/n laughed again, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately. “I know, I know. But it was too easy to mess with you.” Franco grumbled something under his breath in Spanish, but his smile was already tugging at his lips. Y/n turned back to her phone, giving the camera a playful wink. “That’s it for today’s video! Franco’s mate-lover approval is very serious, but we got him good!” Franco leaned over her shoulder, eyeing the camera with mock suspicion. “Next time, I’m making sure you’re doing it right.”

Y/n smiled, leaning back against him. "Deal. But maybe next time, you should be the one making it on camera." She giggled, poking his cheek. “Claro.” He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “As long as you promise no more sugar jokes.” She smirked, turning off the recording. “No promises.”

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 oneshots #franco colapinto x y/n #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto blurb #franco colapinto fanfiction #franco colapinto imagines #franco colapinto

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alastorss · 8 months ago

Note

we've seen Alastor with deaf reader. but what about Alastor and blind reader?

how confusing it would be for them meeting Alastor for the first time with the radio filter overlaying his voice

and how confusing it would be for our deer man to find out he grew soft spot for reader? bc they find his voice very soothing to listen? since their hearing senses are hightened due to the blindness

so in one of their shared peaceful moments he asks reader if they want to see him. and to answer their startled expression he just brings their hands to lay on his face.. for them to "read" his appearence..

sorry if there are mistakes, Im not eng. love your writing sm, thanks for quality food you bring us, fluff-starved people!

💕

a/n: hiii hun!! i'm so so sorry i took so long to respond to this, but i really wanted to write something for this because aaaaahhhhh that's such a good idea omg 😭❤️ i hope you like it!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor once believed himself to be the demon of all demons.

He was everything a Sinner wanted to be and everything a Sinner feared in one soul—a package wrapped up pretty with a bowtie. He loved it. Thrived on it.

There was something so delicious about terror.

He played into his horrifying image. Purposefully made his presence known; broadcasted screams for all to hear. Power and fame only made him greedier for souls.

Being the center of attention came naturally for him. As natural as breathing, friends would jest. He attracted eyes wherever he went. Some admiring. Some not.

So it was quite a shock when you bumped right into him on the street and didn't immediately comb him over with your eyes.

"I'm sorry," you quickly stammered out, fiddling with your own sleeves.

Finally, you looked at him, but he could tell you were just looking for the sake of looking. Absently, you stared at him as you waited for a response.

Perhaps you expected him to chew you out. To lay a hand on you or to drag you into the alley so he could kick you until you bled. He could see it in your expression.

His heart uncharacteristically ached.

Instead, he steadied you by the shoulders and fixed a stray lock of hair out of your face.

"Carry on, my dear," he mused.

He was surprised with how pleased he was when you smiled at him. Big and wide—charming, really. He was hooked.

Alastor became a frequent in the area, always keeping his eyes peeled for you so he could take your arm into his and ferry you around. You insisted that you were fine, that you didn't need help, but he denied that those were his intentions. He simply wanted your company.

(And to scare off any other demons who had hit you or spat at you before.)

Eventually, you grew fond of him, too.

You could hear him so clearly—the trail of death and despair he left behind was loud, after all. Screaming souls followed his every move. For some reason, it comforted you.

He never tried playing nasty pranks on you. Never tried sneaking up behind you just to scare you, or hit you just because he could.

Alastor did not feel like a demon anymore.

Sinister and cruel, he thought the words didn't suit him when you were walking hand-in-hand.

For as many lives as he took, he had a soft spot for you.

His very presence brought you ease. You knew no one dared to approach a weak Sinner like you when you had him dangling off your arm. He found ways to fill the silence when you weren't chatting, just assuring you he was there.

"You're too kind to me," you once said to him. "You're not an angel trying to trick me, are you?"

"I am!" He chuckled, feeding into your little joke.

The way you laughed made his heart squeeze in the same way it had when he first met you. For a moment he felt nothing but guilt burn in his stomach.

He was the demon of all demons, but for some reason, he couldn't stand you thinking he was a demon at all.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Ever since convincing you to come to the hotel with him, you've not left his side once.

Not that he was complaining about it.

Surrounded with new people and often jolting out of your own skin whenever they began impromptu musical numbers, Alastor could tell you were entirely out of your element.

You were slowly but surely beginning to open up to your new home and the compatriots that came with it. However, you were always the most relaxed with the Radio Demon's soothing presence. He found himself cherishing the moments that you spent alone.

Conversation was not needed to tell each other how you felt. He appreciated that the most.

It's why he is slightly confused when you open your mouth as if you want to say something before snapping it shut with a loud huff. Again and again, you keep it up, sighing and groaning quietly to yourself.

Finally, Alastor has had enough. "Is something the matter, dear?" He asks, peering up from his newspaper to eye you on the other end of the couch.

"N-No!" You squeak, fumbling around with your hands like a cartoon character. "I just..."

He waits for you to continue, only to be met with deafening silence. Sighing to himself, he sets down his paper and scoots over to your side.

"Go on," he gently urges.

"I don't want to be a bother," you say quietly after a pause of hesitation.

He only stares at you, flabbergasted by the way you start to pull away from him. Stopping you by giving your shoulder a squeeze, he swallows harshly.

Your heart is racing so loud that he can hear it roaring in his own sensitive ears.

"You are never a bother," he quickly assures. "Come now, look at me."

Your brows furrow, unsure of what he wants you to do. You slowly turn your head to him with a confused scrunch of the nose. In all the time that you had known each other, he had never asked you to do something so pointless.

"Look at me," he pushes, hands sliding down your arms to take yours. He tugs you closer and brings your hands up to his face, allowing you to cup his cheeks.

Careful not to nick your skin with his teeth, his smile softens. Your hands roam his face tenderly, subtly squeezing at the fat of his cheeks. With your fingers tracing every part of him, from the bridge of his nose to his brows to the infinite curve of his smile, you relax.

"I'm a monster."

He had always tried to convince you that he wasn't terrible. That he was worthy of having your hands cupping his cheeks. But you could feel it—his smile. His antlers.

He's never felt vulnerable before. For some reason, it feels good to open up to you.

"You're just as pretty as I always imagined," you tell him with a shake of your head. Alastor flushes at your words.

No dishonesty. No fear. Your heart has stopped pounding in your ribcage.

That's right. He was kind to you, even though he was a beast. The demon had always thought that what he wanted most was to be feared, but he was wrong. You knew his heart before his form.

He shifts so he can kiss your fingertips.

"Well? What would you like to say?"

You suddenly freeze up, lips pressed into a thin line. Flustered, you sputter. "Nevermind, please just forget about that!"

"Oh? Keeping secrets from me isn't very nice, darling~" he muses. You groan, pulling your hands back to your own face to hide it.

Alastor only laughs, static crackling in his voice as he does. He leans forward, gently prying your wrists to reveal your face again so he can press his lips to your forehead.

He knows. The way you melt into his arms is enough. No conversation needed.

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#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor fic #alastor fanfic #alastor fluff #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor headcanons #faye's thoughts — ☁

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m00nl1ghts1vt · 2 months ago

Text

Sketchbook - Chris Sturniolo

Requested by @pineapplealpaca Pairings - bsf!Chris x bsf!Reader Warnings - Just some fluff 🥰 and strong language! W/c - 2043 Summary - You and Chris meet freshman year of high school. With the talent of drawing, he quickly becomes your muse. After winning an award senior year, he finally finds out what you've been hiding from him this whole time. A/n - Thanks for requesting! 💚 This is my first Chris piece, hope you guys like it!! Should be edited so let me know if you see any typos! All interactions are appreciated ❤️ Dividers and photos are not mine; all credit due to original owners. My requests are always open! Check out my masterlist for my recent pieces! Tags - @lvrsturniolo (sorry I forgot 😭 thank you for already liking!! If anyone else wants to be on my tag list, just let me know ❤️) Current Matt series - City of Love. Part two.

Freshman Year

You sit on the bleachers, letting your pencil scribble across your sketchpad. Spending most of your time here, waiting on your older brother to get done with football practice. You were always an artistic soul, so drawing and painting was something you held close to your heart, along with the boy you had been crushing on since seventh grade - Chris Sturniolo.

Life was so much easier with him in it. He came around often, being one of your brother's best friends, but you also formed a bond with him since the two of you were the same age. Over time the friendly banter turned into flirty banter, and you found yourself swooning over him at every given chance. Sketching portraits of him in your sketchbook, which might as well be your secret diary.

You watched as he danced around the football field, doing what he loved most. After practice is finished, he makes his way over to you. Chugging the contents of his water bottle before trying to sneak a peek at your sketchbook, “whatcha’ drawing there, Y/l/n?”

A blush immediately creeps to your face, and your clutch your sketchbook to your chest, “uh- nothing! Just random stuff, why?”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, “just wondering, that’s all.”

Chris decided to leave it alone, but he knew he was lying when he said it didn’t spark his curiosity.

Sophomore Year

“C’mon let me see it,” your best friend, Chris, calls from the other side of your bedroom door. When you realized he had been snooping through your room, finding your hidden sketchbook in the process, you flipped shit on him. Snatching your sketchbook, your lifeline, and kicking him out. You run over to your closet, hiding it under a pile of junk you desperately needed to clean up.

After successfully hiding your secret diary of a sketchbook, you rush over to the door that Chris was still knocking on, slinging it open. He stares at you, pushing you aside, and barging in your room. “It’s never that serious. Let me see that damn book,” he’s a bit agitated you’d keep it from him. There was no secret in your friendship with Chis, so hiding something this big was gut wrenching to him. He felt betrayed. He knew you didn’t want him to see it and that’s what made him want to even more. He had it a mission from that point on.

He needed to see what was in that damn book.

Junior Year

You let out an exaggerated sighed, clenching your sketchbook to your chest. Chris had you pinned on the couch in a battle over your precious sketchbook. Every time he saw it, he dove for it, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything other than Chris - the sketchbook bandit.

“Chris, please,” practically begging as he stared you down. A smug smirk spread across his lips which were inches from yours. You didn't know what possessed him to go after your sketchbook every time he saw it, but he did. He would catch glimpses over your shoulder, making him more curious than ever. He knew you were drawing a portrait of somebody, but he didn’t know exactly who it was. Especially since you’d slam your book shut and hide it any time your senses told you he was near, his cologne being a dead give away.

“What’s the big deal, Y/n/n?” his tone was laced with playfulness. Knowing Chris too well, you knew he was just waiting for the right moment to rip the sketchbook from your grip. Being around him so much meant you were accustomed to his bullshit. Chris was a big goofball and the two of you got along great, aside from his never ending need to look in your book. He was determined to figure it out, and every time he failed, it ended in an argument. He could get anything he wanted from you, but you would never budge when it came to the sketchbook.

At first, Chris thought you were afraid to show him your drawings, but when he begged to see one, making you rip a random drawing out and shove it towards him, he quickly realized that wasn’t the case. He just knew there was something, someone, in that book you didn’t want him to see.

Senior Year

The day was finally here - the art show. Your art teacher entered one of your paintings, and if you were honest, you weren’t completely okay with it. Only reason being, the portrait she entered was of your best friend, Chris. He had become your muse over the years. You were around him the most, so his face became easy to draw for you. The way his jawline curved when he turned his head to the side. The shape of his eyes and nose being more symmetrical than anyone you had ever drawn before. You couldn’t help it - when you looked at him, your pencil flew across the paper like magic.

Chris was one of the most important people in your life. Even though you and Chris were just friends, you couldn’t help but get butterflies every time he looked at you, and that had been a feeling he gave you since the first day you met. You never knew if Chris felt the same way, and you weren’t the type to be straightforward, so you never brought it up. Chris was the complete opposite, being a little too blunt at times. It worried you if he didn’t feel the same way, he wouldn’t know how to let you down easily. This became one of your biggest fears over the years of knowing him, and one of the main reasons you kept it a secret. You were just grateful he was in your life on a day to day basis, crush or not.

Luckily, Chris had a football game and couldn’t come to the event you were being awarded for. They had already announced the winners online last week, three of them - two other entries from different schools, and yourself. The only thing you had to do was get through your award winning speech and collect your certificate. Chris being disappointed he couldn’t call off the football game, you being upset you couldn’t attend his game. It was a coincidence in the worst way, but the two of you made plan to make up for it later in the week. In a way you were glad you didn’t have to confess to Chris the secret you had been hiding since freshman year. Knowing Chris, never thinking things through thoroughly before letting his words slip, you figured he’d think your portraits of him were weird. In a way, they were, you had been creepily letting your hand scribble across paper, drawing your best friend.

Even worse, hiding it from him. For years. Maybe him not being here tonight wasn’t such a bad thing.

You bite your lip, and your gut churns as the host calls your name, “and for the second winner of tonight, Y/n Y/l/n, from Somerville High School!”

You walk on stage, approaching the podium, and give the audience a big smile. This was one of the biggest achievements of your life, the feeling was euphoric for you. Letting your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your parents and brother. You notice Chris sitting next to your brother, your eyes widen, meeting his gaze, and you spin around to look at your winning portrait - a portrait of him.

Chris stares at you with an unreadable expression plastered across his face. You couldn’t help wondering how he felt about discovering the secret you had been keeping from him the last four years. Was he mad? Did he even realize it was him?

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take a step forwards and clear your throat, “I’d like to thank everyone who came out tonight, everyone who donated, and everyone who voted for my art piece. It means the world to me, standing in front of all of you today. I want to thank my family for supporting my dreams, and being here tonight,” you ramble on. Your stage fright disappears for a moment when your eyes land on Chris. A smile stretches across his face and he raises his eyebrows, like he’s telling you to continue. “And of course, I’d like to thank my best friend for being my muse,” your tone was laced with nervousness and passion all at the same time. Chris had inspired you without even knowing it.

After you wrap up your speech, you enter the common room, chatting amongst the other winners. Various strangers of the art community approached you, congratulating you on your big win, and praising your masterpiece. You knew at the end of the night, you’d have to talk to Chris, and the anticipation boiled in your gut because of it. You didn’t know what you were going to say or how you were going to approach the situation, but you knew it had to be done. You just hoped it didn’t ruin your friendship in the process.

“Pretty big secret, huh?” a voice from behind you snapps you out of your trance. Immediately recognizing that it’s Chris, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact of his words. “I can see why you didn’t want me to know,” he continues, this time his voice is closer than before. You don’t say anything because, honestly, what the fuck do you say?

An awkward smile pulls at your lips as you avoid eye contact with him, “I can’t believe you’ve been drawing me like one of your little french girls this whole time,” he playfully scoffs. His joke breaks the awkward tension being held between you two, making you let out a giggle.

“Shut up,” you groan while running a hand through your hair.

“Why?” Chris had always been one to tease you. Especially when it comes to your sketchbook so now that he knows what you had been drawing this whole time, he’s loving the hell out of it.

“It’s not funny, Chris,” you groan, looking away as your face heats up a dark shade of red. He always had that effect on you, but it was even worse now.

“No, I mean why me?” he asks, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find the real answer. He already knows you won’t be completely honest with him, not when it comes to your drawings.

“I don’t know,” you mumble under your breath, eyes fixated on your shoes.

Chris reaches out to take your hand in his. The sudden contact makes you look at him, “you can tell me, Y/n.”

Shaking your head, “I just think you have good bone structure,” you come up with the first lie you can think of, pulling your hand away, and walking to your portrait of him. You point to it, “your face is very symmetrical. It’s easy to draw!”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. His face was easy to draw, but that was probably because you had drawn him so many times. It was familiar to you. It inspired you.

You felt bad about telling him a halfass truth, but your intuition told you his reaction wouldn’t be good, so you hid it the best you could. You watch as Chris’s eyes brows knit together, his lips forming a straight line. He stares at you for a second, keeping the hard expression etched on his face.

As soon as you think you’re out of the water, he does the unthinkable - reaching a hand out to your wrist, pulling you to him, and smashing his lips into yours. The unexpected kiss makes you freeze for a split second while his lips move against yours. Chris brings a hand up to your face, almost like he’s telling you to accept it. You do exactly what he wants, moving your lips against his, letting him take the lead because you were, obviously, a nervous wreck.

The shock is still taking a toll on your mind, and body, as Chris pulls away. He looks at you with that same unreadable look, “you’re a bad fucking liar, Y/n.”

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alikuarso · 30 days ago

Note

To answer your question about Fresh: Fresh is actually a parasite! He dresses in his 90's-themed clothes and speaks in a silly way so that others underestimate him. His main and utmost goal is to Survive, and the way he does that is by infecting other people with his parasites and draining the life from their souls. Being seen as harmless lets him get closer to them and gives him easier access for possession. He hopes to eventually take over the multiverse, spreading his parasites in every corner of it and having absolute control.

He also has no emotions. He is capable of them, but for whatever reason he is unable to feel much, besides the rare instance of anger. He does frequently feel fear, though.

He is a bit sadistic, and he likes seeing others suffer. This is because when he takes over someone he drains their soul of life, which causes them pain. And to him, taking someone's body means safety, it means he can survive a bit longer as long as he's snatched their body. So he's come to associate the pain of others as something good.

And he's also aware of the creators/viewers, thanks to an event called the Loveball, which is canon to his character.

Going to copy and paste my own words for this [I was talking to a friend about Loveball]:

"So, like seven years ago there was a fandom-wide event called the Loveball, where people gathered their OCs and had them all attend an UTMV dancing ball. Fresh went, of course. There, he met a Frisk called Pacifrisk. Even knowing who he really was [90's parasite], they still believed he could be good. Before this, he hadn't ever really felt a connection to anyone, or even positive emotions in general. But Pacifrisk's faith in him made him feel positively towards them. This freaked him out. [No Fr@ns though, don't worry. That wasn't the intention for this plot.]

As a result, not only did he try to kill them, but he also went through with his plans: the Fresh Takeover [I forget what it's actually called]. His true reason for attending the ball. OCs were either possessed by the parasites or tried to fight against them. Apparently, some people used alcohol to ward the virus off, as Fresh hates substances such as that.

Fresh wanted to take over the multiverse, with this Loveball being the first step for his total domination.

But then right in the middle of things, a Sans AU [which I totally forget the name of X,D] grabbed Fresh and basically yeeted him into an alternate state of being. One where he could see the creators, all staring at him. An audience.

The Sans revealed the nature of Fresh's existence: That he was simply a character in a story. And if the creators got bored of him, he could easily be written aside and forgotten. Erased. His conquest didn't matter, in the end.

Predictably, this gave him an existential crisis. I'm not sure what happened after, but he stopped invading and went somewhere to contemplate his existence in a depressed state.

Afterwards, he had a new goal: To entertain. To convince the creators that he was worth keeping around. Similar to his previous goal of survival, but now with more dire stakes."

His creator @loverofpiggies has some posts about the Loveball, tagged under either the 'fresh sans' tag or the 'loveball' tag, which I recommend you check out! ^^

But yeah, to answer your question: The reason Fresh fought Ink was probably 1: because he saw it as a good way to keep himself alive and 2: So that he could be relevant and interesting to the viewers.

Hope this answered any questions you might have about him! ^w^

THANK YOU BECAUSE THERE'S NO WAY I WOULD HAVE FOUND ABOUT ANY OF THIS OTHERWISE😭😭😭 THAT'S A LOT

Now I want to draw fresh existential crisis mood, That's something I never would have imagined existed

Im still a bit confused about fresh not having emotions¿ but I think I got the idea, but still, why does he feel fear?

I think fresh is becoming my favorite now, help, error do something

(Thank you again for your time✨️)

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 2 months ago

Text

My heart is a bloodhound!

PART 1 ★ PART 2

Quick summary: It happens again, when the year festers into August again and leaves the two of you raw and vulnerable like open wounds.

Word count: 15K… 🤓

Warnings: canon-typical mentions of death, violence and injury (there is mention of like eating people but idk); grief; misogyny; Rust's personality; semi-public SMUTT T-T (MINORS DNI); same level of pretentiousness, maybe a little more, as the first part.

A/N: Holy fuck this sucked the soul out of me (wish Rust Cohle would suck the soul out of I MEAN WHAT), i am super proud of this though!! Went through many iterations and this was the least shit! 🎀🎀🎀 This is technically part two to The idler wheel but can be read by itself too. May or may not write other things for this guy but for the time being, I need a cleanse 😭 BUT please please enjoy and please please interact, i love reading comments and so many lovely people commented on the first part, im gonna do my best to respond to any/all this time 🤘MWAH MWAH

***

It’s difficult to differentiate between the thrill of being left alone here with him and the slow-sinking dread of the implications of that.

With the return of the musk of the summer, those three ruthless, windless, unrelenting months that would seem to drag on for several lifetimes when I was a kid, the memory of where I was last year—and the year before that, and the one before that—hangs brightly in my mind. Stale, not quite dead – so bright. Crawling with mildew.

Stepping into the bar had felt like entering another dimension. Maybe it was the suits that gave it away – every single God-haunted patron—the truckers, the farmers, even the old dog lying at a man’s feet—had turned, sensing foreigners as acutely as the immune system registers a bodily threat. I knew Johansson felt it: that dark pull over the back of the neck. But under Marty’s overconfident, swaggering lead, that winning smile, we soon assimilated. Skin swallowing a bullet.

God forbid you ever leave the town you grew up in. Shame on you if you don’t, though. How sanctimonious of me to change my mind and return after earning a spot amongst the lucky few escapees.

Something in this place still irks me.

At least, in Brooklyn, there was always noise: cries of a baby in the apartment over, the discord of traffic bursting through the streets below, the rush of a crowd, the overlap and slur of private conversations. At least the badness would stare you right in the face; at least people were evil to be evil. At least there were corners where things could hide, where it made sense for shadows to exist: all to explain the paranoia that stalked me.

But here?—it seems so open. Like, if a rare, hot wind would blow through a Louisiana town, it could do so in one straight path, through walls, through people, without ever getting disrupted. Everything is so light in the blazing sun, you can practically hear it: the hum of rays passing over every surface. Nothing should be able to hide. And, at night, with no sun, no rays, there is no noise. Maybe a dog. And ghosts. But perhaps it’s just the area in which I live.

When Marty started drinking, flirting with the twenty-one-year-old barkeep, Johansson’s face had stiffened. He himself had never even touched a bottle of beer – devil stuff. We shared a look once the blond detective started gabbin’ like an idiot.

“Know what Maggie thinks?” he had laughed, slumping over the sticky table of the booth, big, sweaty palm choking out his drink. “She thinks you might be pissed at me.”

Johansson blinked hard to keep his nose from wrinkling, but, even then, he couldn’t keep from physically cringing away. “Who?” he asked, confused by those hazy, unfocused eyes.

Marty cracked a toothy grin – there was that slight gap between those front two, which had been charming at first and only managed to thoroughly disgust me now in moments like these – and pointed his finger right at me, accusing. “You.”

My stomach churned dangerously at the sight of him.

“Marty,” his partner had drawled, a low warning.

Waved away like a fly.

“Naw, it’s like—you’re on your high fuckin’ horse or somethin’.”

The words were spoken through a laugh, but I knew there was meat behind that so-called good mood. He was one of those people that tended to overcompensate. A mistake, an ill feeling. He liked to point out how I was alone, and often, too, poorly disguised as a passing joke, complete with one of those shit-eating grins that seemed to come so easy to him.

Shouldn’t he have been happy? Not only had he gotten our case, by then, but we’d handed it over with smiles on our damn faces. Nice enough to walk them through the original crime scene, introduce them to the key witnesses. Complicated. We didn’t have to do shit for ‘em, but we did. Hell, even that beer he was clutching to his chest was paid for out of the goodness of my own fuckin’ heart. Who was he to moan about the situation? He was the one who insisted on staying in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, brushing off any and all pointed questions on whether his family would be missing him at dinner.

“You know, I’d rather you were pissed,” he continued, where, really, I should have just smothered him into silence.

Rust was staring into the side of his flushed face, iron-grey eyes like a drill, like he was thinking the same thing.

“Look, you’re smilin’ at me now, but I sure as hell don’t trust it, buck. You wanna bite my head off, don’t ye?”

Like I ever could have done that.

Though the familiar weight of rage curdled in my chest, I would never admit it to the likes of Martin Hart. When he got like this—jealous, insecure, whiny—I wondered whether it was just a temporary lapse, or if this him, this true him, just lay under the surface all the time.

It wasn’t that fucking hard to plaster on a smile and take what you fucking got – I did it all the time. He could dream of a different life, but this was the one we were dealt. Fact that his grown ass hadn’t accepted that by now twisted violently in my gut. Between the two of us, I was the one that knew this – so why did he get myfucking case?

In my head, I’d let Salter have it, too. How could I ever admit I had an ego? How could I ever admit I had a mind to wrench the teeth out of the sheriff’s fucking gums?

But I have plenty of practice acting like things don’t bother me, which is why it was so easy to plaster on my amiable smile and laugh, “C’mon, man, you know it’s only ‘cause o’ the workload.” Not that you could comprehend that, lazy fuck. To Marty, my kind’s natural state was amiable—anything otherwise would be a defect—so I’d expected to convince him. “You’ll do right by it, ‘m sure.”

If he were sober, I know he would’ve bought it – he could convince himself that the way of the world was right and I was only being sweet to be sweet, because he deserved it.

But Marty was drunk. Piss-drunk, loud drunk. His mind was clumsier than usual, unable to muster the energy to jump points, ignore the evidence, like he did daily. I hoped I had the power—if I had to let the case go, I wanted to at least retain an into its goings-on—but there was only one way to really have power over men like Marty when they were drunk, and I had had no interest in being one of his girls.

My partner twitched beside me, picking at some spongy, yellow fluff protruding from a thin split in the chocolate-brown fake leather of the booth. He was just as furious as I was beneath his fort of calm.

Marty took a swig of his beer. “She wants you over soon. Maggie. Barbecue or some shit.”

“Maybe you should go home,” Johansson interjected, sharper than intended. If I were him, with his body, with his life, I’d have hit the fucker—long time ago, too. I couldn’t, but Johansson wouldn’t. He didn’t lack the temperament for brutality—I’m not sure anybody does—but, rather, couldn’t justify it to a necessary degree in his head. “I’m going home,” he’d reasoned kindly – he made it sound so easy. “Just let me take you. It’s on my way.”

Itching to leave, to return to the comfort of his wife and his little daughter. Marty had always found Johansson’s fondness of them disingenuous, had disliked my partner as long as they’d worked in the same office. He complained to me once that none of his stories seemed complete. When I asked him what he meant by that, he couldn’t answer—but I knew.

Breath short in my chest, I had half-expected Marty to lunge over the table, scratch Johansson’s eyes out. Only, Rust leaned over, dipping his head down to mutter something quietly into his partner’s ear, which was all flushed red.

And then he went willingly into Johansson’s car, stumbling through the still, open night into the backseat.

My partner had squeezed my shoulder goodbye – I’m not sure why I didn’t leave with him. Now, I was doomed to leave with Rust.

There, he sits across from me, smearing the ashy tar of his half-smoked, flaking cigarette over the mottled glass ashtray dragged over to his side of the table, little circles, waves, absent-minded art. Has me transfixed, some hypnotist.

If I look down like this, if I sacrifice the opportunity to look at him, I earn his careful attention: this sits in the back of my idle mind. I’ve been taking advantage of it more and more since summer broke through the sweetness of spring, which has since curdled like milk, sour. His stare drags over my face like fingers – I can almost feel his touch pressing into the softness of my cheek, dragging over the ridge of the orbital bone.

“You’re okay?” he asks after a couple slowed heartbeats, pulling me out of the honey-pit of my thoughts.

I dart my eyes up, breaking the spell – his observation retreats, clouds, and drifts away to fix on the broken clock on the wall, the one that reads one forty-five at eleven o’ clock.

Primarily, his question irritates me. Nobody asks ��are you alright?” imploringly, not unless it concerns themselves and their own wants. Salter had asked me that, right after telling me he was pulling me from my case, and, then, I had thought about crying, just to unsettle him. But what good would that have done? He’d only asked “are you alright?” to test the waters, to see if there was a future possibility of letting him pull the rug out from under me with zero consequences. Again. I couldn’t win.

But Rust doesn’t want much from me. He doesn’t even want the case, really, which just twists the knife even further.

“You—you know I’m good in there, right? In the box.” I carve a jagged thumbnail into this message in the table, twisting the characters wider, or taller, risking splinters.

Why should I have to give it up? And to a fucking idiot? Marty wasn’t the one who stayed all those late nights alone at the office, wasn’t the one scoured over heaps of files under low light, wasn’t the one who took the fucking beating when the suspect fought against arrest. Marty was not the one who conducted an interview like that.

My mouth thins into a hard line, but I know the words will come out whether I let them voluntarily or not. Around Rust, it’s that way. I should’ve left when I could.

“It’s just that—it was so weird,” I continue, my head pulsing with the unwanted memory of that cabin. Marty didn’t have to experience it, Rust didn’t have to experience it—but I did. “Not jus’ wrong, or sad. Makes me feel strange, thinking about it.”

Often, the suspects underestimate me. Johansson’s broad shoulders and tough-set jaw come off as offensive—nothing like my voice, low and gentle, and my eyes, sympathetic and warm. I’m the mother who will never judge, who is spilling over with unconditional love.

Beneath this, though, I am good at the maths of the job, the connections. Though all detectives technically develop the same constituent skills—close attention to body language tells and other biological betrayals—I ain’t sure most understand the sensitivity and strength required to confront shit like this head-on. To not avert your eyes at the mutilated woman on the bed. To inspect her eunuched boyfriend’s severed appendage, to have steady hands when photographing the scene—with flash, of course, to highlight every detail with sufficient clarity—for evidence, which must be returned to and examined again and again, each time with greater fervour still.

I could name a few who’d joke about a thing like that, to ease the burn of that image in their heads, to sleep better at night, to leave behind the uninvited, vicarious sensation of a knife teasing over the meat of their dick.

But the boyfriend’s corpse, we eventually located separately in a cabin in the woods, laid into the basement freezer, so peaceful, such a brutal image. Pretty parts of him preserved for mauling.

And Salter has the fucking audacity to take it away. He wasn’t the one to see something like that, to feel sick to his very stomach, to gag and have to turn away, to cringe and writhe like his skin suddenly wasn’t his, like he ought to pick himself out. I’ve been reeling with that image for weeks, living with motion sickness, and have been denied the relief of vomiting.

“So, you need me to get that confession.”

Rust comes back into focus, perfectly still.

I nod, the back of my neck prickling with mean goosebumps. “Campbell, his DNA was all over the bodies. He was proud of it, even.” My ribs still glow with the phantom-sensation of his brutal kick there when we located him. Stomach clenching, I struggle to remain level. “But there ain’t no way in hell she wasn’t involved. He denies it, but the house is registered under her name. Maiden name, Phelps.”

“I read,” he confirms.

I tremble in frustration – I almost wish he hadn’t.

“It’s just—this lady’s tough.”

Eyes darting over to the dim-lit bar, scouring the scuffed hardwood floor, I can feel my face growing hot with indignation. Christ, it sounds pathetic, like a whiny kid insisting on continuing a task all wrong in order to protect their damaged pride.

“You know Johansson: once she starts with the tears, he can’t see past ‘em. Southern manners ‘n’ all: a crying woman is a delicate thing not for a man to understand but to comfort. But, with me, it ain’t the same. She doesn’t respect me.”

“What d’you mean ‘respect ’? Don’t need respect in this game.”

I scoff, which would’ve been a dire mistake with anyone else. “Y’wouldn’t know what I’m on about,” I tease through an easy smile, though I’m not feeling so funny at the moment.

He inclines his head down to me, an invitation to elaborate.

My boot feverishly taps against the floor, thrumming light like a jackrabbit on the run.

I sigh, mouth twisting. “She keeps asking me if I’ve slept,” I confess. “Says I look like her daughter.”

For all my mothering, here comes a perp who’s desperate to play me at my own game.

I can see how intelligent she is: some hollow glint in her eyes with nothing behind; past that gleaming screen of kindness, something black, like a cherry pit.

Sitting across from her, it felt like looking into a mirror. Not just physically—though her skin is a similar shade to mine, her nails bitten and splitting like mine, and she looks close to what I imagine my own mother could’ve grown into. It was in the way that, when I smiled, she smiled. When I took a sip of my coffee, she would drink some tea. At times, it would even seem like she would speak in my voice: the pitch, the intonations, the phrasing all far too similar. I was reluctant to tell her my name. It reminded me of this folk tale, of these tall, dark creatures who only required your name to speak like you, to look like you, to replace you in your own life. Its victim would die—in some way or another. Wander the woods, eaten alive.

A harrowing feeling had crept over me, winter pressing against the two-way mirror – I was sure Johansson, on the other side, would pick up on it. Only, when I confessed my worries to him, he’d given me this doubtful look, and I really wasalone then.

“She’s playin’ you,” Rust states simply, tracing his fingers over his mouth like some pseudo-cigarette.

“Yeah.” I grind my teeth together. Under the table, where he cannot see, my fingers curl into a tight fist, trembling with my secret violence. “And now Salter wants Marty to have it? Bull.”

I should’ve socked him right in his dumb, slack fuckin’ jaw. One day, I will.

“He don’t want Marty to have it,” Rust retorts smartly, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are warm in the dark – I should’ve taken my chances, raced to meet ‘em, but I’m too late. “He wants me to have it.”

Yeah, well, I wish what was mine would stay mine.

Even if I’m inclined to be pissed off at Rust by proxy, I just can’t be. The difference between him and Marty is that he actually pays attention, real attention, not the selfish kind. Just by watching, I can tell he knows exactly what he could say, how he could act, in order to appeal to somebody—which is why I find it so odd that he chooses not to. I sacrifice my damn dignity to keep myself palatable. He does not. As a result, he is not well-liked at the office – people tend to feel caught out by him; they don’t like to feel observed, known.

When did being seen become a threat? I thought it was intimate. Though, I suppose, a piece of shit never wants to believe they’re a piece of shit.

Everyone’s the hero of their own story.

Rust slides Marty’s half-empty beer across the table to me, which I receive with a crooked smile and a quick hand.

“Sure I won’t catch whatever he had?”

He shrugs. “Y’ain’t as deadbeat as the rest of ’em. Oughta drag you down to their level.”

I snort. “What, you don’t think you’re deadbeat?”

He huffs. “I’m worse.”

Bitter, the beer washes over my tongue, leaves that funny aftertaste I never really liked, not the first time, not the last. I don’t suppose I’ll ever turn one down though, not if it was offered to me: I’d accept it if only to win points with whoever it was, points I could spend at a later date.

“Maybe,” I start, “if you were a little more deadbeat, you’d be popular. Go out with the boys.”

When he meets my eyes momentarily, smirking, I have to grip my hand over my knee, fingertips digging into bone, and consciously remind myself via mantra not to let my face freeze. He hums, voice smooth and low like liquor, “What, like youdo?”

I should be pissed off, really. Maybe I will be. Instead, though, I choke on the smart retort I had meticulously configured in my head, some quip that would’ve maybe interested him based on what caught him before.

I don’t know whether it would have been worse pretending like it never happened. That’s my strong point: pretending. It’s his, too, when he wants it to be. Maybe we could’ve outlasted it – all we needed was stamina.

But, instead, it’s this. Looking across at each other and knowing exactly what’s going on in the other’s head. I can see exactly how he thinks of me, what he wants to do. When he tilts his head ever so slightly, my neck glows with a promise, like the movement was mine in the first place. When I would bite at the pendant of my necklace, he used to narrow his eyes, like he ought to yank the chain off my neck. But now, he looks on softly, so unlike him, his own fingers at his own lips. I know what it feels like – I’ve kissed him there, too.

“Don’t give me that. At least Geraci would stop shit-talkin’ ye,” I manage, tearing myself away. “Swear he’s stuck at sixteen or somethin’. But—you don’t mind it, do you?”

He shakes his head. “‘f he was smarter, maybe I would. Jus’ likes the sound of his own voice.”

The clock has replaced me as his focal point – I can’t help but feel jealous.

“S’why I like you,” I mumble from behind my beer. “First time I met you, I thought you’d make me feel stupid.

That seems to get him.

He blinks, a barely noticeable twitch. “Do I? I don’t mean to.”

Can I spin this? I’m sure, if I were a little more awake, I’d be able to spin this.

Some evil part of me hopes to make him feel guilty, to trick him into feeling tenderness for me, though I know the pursuit of that would be in vain. The type of men I know how to work—creatures of habit that take the exact path you want them to, to believe that they’re the real seducers—Rust seems entirely separate from that. He can sniff out rehearsal and practice, that robotism, like a dog – he sees it enough in criminals, doesn’t he? That’s why he’s called in for favours across state police departments.

When I met him the first time, I shook his hand, smiled, friendly-like, only to be met with rigidity and stoicism. No trouble, of course: some people just are that way. Wild horses on the highway. But his quietness?—now, that had set alarm bells off in my head. Boys at the precinct were loud – you couldn’t pay ‘em to shut up about their weekends, their football, their college years, their fuckin’ yards. When I was first exposed to it, I thought I’d gain a lot of friends. But then I realised they weren’t so much talking with me as they were talking at me. It’s why they’re so easy to read: they just tell you everything you want to know right off the bat. Even their secrets are bursting at the seams of their fat mouths, begging to be released.

But Rust?—doesn’t talk until he finds it necessary. It’s impressive. Before that, though, the trait was enviable. I had—have—no comparable method. Even though, at first, it can seem blunt, even cold, his eloquence is refreshing. Never running in circles – only determinedly forward. So intimidating, almost like a freight train – I have to consciously keep myself from jerking back and out of the way.

How low he must really think of me then, to see me like this. And I know he does: he sees. Everything I might have done to prevent it perhaps even had the opposite effect. I hate, I burn, I curse: it’s ugly. I cry over cases I would’ve left behind in two months tops, anyways, onto the next. I obsess over just another woman in the box. I think about him almost constantly.

“You don’t,” I mumble, wondering if I ought to be wishing myself far away. “Make me feel dumb, that is. Not me. Others, I can’t speak for.”

We’ll have to leave soon – no doubt, this local bar is used to slow days and early nights, a blissful routine rudely disrupted by two outsiders who haven’t even really shown them good business. I glance over at the barkeep, slumped over the scuffed wooden counter and flatly watching the football up on the boxy TV set, and I recall my first job. Then, too, I’d let men twice my age buy me drinks, flirted with them. Was worth the tip money.

Rust hums, though I really wish he wouldn’t speak at all. “Don’t pay mind to what Marty said.”

My neck prickles.

He’s not trying to console me, is he? No, that’s not like him. Besides, it’s not like any amount of coddling could reverse the merciless truths I’m constantly reminded of in this line of work – if I’ve learned anything about sympathy, it’s that it doesn’t fix shit. If anything, it’s just another complication. It can seem beautiful, but, really, it isn’t. I can miss it, miss its warmth, miss the kind, sweet nothings my husband would whisper into my hair on the hardest nights, but it never changed the fact that I would have to get up in the morning and do it again. Rust knows this, has maybe lived this, so he’s not trying to console me.

Maybe he’s trying to defend Marty.

Sharp and sure, that anger comes lurching up in my throat, slashing and snarling.

The sensible part of me—what I hope is the larger part of me—knows this is not possible. Rust understands Marty’s faults better than anyone, even himself, even his wife.

“Thing is,” I mumble bitterly, “he really means it, don’t he? He just don’t show it.” I trace the warm, smooth rim of the bottle with a light finger, though my mind is currently toying with the idea of jamming it violently down the opening. “Maybe it means more that he does keep it hidden – at least some part of him knows it’s wrong.”

Placid in the periphery of my vision, Rust shrugs. “‘s what separates us from our killers. Feelin’ it ain’t the problem. Resistance is where strength is tested.”

“Ego,” I chuckle darkly.

He hums. “Fragile ego.”

Underneath my smile lies an uneasiness stirred by his criticism.

Rust is not gentle with his opinions – I don’t suppose that’ll ever change. Resistance is a losing game – not even he is immune to the impermanence of these things. I’m sure he said that to me once, on a night like this.

I’ve never been very good at refraining from things. Even from an early age, I just couldn’t say no. Teenage years: alcohol, drugs, sex. If it was tossed my way, I’d take it, anything I could get, hungry to experience something.

Ha!—maybe I actually am more like Marty Hart than I’d like to admit. He’s trying to be an adult, albeit really, really poorly. As long as he believes he’s a good, family man, then his reality is protected. But I know I’m rotten, really. One of the boys at the precinct will call me pretty—in that sick way somewhere between the unchecked lust of a man and his paternal right to claim—but, below, I know I’ve got sickness swimming through my veins. Not blood. Something accumulated over the years, maybe from pretending all the time.

I feel like I want to cut things, break them. Told myself to hang on until I retire, but I don’t see that happening any time soon. I’ll break. What will Rust think of me then?

Maybe I was his low point: that fault in resistance.

Some awful, gnawing feeling collects at the pit of my stomach, like black tar. Must be all those cigarettes.

“Wha’s in that head?” he probes suddenly, stealing razor-sharp, fleeting glances.

I shrug, swallowing down a bout of nausea. “I dunno.” And I really don’t. Behind the surface tension, I don’t know what I feel, only that I do, and it’s so, so much. “It kinda—makes me happy to see him like that: jealous. ‘Cause he knows I’m good, and he’s wondering why he’s finishing what I started. He knows he don’t deserve it. Not like I do.”

My confession lingers in the air like smoke – I have mind to reach a hand up and wave it all away, or suck it down, deep, erasing reality. Fuck. I’ve always been a little off when reading into Rust’s quiet – with that tightrope he seems to have mastered, I know I should avoid any step at all—it could just as easily miss its mark—but I can never seem to help myself.

I stare at him—and I think it makes him uncomfortable, though there’s nothing there, not any normal human reaction, in his face for me to draw from. That’s fine. In my gut, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it down.

“You want to be seen as competent,” he finally says, a simple-enough statement.

I scrunch my nose up distastefully. “No, I want to be competent.”

“Well, what good is bein’ somethin’ if there’s no-one there to witness it?”

Unable to press down an exasperated sigh, I close my eyes, roll them with all the subtlety I can manage.

Foul words push under my tongue, like vomit.

I don’t know if I’m in the mood for this tonight: smart conversation. What feels like debate. Maybe if he hadn’t been given my case, I’d take him up on the challenge, but I’ve already lost.

I eye him, try to figure out his game.

“I dunno, Rust,” I tell him flatly. “I think that’s called having an identity issue.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Most people do.”

My chest burns. “This isn’t a go at me, is it?”

Slow, he draws the ashtray towards him from across the table, as if the grind of the glass against the wood is a noise that ought to be savoured.

I could be deaf, but reading his lips would be easy: “And how’d this be about you exactly?”

I’m able to fight off the initial instinct to wince, the way in which he delivers the words, calm and deliberate, stinging like a slap to the face. What’s worse is the growing impression that he’s as bored of me as I am.

With a furrowed brow, I watch him, heartbeat thrumming in my ears.

“I ain’t out to get you, s’you can quit lookin’ at me like I kicked you or somethin’.”

Frowning shallowly and trying to pretend like I’m not, I glance away and commit to rearranging my face—but at the glimpse of that twitch at the corner of his mouth in my periphery, I know I’m only digging a deeper grave for myself. The noticeable heat of my embarrassment must please him.

Playing with the food.

And I’ve got nothing to say to him—not a single word or phrase up to par, nothing to measure up to Rust’s clinical detachment, let alone destabilise him. He might’ve been reciting the coroner’s report. There’s nothing I can say to scathe him—and fuck, I want to leave a mark, prove to him that I can. I scan him for weakness, but either I’m still too stunned to see it or there is none. I have no plan of attack and no line of defence.

Rust seems to soften in the knowledge of this.

“I mean,” he begins, knowing now that I’m really listening, “identity ain’t fixed – it’s not permanent. I don’t scrutinise my appearance. I don’t mind my body, and my body don’t mind me. My personality hardly feels under my control – ‘s just somethin’ that is and will be—‘n’, I guess, will change, but only against my will, never because of it. Feels pointless to feel insecure about that.”

Is this supposed to be some fucked-up attempt at advice?

My priorities changed, but this place never has, never does, never will. So, it’s all dumb and the people are dumb and this bar is dumb and the boys at the precinct are dumb and, fuck, I wish Rust were dumb, too. I feel pathetic, and he does not alleviate that feeling at all. If he were dumb, I could laugh at him and make myself feel better. I could laugh at myself for sleeping with a dumb man. Instead, I think of him religiously and crave his approval. Afflicted with the knowledge that he needs to be corrupted to want me, that I’m awful enough to want it enough to corrupt him again. Tainted waters. It would be so much more comfortable if I could look down on him.

My skin writhes and ripples, and I know the only thing that would soothe it is if he touched me. Jesus and the sick man—or some polluted version of that.

My world swings under a bout of nausea as it begins to spiral – the beer does not help.

Maybe he’s waiting it out, like I’m trying to. Forgetting is the wisest decision anyone could make, the most fortunate outcome. Though, my efforts are paradoxical: I think so, so much about not thinking about it all.

“Sure seems like y’think about yourself a good deal, too, s’don’t you criticise me,” I mumble, clumsy. It’s a mistake to even open my mouth again – he’ll use it all against me eventually.

Rust hums again, low, some muscle twitching in his jaw, like his body has no clue what to do when not blindly occupied with a cigarette. “Never said I don’t think about myself,” he rectifies, staring at the sweaty palms I’m wringing together tightly against the lip of the table.

I allow my mouth to pool with saliva, trying to combat the increasing dryness of my mouth.

“Guess the thinkin’ part is where insecurity comes from in the first place,” I add after swallowing.

When my eyes dart up to look at him, his are on my throat.

Immediately, I look away.

Maybe this is the bad kind of intimacy.

The intensity of his attention is looming, sifting through my thoughts like sand.

Sometimes, I think he has me figured out but just couldn’t care less about what he’s found. He’s feeling the power of my burning desire for him – maybe it amuses him. Maybe he’s waiting to mechanise it, letting me sit idle while a use for me finds him (if ever). Maybe I know things. Maybe I can break things open. Maybe he can take my cases from me. Maybe I can tire him out, put him to sleep.

It’s almost worse that he hasn’t put me to work yet.

Maybe it really was just something in the water. Maybe all I need is to visit somebody close to me.

“Ever heard o’ that theory? ‘bout internal monologue?” Rust asks softly, leaning in and tipping his head down like only I’m worthy of hearing this here.

My leg jerks and I can’t place why. I nod, face hot.

“I think ‘s bullshit—‘bout some not having one. Think everybody’s got that voice in their heads.” He pauses, squints. “Mm, maybe that’s a little generous.”

I laugh – I hope it makes him feel good. In truth, I know he couldn’t care less.

“What d’you think it’d be like? No voice.”

The world seems so close right now, wrapping its fuzzy arms tight around us, buzzing in my ears, shadows fur-soft over my face. What does he want me to say? I wish he’d tell me, offer me respite.

I shrug, and it’s honest, my resignation. “No voice don’t mean no thought.”

“Alrigh’. Then, what about no thought?”

I shrug again. “I like thinking.”

He huffs, angling himself back away from me. Have I disappointed him? Somewhere deep in the pit of my tummy, there’s that fleck of worry, something that tastes an awful lot like vomit.

I expect him to finally stop talking.

But “I get tired of it,” is what he says instead. “In between cases, or these—moments where I feel like I could burn a hole through myself ‘f I spent ’nough thought on it. ‘s heavy, like they weigh me down.” He pushes the ashtray away, his fingers the only part of him moving.

Swept up in the rising tide of your own life, hurting around you in some never-ending circle or spiral of which you happen to be the centre. Swimming with black-eyed angels. I know how he feels – I used to feel that way. Maybe I still do, sometimes. Clinging on to the tenderness my husband used to have for me like it could save me from the guilt I would feel when I moved on. No-one would pull me out: that much was true enough. That memory of stability, of the good times, only depressed me, moving from Brooklyn back to Louisiana. Feeling small in my own life, like a piece on a chessboard, with no semblance of control, only duty, chasing this idea of who I used to be. Hunting down the bad men, wondering what upper hand is driving them across the squares, contemplating the carpenter that fashioned the pieces. Too big of a big picture can be detrimental. The fact that I know this to be true doesn’t make me an exception.

“I think you’re tired of the things you think about,” I muse, a headache beginning to expand between my temples – perhaps the heat has finally gotten to my head. “Space better occupied by other shit.”

I’m careful not to pay attention to Rust’s reaction, if there even is one, since the weight of his interest is pressing over my face where I really wish his lips would.

“Like what?” he challenges.

His eyes glint with curiosity, a blade’s sharp edge.

I bite my tongue.

“You think you know me?” It’s more a statement than a question.

I shrug. “You think you know me, don’t ye?”

Though, he kinda does. I think he’s proud that he can read me, but maybe that’s me overcomplicating things. Maybe I’m just another person to him. I wonder if he thinks I’m predictable. Boring, negligible, painfully average. Good for one thing, and that one thing was a mistake, anyway.

Look at him, now: his eyes have dropped to elsewhere, but there’s a soft smirk that curls up on his face, the hint of a pink tongue that traces lightly over his teeth.

Geraci always talks shit about that look whenever Rust closes yet another case, securing a tough confession. “So fuckin’ up ‘imself, ain’t he? Jesus.” Sure, he pisses me off—for different reasons. I’ve long since come to the conclusion that he’s worthy of admiration.

He smiles to himself – I don’t trust it. “You’re calling me arrogant.”

“Are you?” I press, gnawing at the inside of my cheek. I’m surprised at the tepidity of my voice, considering how I’m covered in boils and burns in my head.

He doesn’t have anything to say to that, only hums in response, seemingly amused.

“Doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” I murmur. “People are scared of bein’ known, so nobody really tries no more.”

“I don’t observe people for intimacy purposes.”

Then why does he fucking look at me like that?

A year ago, I’d have put it down to my own desires warping my perception of reality. Really, he wasn’t interested; he was only paying me my due amount of scrutiny in order to keep his mental file of me up to date. Really, he didn’t want to touch me; really, he was just someone who fiddled with his own hands, maybe to remind himself that he could be his own from time to time. Lust is such a dangerous thing – any deeper than surface level, and it has the very strong potential to kill you. If you want something against your better judgement, do you really even want it? The haze of having Rust come so close to me is dampened by such doubts.

But at this point, he either wants me, or I’m crazy. Shit, maybe I’d rather be just that. I’ve seen his eyes like this—dark and bottomless—when hands were unzipping my skirt, or dragging over my skin. To deny intimacy? Now that’s arrogance. Anddelusion. Shit, and I thought he was so above all that stuff. Does he think I can’t figure him out?

Surely his opinion of me can’t be that poor.

My hand cramps up as I punch down the instinct to pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Sure you do,” I press. And I’m right. I hope I’m right.

His stare thickens into something different, what I think might be a black, molten form of gratification. Then, it hardens, cools in a split second into these tough, jaw-breaker pellets. I’d say it was confrontational, but then his eyes flutter just as he happens to swallow thickly. Is that his pulse in his throat?

I rub at my puffy eyes with a stiff set of fingers.

Rust drops his eyes, brushes his hand over the side of his blazer where his cigarettes are sitting warm and ready beneath.

“What, you—lonely again or some shit?” he asks.

I almost recoil at the sudden bitterness of his tone.

I snort good-heartedly, but, really, the comment stings just right—he knows where to press—all the breath knocked out of my chest. “O-kay, Rust. That an accusation?”

“No. ’S an observation. Thought you jus’ loved those,” he combats flatly.

Chest burning, I have to save myself, jump ship, and look away. My mouth tastes like grainy bile.

“You were lonely last summer. That’s why you came to me.”

The dim light above us flickers, his face phasing in and out of shadow before me like a candle in the wind.

I roll my jaw.

Does he look back on it with disdain?

“No,” I snap instinctively, instantly burned by the satisfaction that crosses his eyes.

My breath hitches plaintively. Every fibre of my body trembles and burns to defend myself. There’s not a single word that could repair his opinion of me.

“Or—yeah.” Shut up.

I rub at my temple, desperate for relief – do they have pills for this shit? – which does not come. If he feels any pity for me, it certainly doesn’t show.

The harsh line of my mouth trembles. “I just thought you understood me. Or made an attempt to, at least, but maybe that part was self-projection. ‘Cause nobody ‘round here’s like you. I know you think that’s stupid and I was being naïve or—” I swallow though my throat is dry as ever, “—or dumb, or somethin’, but that’s what I felt. At the time.”

His gaze is fixed on my neck.

“At the time,” he echoes. It’s a question, I realise after a couple moments.

“Yeah. Fuck y'want me to say, asshole? 'm not—I’m not gonna embarrass myself with you, Rust. That what you want me to do? Show you just how dumb I can get—?”

“Sure like to speak for me, hm?” he bites back quietly, making it so damn easy to run right over him, to feverishly stamp out that insufferable fucking softness to his voice. Shit, I wish he’d just raise it and yell at me already.

“—Yeah, whatever. You like this shit, don’t you? Y’think you deserve a fight?—well, I’ll give you one. That what you want? ‘Cause what?—what, you get to ignore me, pretend I don’t exist, act like you’re above fuckin’ me—” his eyes flit away, bringing my roiling frustration to a crest, “—No, don’t you fuckin’ look away,” I scold, a bite, jutting a crooked finger into his space.

He obeys, but that look in his pale eyes is so hollow, it almost makes me feel bad for saying anything at all. Almost.

I try to press down my anger, but it’s spilling over, now, far beyond things so trivial as control. I clasp my hands together in a prayer that they will finally listen to me and not move again.

“Fact that you feel anything at all makes you feel like shit, huh?”

His expression has glazed over, cool and smooth.

Half-expecting him to walk out and rightfully abandon me here, I stare hard at him, like I might chip into that exterior. If I managed it, I’d slip it in my pockets as proof. Silently, I beg him to prove me right.

“Sorry,” I snap. No, I’m not. I hope it cuts at him. “You do what you want, I don’t fuckin’ care. But, please, do not patronise me like that again, Rust.”

God offers no help with the silent plea I send Him. He does not care, so I shouldn’t care, and that’s the end of things. I’ve survived worse natural disasters than him. He’s just a man, and this is just what happens with them. Still, the disappointment floods like poison under my skin. I’m a stupid girl, really.

“I understand if you regret things, but you don’t have to say it out loud. It’s mean. But, fuck, I dunno, maybe you mean to be.”

I take a moment to untangle the knot in my throat. He watches it all, quiet again, his eyeline sitting heavy over where the skin shifts and stretches over my neck.

I adjust the collar of my shirt, fiddle with the gold necklace that sits hot over the contour of bone. Rust stares as I wedge the small pendant tightly in the vice of my thumb and forefinger.

“Feels like you don’t even fuckin’ like me half the time. All the time.”

Christ, I should’ve left with Johansson.

My heart is racing like a wild mustang – it’s a surprise, really, that that old hunting dog lying over by the bar hasn’t noticed, singled me out as something to chase, to kill. My belly’s exposed, soft and ripe and asking for it. I forget, sometimes, that there are things out there that kill things that kill, too.

He doesn’t plan on giving me a break; I wouldn’t deserve it, anyway. “Wha's it matter to you if I like you or not?”

My cheeks burn furiously.

I stare at that bone-bird tattoo that fledges from the nest of his sleeve. With the way my head’s spinning, it almost looks like its skeleton wings are actually moving, unfurling and ready for pilgrimage.

“It don’t.” It’s a disgrace to myself to answer that god-awful question, but what’s more pathetic is the way I shrink into myself when Rust’s attention crowds in over my face. “I jus’ thought you knew me almost as well as I did.”

“And currently?” he asks.

The moment hangs.

“Just answer. I already know – just wanna see if you’ll lie again.”

I close my eyes a second—mistake—and breathe, breathe in and then breathe out, shaky but slow. It’s no use.

“Same.”

He nods. “Not better?”

I shake my head. “No, never better.”

Furrowing his brow, Rust tilts his head down slightly, a soft curl falling gentle over his tense forehead. “But you wanted intimacy.”

So it is intimacy to him?

Maybe this should count as a win for me, but it certainly don’t feel like it. This isn’t the slow slip and slide of last summer’s end – though the heat had swallowed whole everything from here to the other side of the Mississippi, there was something so clipped about the words that left me, left him. I’m sure I was more drunk then than now, but, even so, my mind had been so level, like I’d done it all in my sleep. Now, here, I have done it in my sleep. I’ve revisited him a hundred times in my daydreams, but all that practice has left me for dead. I would’ve killed for an opportunity like this a month ago – it’s like he’s taunting me. It should be easy.

Rust is smart enough to make me wonder if he wants me to feel this way.

Intimacy is planned and eventual, whether that’s due to his power or some cosmic fate. Everyone knows the decision they’re going to make, somewhere in their brains, deep inside. People only ask for advice to condone their decisions, to spread out the responsibility, which, at the end of the day, still remains solely with them. Shit, he’s rubbing off on me: I sound like a fuckin’ asshole.

No, all this thinking won’t save him from the sensation of human feeling, emotions. No amount of planning prepares you for skin-to-skin touch. No time spent evaluating can undo it either, and I’ve tried so hard. His way doesn’t work.

“Everyone wants intimacy,” I end up rambling, voice thin and dry and brittle. “Even folks that don’t want intimacy want intimacy. ’s not love or sex, really, I don’t think, though those are good, too. It’s not a way to find yourself. It’s jus’ trust. Or companionship—”

“And that’s what you want?”

Carefully, I rake my eyes over his face. Does he ever flush from the heat?

Hopeless and too muddled to bother with concealing it, I try to assess whether he’s displeased with me. I try to memorise this moment, so I’ll be able to turn it over in my head later, just another one of my crime scene photographs.

“Dunno yet,” I confess quietly. “I’ve had partners. And partners. When I was younger, I thought I’d have this life packed chock full of amazing relationships, and these—connections.”

The soft, disappointed eyes of my husband come to mind, which haunt all my relationships. I’m so hungry for another body, for connection. Why does it seem so easy for other people?

“Truth is, it don’t happen all that much. To me, at least. You?”

Surly and bone-tired, Rust shakes his head. “Didn’t have much hope for it growin’ up,” he admits.

“But you wanted it,” I press, clumsy and clinging to the sag of his voice. Of course, he’ll pick up on the trace of hopeful, aimless, false victory that undercuts my words; he’s the only one who ever could.

For a moment, though, I second-guess myself.

It’s pathetic, really: I’d give almost anything to walk as him for a day, though, even then, I’m not sure I’d understand him any better.

Sometimes, my imagination runs away from me: in my dreams, I do. I wake under the impression that we’re one and the same, that, just maybe, he, similarly, is dreaming as me. It’s a pulsing obsession, difficult to conceal. Whenever a moment becomes still, I think about it: at night, he is transported; in his dreams, he touches with my hands, sighs with my voice, tastes with my mouth. Then, at least, that would explain these funny sensations I get in the morning: so weathered and worn, a strange ache in my muscles, like I’ve been sleepwalking.

How else could he know me so well?

Or maybe I’ve really fucking lost it. Somewhere along the way – maybe after seeing that half-eaten body swaddled in thin cotton in its freezer cradle – I think something else took the wheel. Why that thing is racing towards him, I have no idea. It’s laughable, really.

Rust blinks calmly down at his hands. “Reckon the deniers are dumb?” he murmurs.

Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I do my best to press back against the foul memory of dismembered limbs. Whoever had eaten the man—who was now beyond recognition—did they feel satisfied? Comforted with how forever close he was to them now? When I was small, I used to think sex was crawling into another person's body, like a cave, and letting all of their insides warm you, love you, wrap you tight.

I swallow thickly.

“Your words, not mine,” I reply through a tight smile. “Reckon it’s easy to find a distraction.”

"Have you given up?" he asks. “Finding a distraction?”

I don’t entertain him with a proper answer to that – I merely shrug and scratch at my scalp, tucking loose strands of sweaty hair back into the loops of my braid. Rust must be frustrated with me. To want a companion, to want the good life. Rivalling Marty in my delusion.

He slides his hands into his lap, continuing: “Distraction is the way to peace?”

I shrug again – I think it’s starting to piss him off. “For a time, I guess.”

“So, ‘s that how you’re takin’ quittin’? Think about other stuff whenever you want a smoke? Occupy yourself?”

Once I realise my leg is going dead, fuzzy from sitting still so long in this dark booth, I flex my thigh, flex my hands under the table, wide-open and then tight-shut, processing the blank slate of his gaunt face. I press my fingers into the sticky vinyl, delight in the interrupted drag of them up, up, up as they curl to fists, my shoulders up to my ears.

When he says things like that, it makes it so hard to dislike him. I almost wish he’d ignore me, like he did the first couple weeks before it became clear to the both of us that it couldn’t be undone: his back constantly to me, sending messages only through Marty, refusing to look in my direction, like I might tempt him again into being a version of him he hated. At least, before, his coldness hadn’t been directed at me specifically. Then, it was a retaliation, a wall meant to keep me out. Where were his books on philosophy then?—to tell him that attachment leads to desire leads to suffering? That kind of suffering would be better than this kind.

This is worse. This is so much worse. I’d rather not have something at all than have it toy with me like this.

It takes a considerable amount of co-ordination to fabricate the apathy in my posture, my eyes, my expression, to compensate for the unease that pulses like a new artery in my throat – though, at the silvery glint that flickers in his eyes, I know it’s all for nothing. He’s already seen the hurt that, really, I can’t pin on anyone but myself. He’s raking his eyes slowly over my face. It’s fucking mean. Do me the favour of a mercy-killing, God.

I never even told him I was trying to quit.

“What,” I begin, concentrating very hard on keeping myself from stammering and from slurring, from crying and from grasping at his hand, “like that association thing?”

I’ve heard of it, obviously. I know every trick at this point: old wives’ tales to the latest research papers at the state university library. It’s psychological: whenever you want something, instead, think of awful, gross, repulsive things, and make yourself hate it. I’ve tried it before, but it doesn’t always work. How can you convince yourself that one thing is disgusting when it’s undeniable how good it really was?

Rust nods.

“I mean, I tried it,” I tell him lowly.

Overstatement: I tried it for approximately three days and two nights before I caved, unlocking the drawer in my study with shaky, desperate hands, hungry.

“But I’m always thinkin’ about it.”

Shit. He seems to have regained a nerve: Rust stares calmly ahead at me—not through me or just past me; at me. This is what I wanted, isn’t it?

He leans his weight over his forearms upon the table, on offence. Is this how he works his suspects? Well, shit, I’ve studied his methods from the privacy of the other side of the false mirror enough times to be able to answer that, actually: this is how he works his suspects. Initially, at least, to gauge their personality, their wants, their fears, what they need him to be.

Thing is, I can’t pin down his intention with me. Is it just the satisfaction of the kill? Or maybe revenge for what I did to him last August. I broke down his walls: an unforgivable sin. I condemned him to the effort of building them back up, of shoving me out—if I ever managed to intrude in the first place. Maybe I deserve this.

With his sleeves folded back, the dark lines of Rust’s tattoo jut out, growing along his tawny, leather-tan skin like lichen. I try not to stare.

His eyes complete a pre-emptive scan of my face, and, really, I know I should not let him see any change there in my expression, though my mouth twitches to frown. I try to gather my forces. I try to prepare myself for it, for that inevitable intrusion.

“‘f you’re so desperate for it, why’re you fightin’ back?” he asks, unblinking and cruel.

My mouth twists, and I let it fall into the frown it wants. “‘Cause I wanted to feel better.”

It sounds dumb because it is dumb, even though it’s true.

Low, he hums. He straightens, softens, and finally leans away. It’s like the vacuum around me leaves with him, and, there, now, it’s easier to breathe.

He must note the way my chest rises and falls so stiffly, like there’s a weight resting over my heart.

“Withdrawal’s a breeze, ain’t it?”

“You’re not fuckin’ funny,” I scoff, digging my nails punishingly into my palm. He smokes and drinks like he welcomes cancer, or hopes for it, so I don’t think we’re on a level playing field.

He quirks his head. “Well, do you?”

“Do I what, Rusty?”

Amused, he rolls his jaw. Good – I hope I’ve provoked him.

“Do you feel better?”

I run my tongue over my teeth. “Sometimes,” I reply truthfully. “Not right now.”

He searches my face.

“I can give you a ride home,” he offers.

Fuck, and what will that be like? Ten times worse than this. I’ll come away the husk of a woman, worn down by his disapproval. My own fault for wanting anything from him in the first place, really.

Teeth gritted together, I shake my head, ready to pull a muscle in my damn neck. “Didn’t mean anythin’ by it. Sorry.”

No, I’m not. I ought to slap him, and then run away, back home, or back to my house, or to a brand new city. Or he could finally cuss me out, save me the wondering. Then, I could lick my wounds and they would finally stop reopening.

I scratch at my scalp.

Rust eyes my hand like he’d like to rip the bad habit away from my body. For a moment, I think he will—the tendons in his hand flex and writhe under the skin—but, no, he only brushes a thumb against the valley between his nose and cheek, and he holds his tongue for once.

“Wasn’t offended,” he corrects firmly. “I’ll take you home.”

Flashing with annoyance, my eyes dart up viciously to penalise him. “And what?” I hiss.

He sits back, doesn’t answer the question.

Jaw clenched, I wait to see if he’ll look away, but he doesn’t.

My irritation soon fizzles through, condenses to a low, simmering understanding, steadily tended to by the intensity of his steadfast gaze.

Oh.

My eyes soften.

Oh – I have him, don’t I?

He shows no signs of the tentativeness he had displayed last time—if Rust could ever be tentative. His eyes do not shift and scuttle around me; they meet mine, challenging my comfort. He does not tuck himself into a corner; he remains leaned over the table, just like that. How could I have known?

I stare back, brow pinched in confusion.

In the heat of last August, I’d peeled away from him knowing exactly how I’d convinced him he wanted me. Maybe I was evil for it – a good person wouldn’t use somebody’s faults against them, would they? And maybe that’s what it was: selfish. If he hates me, he’d be right to.

Which is why I’m so puzzled that he doesn’t. Or rather, indifference was the baseline. Hell. And this? I don’t know.

Swelling dangerously with the well-loved memory of his delirious mouthings over my skin, I grow rigid.

My temples throb and ache, the threat of tears still very real.

“Mind?” he asks – I watch, wide-eyed, as he pulls a pack of Camels from his pocket.

Trembling slightly, I shake my head, though saliva is already pooling over the pit of my tongue, warm and soft, just like my desire. Luckily, he’s too preoccupied with his lighter to see it: how my body ripples at the scrape of his voice.

The promise of nicotine dances like a phantom in the mouth, just from watching him place a cigarette between his lips. When he flicks open his Zippo, the sharp, shuddering candle of it taunts me, and I finally understand what they say about moths and flames.

I watch him take a long drag.

That all-consuming hunger lurches up in me again, and I swallow the warm spit that’s steadily been filling my mouth.

Oh, Christ. This can’t be real. Desire shouldn’t be this bloody. Desire shouldn’t be the thing with teeth and claws, the ugly thing that tips into violence. Or obsession. With how often my thoughts return to us in the summer, I’ve wondered obsession as a possibility. The difference between myself and those who commit crimes of passion is control. Rust is dangerous for me. What is he thinking? What’s in his head? I ache to pry it open and explore, to swim close to him, for my skin to melt into his, to consume and be consumed. Not a moment’s peace, and that’s what I’m chasing, isn’t it? Peace and quiet?

I don’t have to say anything – he can read it all, mulling over the fine changes in my expression, the softening of my body, some pre-emptive instinct. Will he touch me tonight?

With a cautious hand, ready to jolt back if met with teeth, I reach out to him and remove the cigarette from his pinched fingers—which he allows—then bringing it to my mouth, taking a drag myself, nice and slow, good and deep, a sigh, like home.

He watches me.

“Don’t say anything.”

And he doesn’t. He just watches, watches, watches as I take another drag. He shivers, and I feel it reverberate through my bones.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” I ask him softly, pressing down a quivering breath, smoking his cigarette. I’ve never mustered the courage to ask before.

For once, though, I really don’t have to: I know exactly where his head is. Where else? He’s back in that room, infected by the drowse and drunken fever of August, with me, living it again. Where I’d coaxed him into the temptation, wicked as the snake in the garden. He should’ve pushed me to leave with Johansson and Marty – of course, I would’ve stayed. I’m a rotten thing, and my heart is a bloodhound. He’s the better of the two of us. I’ll take whatever of him I can get – anything.

He meets my eyes directly, so hopeless, so raw. Is he asking? He shouldn’t be.

But what will he have me do? I’m at his disposal, really.

“And?” I ask, throat dry.

When he moves to speak, the words that leave him are low and slow: “You did something to me,” he manages.

I scoff.

“S’that a good or bad thing?” I ask.

Rust huffs like what I said was funny. More likely, though, it’s the way my eyes are so wide, the way my hand is pressed between my thighs, that amuses him. “Can’t decide.”

My mouth trembles as my eyes scrape over his neck, which I know, I remember, to be hot and alive, thick with it over the pulse. I was so high off of it: his warmth, his weight, his press.

I indulge in one last drag, using the last scraps of my energy to conjure the pungent stench of rotting flesh in the cruel sunshine, the pick of eager flies and their cacophonous buzzing, the churn of vomit in the stomach. I look at Rust and try to do the same: the months of silence, his back decidedly turned to me, him accepting my case, and his arrogance and his apathy and his severity. He is a harrowing connection that I should rather not have made.

The technique doesn’t work. I don’t know why I thought, even for a minute, that this time would be different from the last.

With him staring calmly at me, like I deserve it—the trap, the squirming sensation over my spine, the hopeless, unavoidable heat that claims my face—it’s just another arrow pointing to the same conclusion. Maybe we should just let August have its way with us again. Twin plagues.

Trembling ever so slightly, blood so warm, so thick, I flick ashes out into the tray between us.

“I should put this out,” I mumble, though my hand yearns to return it to my mouth.

“’s my cigarette,” Rust mutters.

“Sorry.” I offer my hand to him. “Want it back?”

I know what I must look like to him, pupils dark, the size of the moon, like a plate. Here, in the darkest part of the dark bar, I open myself to him, warm, molten, inviting. And God, this must be a dream—because I know what he wants, and I know that he’ll accept me. How we got here doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe he’s thought about it for some time, and only now, in a moment of stillness with him, have I even noticed. Too caught up in the fine details of a painting to think of the artist’s intention, which is always more important.

Silent, stare inexorable, he accepts the cigarette, only touching my fingers quick, like I’d burn him. Maybe I will. Serves him right: he was always going to haunt me either way. I ought to get mine while I still can.

The hunger laps at me.

I want to coax him open-wide. I want to peel away his demeanour and wrap myself close to him. Body heat is the best way to keep warm, isn’t it? I’m sure I read about that somewhere. It’s still fresh in my mind, like a cut. I can’t manage a day without playing it over at least once. I want it again: I want to breathe him in and let him sit in my chest and seep into every cell and let him be part of me that way, at least until the next breath.

He can see it in my eyes: the freneticism of my thoughts, racing like a storm, desires like bullets like rain.

“You ever think about what you want?” I try asking him, voice strained tight over my heart in my throat.

“People only ever think about what they want,” he parries, batting away any trace of diffidence. He secures his cigarette between his lips, shifting. “Let’s leave.”

At his first movement, I slide out of the booth.

Sometime during our conversation, the place emptied out. It must have been around when I finished Marty’s leftover beer that the weight of the locals’ beady stares—which had already faded to the back of my mind, in the same way that a dark alleyway can still make you uneasy though you know nothing would ever happen to you there—finally left me. There are no witnesses left to see me following after Rust like a dog, my body thrumming like the lone bug zapper out on the porch, which cracks! just as we exit.

The broken clock reads three o’clock when we leave, but I know that, really, it’s only midnight.

Fortunately, the heat has cracked for once, like old, beat-up, splitting leather. Stepping out onto that night path, the breeze is warm and fragrant, dancing over my cheeks, playing gently with the loose threads of my hair. It’s a clear, blue, never-ending night – the dirt road which accompanies us is a long, winding, indigo river that spills unseen over the far, far horizon. The neighbouring fields—one a rolling stretch of grass; the other of wheat—are alive in the wind, flung one way on exhale, drawn the other upon inhale.

Thank God for the noise of it: their rustling whispers, in a language we can’t understand; the soft whistle of a passing gust of air; the firm, crisp crunch of dry mud and dust under my boots. Thank God for the sway of things: the cradle of humidity; the press of my arm to Rust’s, which he permits only for a second, with his face angled away. Then, he slows, coming to walk just behind me, still parallel.

Flickering strands of long-grass brush my knuckles – I grab onto one, pull the seeds off it in an easy swipe, and scatter them as we go, one by one.

Briefly, I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, his eyes are fixed on me, on my every movement, like he’s making sure I’m actually real. The corner of my mouth twitches up into a smile.

Rust’s cigarette flares between his lips.

I scratch gently at my wrist, reminded of the flowing of my blood just beneath the skin, hot and thick.

You get nowhere in life just hoping things will fall into your lap like this—and, anyway, what good is getting something that you didn’t work for? Where’s the gratification? It’s artificial, feeble as plastic. Christ, it was even a struggle to get my head around Johansson and his propensity to dole out favours. I understood a write-up – won’t pretend I’m above ass-kissing – but tidying up the office kitchen and keeping quiet about it? I thought it was stupid: letting people reap the rewards of your own effort, and for what?

So, the buzz of earning Rust’s touch that first time?—shit, nothing compared. No drug, no high; nothing. I really thought I did something. Satisfied some secret ambition I didn’t know I held. To have him like that. To be able to replay that night, swallow it like a pill. To look at him and know what was underneath his clothes and his skin, and perhaps further inside, too. Shit, I took so much from him, but the mental gymnastics of the effort justified it, right? And, now, he’s going to give it all up again. Wants it, even.

Haven’t I played this out a thousand times in my head? I’ve seen the future—a number of futures—where I’m able to argue for his affection. Fight for your love – that’s what my daddy used to tell me whenever he was feeling sentimental after yelling.

I’ve had endless conversations with him in my head, edited accordingly as time passed, as he changed, as I changed, as the air between us changed. Possible flirtation seemed silly, futile, after a week. Sex appeal would go unnoticed by him – wasn’t like he looked, anyway. Not the type to chase tail. I found myself longing for him to please linger uncomfortably in doorways to rooms I was in, to leave things near me and come and collect them just after I was gone so that, maybe, he’d still feel the warmth of my presence and understand it was only ever warm that way for him. The idea of genuine confession always sprung up during the quiet nights alone together in the bullpen, but I was always able to talk myself out of it when he wouldn’t so much as glance at me after two, three hours.

It must be a million threads of conversation up in my head, which is why I guess it’s so hard to untangle the great knot and retrieve just one, because, now, there are no words that come to mind when it matters. Or maybe it doesn’t matter: I don’t think he needs convincing at all.

“What you so quiet for?” he asks faintly.

When I look back, he’s stark against the brooding sky like some shadow-man. His outline hums like he’s pulling away into his own silhouette.

I can’t seem to smile. “Nothin’.”

He won’t push—at least, not on this—and I’m glad for it.

Rust’s beat-up semi is all lonely sat in a dip up in the road, waiting for us. Same semi he’d driven me home in from work this one week I was getting my car fixed up, in which a series of slow, mutual interrogations would take place along the light-streaked highway. In the office, you were lucky to drag a full sentence out of Rust, but, alone, it wasn’t so hard to get him to talk at all.

Maybe I had just wanted to be better than him, to learn how he worked, how he was such a good interrogator, and bleed him dry. That was why I couldn’t look away: every choice in his demeanour could help me surpass him.

Even then, I learned to be careful with my looks. I had the feeling he’d morph into something else if I stared long enough, the way the shadow in the corner of your bedroom changes shape when you’re bone-tired. Sometimes, he would. And on the Thursday night of that week, when he had pulled over and thrown up, shaking, into the dark thrush, I hadn’t uttered a word as he climbed back into the driver’s seat. But, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, I’d stared at him with the filmy eyes of a hungry nocturnal animal.

Then, at least, the curiosity wasn’t a burden. Not like it became when I drove myself home come that morning after.

I could tell it was different the moment I shifted awake, feigning a sleep for just a couple more minutes.

Dressed again and putting on a pot of coffee, his back was to me. I had shuffled up, pulled on my clothes, and I knew the stupor of the night had faded. So, really, when I stepped past him and he closed the door behind me without a word, I shouldn’t have been upset.

When I reach the pick-up first, I twist to look at him.

Rust has slowed to finish his cigarette at a safe distance, eyeing me warily.

He crushes the stub into the dirt, then glancing out into the long night.

“Straight home?” he asks.

I shake my head, and the rigid line of him gives just a little. It’s so dangerous to be seduced by your own influence, but the realisation that I’ve had any at all is fuel enough to the plea in my wide eyes.

Rust advances haltingly. If I move, I’m sure he’ll flinch and bolt. So, I test the theory: better to weed out what’s already decayed.

I angle myself towards him, open like a door. He tosses his jacket into the bed of his pickup, stepping through.

The heat seeps back between us, slow and thick like a flood of molasses, and it becomes very clear, suddenly, that we never should’ve tried to barricade ourselves. Pretty sure Rust’s known this a while, anyways: he’s the one who leans in for me, kisses me slow.

This time, his hands are quick to curl around my body, where the tension in that tight cord all down his spine has snapped. Or just eased up on him—but that’s unlikely. And unimportant. With his firm touch petting up my spine, climbing each rung, it’s all unimportant.

A pulse of arousal strikes me like an electric current as Rust pulls the blouse out of my skirt, his face close to me.

His tongue pushes into my mouth again, and I hum over the husk of nicotine. It’s a haze in the brain, one I’ve missed. My skin tingles and my thoughts warp in this leer, like a nic rush, only I haven’t had one of those in years and years.

I can’t exactly call what I’m feeling satisfaction. There’s no win to this. My teeth sunk into him so sweet last time, and the thrill of getting him, of tripping him up with his own desire, was almost as good as the actual feeling of him inside me. But it’s different now: so obvious, it’s funny. Though my first instinct is to doubt and pry apart, maybe want is the most trustworthy thing a person can feel. It’s animal and instinctive, and it’s inevitable, so it’s always true. Ugly, sometimes, but always there. There’s no room to question his want, because I can taste it on his tongue, I can feel it pressing over my stomach, I can hear it in the way he hums at the sear of my skin.

It must be a favour to me: the blatancy of it all. For however direct he may be, I’ve always felt that Rust has these plans within plans. Nothing is as it is on the surface: you have to dig to get to the good stuff. It’s disorienting, having it all laid out for me. And I’ll take anything he gives me.

I don’t want to leave any room for doubt in his mind either.

So, I clutch at him hungrily, so drunk on his warmth, and thump my back against the door he opens for me to close it again.

I don’t ask, and I’m glad that he doesn’t make me, only presses my body flush against the cool surface of his side-door, until the only part of me free to move are the fingers that curl over his arms, as if they could sink through the fabric and then the flesh underneath. There’s only dogs and ghosts out at this hour, anyway; eyes in the long-grass. No-one but them and him to see my hips jerk against the precise hand under my skirt.

He hadn’t looked at me this much before. Even when my eyes go glassy and I have to blink hard to try and regain my smarts, to not finish too quickly, I know he’s staring at me like a scientist.

When the next needy noise is drawn from me, I bury my face into his neck to save myself the embarrassment of being seen like this, even though it’s pointless. His fingers are dragging aside the damp fabric of my underwear anyway, sliding through my silky desire. When his knee shoves between my legs to keep apart, he changes the pressure of his hand, circles tightly over where shame does not apply. Restraint is a man-made practice that never prevails over biology. I should know this. Still, though, my face is hot as I whine into his shoulder.

Rust doesn’t ask me to look at him, not yet, and I’m so grateful for it. I bite into the meat of him at the push of one finger, then keen all the way to my toes at the hook of two, rocking against his palm thoughtlessly as he fucks the both of them in deep.

The clink of his belt buckle barely processes through the smoke of sticky eyes and open mouths and the press of his body. But the absence of his hand from my hip, of it working between us?—that’s what ushers normal sensation back into me. I recover from the limp slump against him, but not quickly enough to understand or resist him guiding my hand to wrap around his swollen cock, coated with spit.

He grunts as he tightens my grip around him, coaxes my hand how he wants it. In the back of my mind, though, of course I remember. Only, his fingers are so far inside that my head is spinning, teetering on the precipice of another thought I know I’ll lose, one that dissolves at the slight scrape of nail, one that would never matter as much as the soft then firm press of him against my cervix. My eyes water, and there licking at me is only a faint, abstract impression of embarrassment when Rust grips over my jaw, calloused heel of his palm heavy on my neck, and hauls me away from the hiding spaces of his body’s crevices.

“What, you fuckin’ shy now? You wanted it, so look,” he mumbles, digging his fingers into the soft parts of my face a little more, like there’s some hidden button beneath the surface that can make my droopy eyes fly back open. There must be because, somehow, it works. He angles my face by the scruff of my neck.

I can only stand to look between us for a few jumpy heartbeats before my eyes settle on the comfort of his even face, which he seems to accept readily, breath hitching. He does not blink. The intensity of his observations hounds me, lights me up like points on a star, even when my vision smears and melts at the dizzying curl of his fingers. Lucky for my weak knees he’s got his hand over the nape of my neck, his thighs pinning my own. I shake against him, some pathetic thing, and tremble when he keeps massaging there deep inside.

“Don’t go dumb on me, girl,” Rust scolds quietly when my hand loosens around him, his own having to leave the heat of my neck and come down to correct the pressure, the pull. My head lolls without the support of his hand. “Ain’t gon’ say nothin’?”

Words spill uselessly into a pool before me, slipping through my fingers. My pulse slams in my throat, lower, too, against his touch, each beat meeting him as he works me over again.

What I manage is a choked noise, all clogged up inside. I have little to do with it: just a body, a heartbeat and a compulsion to be near, nearer, nearest to him. Half a mind that’s lagging worse than the computers at work, that realises far too late that the body is curling into itself again, so tight, so wet, and fuck, fuck.

He removes his fingers, that slow drag, and tells me to turn. When I don’t—completely without, dull and aching—Rust twists and shoves me against the window, which goes cloudy at the breathy moan pushed up from my slack stomach.

Slow-like, a cold hand snakes under my shirt, smooths up my burning spine, all the way up, all the way down, hooking in the waistband of my skirt, knuckles burrowing into the soft dimples in my back. My whole body shivers as he slides his palm over the back of my neck—a comfort for which I’m desperate to become familiar—and squeezes gently. If I keep my eyes open, all I can see of him is that black silhouette in the window, a reflection. A homogenous mass, humming at the edges, devoid of the detail of things: can’t see the way he drags his thumb up along the line of my spine, traces where it meets the skull; nor the way he steps forward, teases the air out of my lungs, enjoys it, tugs my hips closer to him by the gusset of the underwear webbed between my thighs; nor the way the cool metal buckle presses red lines into flesh.

The sight of Rust doesn’t matter so much as the understanding that it’s him behind me, that it’s his truck my cheek is being pressed into, that it’s his—fuck—that it’s him sliding through the heat of me, so close. The tip notches and makes it all the easier for my eyes to flutter shut. It helps with the vertigo that follows the rough push of him inside.

My fingers grasp for the little ridges in the door. Best place for them ends up to be under my mouth, though, to keep my head on my shoulders, to muffle the noises I was sure only animals made. My knee jerks sharply against the truck at the first white-hot pulse of pleasure – I hiss, smearing the drool at the edge of my mouth with the back of my hand, so glad he isn’t in clear enough line of sight to chastise me with his tendency to notice and never forget.

But he knows—he must fucking know by now—because the heavy hand clasped over my scruff curls around my face, and Rust forces two fingers into my parted mouth, presses over my soft tongue.

He pulls himself out just to feel the total length of me taking him again, so painfully slow. Feel the initial resistance, the spongy give, the sweet slip, the drag, all of it. So full, I feel sick with it. Overindulgence. Knocks me weak, doesn’t mind it when I bite down on his fingers to take most of the weight out of my sob. What I take from him, he takes from me—we’re even that way—so Rust, already with his nose flirting with the crook of my sweaty neck, nips over my erratic pulse, pushes his tongue over where I’m sure he can see the skin throbbing with the violence of it. Vampire. He could draw blood and I wouldn’t mind: he knows I need bloodletting.

So fucking dumb to think for a second it could be sated by just one time. I needed it again before it even ended – I knew it in the split second he touched me. The grief of closure was as adamant as a shadow. Stupid. He must think it, too, because, shit, the snap of his hips is mean. Punishment: you should’ve known.

“We ought’a be in your bed. I should be fuckin’ you through your bed,” he complains gruffly, his mouth dragging over hinge of my jaw.

I moan around the fingers in my mouth, which hook together with his thumb to pinch the fleshy inside of my cheek, challenging my lost focus. No matter. There’s nothing we can do now.

The seize of my body doesn’t take him by surprise at all, not that I expected it to, and the words that follow are easy, like he’s been thinkin’ of them as loud and clear as day as it would be to speak ‘em: “Shit, that feels good, sweet girl, huh? Tha’s it, just take it. That’s good.” And he lets the warmth gush out before stuffing it back in. “You’ll take one more.”

I stare at the endless field to the side of us, melted over the curve of his door, shivering despite the humidity that always finds you around here. I choke more on my own tongue than his fingers as Rust fucks me slow, like I deserve it.

“Need it s’bad, huh?” he drawls into the shell of my ear. “Why you gone all quiet on me, baby?—thought y’wanted it.”

He drags his fingers out of my mouth, daring me to speak. He slides his hand between my stomach and the side-door, gliding down between the thighs, smearing my dripping arousal over the skin.

My toes curl tight again as he pushes deeper than before, sits there like he knows my mind will do the rest of the work. The grate of his zipper as he shifts draws a mangled sound from the pit of me, not hidden by the brace of my trembling arm.

He zeros in on my clit, all sticky, and circles tight. I shudder.

“Give in,” he says to me in a voice so low and soft that it barely reaches me above the high frequency splitting through my skull. He rolls that bright pearl between his finger and thumb. “You feel it?”

Mindless and eyes all milky, I still manage a nod, grateful for the mean pin of his knees against my shaking thighs.

He hums. “So give in.”

Fuck, this is absurd. The mind can just about string two and two together when Rust lends a forearm beside my head for me to rest on, to grip over: so he’s pictured this, wanted this, for how long? I knew the stagnancy was a front, swallowed something else, but—my mouth goes wet and slack over his forearm at the languid roll of his hips—but it wasn’t realistic to imagine it was this. Rust struck me as someone incapable of reconciling himself with his wants. Shame over acceptance because he thinks it’s atonement. Should’ve known better than to think Rust believed in redemption.

The silhouette in the window is looking over the empty road, scanning for cars that won’t ever come—but his hand is warm under the tent of my shirt, easing over my waist, slow, as everything clamps up, trembling, again. Body and a heartbeat, he tugs my hips back to him, again and again, until he’s a hot, shuddering line all through me, face in my neck, crushing the fight out of my lungs.

His nose presses over my cheek, and his breath is coarse there, too, panting, when he lifts his heavy head. My throat goes so loose and open, greedily drinking in the sweet-sticky scent of him.

“C’mon, now,” he says to me once he’s pulled my underwear back up, dragging the cool, damp gusset against the mess of me for good measure. He pinches my hip, then over my thigh, like that might get me to quit shuddering. “Time to go.”

When I don’t move, he smooths a hand gently over my hair. Tucks a loose chunk of it back into the mess of my braid before deciding it’s best if he lets it loose completely.

Rust winds down the window as he holds open the door for me to clamber onto the bench.

“Y’can sleep ‘f you want,” he mumbles once he’s got me curled up on the seat, leaning through the frame. He tilts his head – the shadows have always hidden his eyes, but I like how the pinch in his brow has melted away at least.

If I had half a mind, I’d use it to shove his face out my goddamn way. Instead, I settle for the narrowing of my eyes and a decided huff. “Won’t.”

Lie. I fall asleep like anything, mellowed by the sweet rush of wind over marshland, the spirit of it weaving inside, and the weight of Rust’s hand tucked in the tight bend of my knee.

#rust cohle #rust cohle x reader #true detective season 1 #rust cohle x reader smut #the idler wheel td #marty hart #true detective #i want to [redacted] his [redacted] until he [redacted] all over-#who said that #female manipulator doesn’t need to manipulate in this one??? crayzay #fic is basically them talking but im hoping ive been accidentally super introspective and deep #her vibe is like mannnn i have to make this guy love me #and his is like girl you don’t have to try I literally already do #i know it’s 15K but i swear it feels shorter if you get into it #got #whatever #only took me a year 😃#fucking finally

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deadghosy · 6 months ago

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SLYTHERIN BOYS X OWL! READER HEADCANNONS

Prompt: a wild owl appears, gaining some Slytherin boy’s attention as their own personally pet and companion

Ft. The riddles, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, && Lorenzo Berkshire

A/N: based off of how I use to do hazbin hotel x animal! readers. I appreciate reblogs, comments, and such as likes.

When your white owl appearance took place in the common room of the Slytherins. Draco was a little cautious to get close of you whilst Lorenzo immediately found you enchanting. He wanted to make you his wonderful companion. Mattheo also wanted to making the two Slytherins fight for your attention. Trying to bring you mice thinking you were “that” kinda owl. When really you liked fruits a lot, to which Theodore fed you once and you were attached to him.

“Guess they like me more..” Theodore says with a grin, petting you under your chin to which you coo at. Immediately Theodore felt his heart melt as he kept petting you, walking away using a soft baby voice. “Aww you’re so cute my little bambino..aww..” meanwhile the others are like “did he seriously just adopt an owl?”

Lorenzo is still the number one caretaker of you. He literally schedules what time you eat, when you need a bath, when you need a nap. He’s like he’s taking care of a baby. Even though Theo tells him it’s not that serious. Lorenzo is not taking chances as he teaches your tricks.

He taught you how to unlock cages incase you get kidnapped from the Slytherin common room. Or maybe something I excepted happens to you and they’re not there to protect you. Makes them sad to think about it.

Blaise, plays his music softly around you. He loves how you just prance around howling and cooing around. He find you a comfortable companion to just vibe him with. And you think the same.

Theodore, the one to just feed you and you would be on his shoulder when he is in common room. He loves you dearly as if he birthed you😭

Mattheo sometimes joke around about how he would pluck your feather for it to be a quill, and you were so happy after hearing that as you avoided him for a whole week before Blaise made him apologize. But most of all, he loves you since you are adorable.

Draco, this ferret boy would be afraid that if he turned into a ferret that you would grab him and eat him. But when Theodore told him that you only ate fruits. He felt pleased. Then he would transform and you two were animals causing mayhem together. (I believe in my head he’s an animagus)

Tom….you don’t see him often. But when you do. He leaves you a small snack, he doesn’t really show emotion towards you. But it’s nice how one time he heard a couple of Gryffindors going to steal you. Let’s just say those Gryffindors were scared to even go near you. You admired Tom from afar and he did the same to you.

Group head pets from you. Be prepared to be smothered with love and affection from your Slytherin owners.

Lorenzo absolutely ADORES sleeping with you in his room. 🥹baby is in love with your nightly coos. He thinks they’re so adorable to the point he may cry or just fall asleep with a smile on his face.

You’re very chilling to be around, surprisingly Tom lets you in his room. He may find a small attachment to you to the point he maybe wants to be in your soul… just maybe.

There was a part of time where the Theodore and Lorenzo fought over who was the best owl dad for you. You didn’t know who to chose so you flew over to Tom who just sat on the common room couch reading. Not giving a care in the world. The two Slytherins were shocked and disappointed as they banned you from seeing Tom for a few days.

“They’re like an air cat!” Mattheo said as you coo at him from the pets you gained. “Please don’t ever call our owl that..” Tom said with an unimpressed stare. Mattheo still says it to this day in Tom’s face.

If anyone forgets to feed you, they feel guilty. Not Tom though. He feeds you before he goes to his lectures while those others are like. “Who fed them before we left??” While Tom is like “Pft….imbeciles.”

They love when you coo at them. Tom would never admit despite his own brother saying it out loud💗

You are the most beautiful owl Hogwarts know, and sometimes Tom tries to talk to you as if you are a real person. Talking about pregnancy and how you should watch out for “those” type of owls…he’s just trying to protect and not kill an owl.

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neuvilletteswife4ever · 4 months ago

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Hii! First time on youe page!Requests? Bet. A performance was demanded of me...And now I have delivered...ENCORE(I miss my fnaf phase ok?😭)

Well, here is the request. Yandere fatui harbingers with a darling who is on a hunger strike(bacically refuses to eat unless freed).

Ty 4 reading my request.

YANDERE FATUI HARBINGERS X A DARLING WHO REFUSES TO EAT

Warnings:

Kidnapping, no consent, killing, unhealthy obsession, torture, force-feed, needles

"Eat! Eat it!!" Scaramouche yelled at you annoyed while trying to force a spoon into your mouth. You refused. You wouldn't eat until they freed you from this miserable place. You didn't care if you starved. But you knew that they wouldnt let you starve because of their lovesick obessions. No way that you would starve on their watch.

"Eat it." Dottore said coldly, his voice making shivers run down your spine. The other fatui harbingers agreed as they stared into your soul. Gosh...you were sick of those lovesick smiles.

"I'm not hungry..." You said turning your head away and crossing your arms.

"Now now, come on dear, don't be like that now." Tartaglia stared at you, his eyes filled with lust and obsession. Pantalone agreed.

"Right, and then who would i spoil with gifts if you died from starvation?" He said, his smile wide as he enjoyed your scent, your beauty, everything about you.

"N-no. Not happening, I refuse..." It was obvious you were hungry, but you couldn't break your promise to not eat until they released you. All that starvation for what? To end your promise now? You wouldn't give up that easily. That's not you. You know better than that.

Everyone sighs deeply, as they glared at you.

"I'll only eat (a tiny amount) if you remove this chain from my ankle.." You managed to mutter out.

*The Fatui Harbingers eyes widened. The thought having you roam around free without them constantly gushing over you was ridiculous. It was obvious that you'd attempt to escape if they did remove the chain.*

"My dear, my dear. You leave us no choice." Arlecchino simply says, her eyes darkening as the others suddenly looked even more obsessive than they already were. You wondered what she meant by "you leave us no choice".

The Fatui Harbingers kiss you (without your consent) and leave the room. They make sure to have atleast 500 fatui agents outside of your room to prevent you from escaping. Even if you had a chain on. But they couldn't take the risk. Especially after your previous attempts.

1 Hour Later

The doors to your room opened and there they were. With fatui agents (the fatui agents were blindfolded because the fatui harbingers didn't want anyone to simply look at you, even the slightest.) carrying 50 dead corpses to your room. The corpses looked familiar...wait! Those were the corpses of your relatives and friends!!

"Now, let's make a deal my love. If you don't eat, we will kill anyone that's dear to you." Capitano smiles obsessively behind his mask.

You saw your mom and dad brutally tortured to death based of the injuries. You began bawling your eyes out as you felt a sharp pain in your back. It was Dottore. He injected a sharp needle that would make you faint and be unconscious for some hours. They forced your unconscious body to eat.

When you woke up you saw Columbina patting your head gently in bed as the other fatui harbingers watched you sleep. Their eyes never leaving. It made you really uncomfortable.

"Isn't it just better to obey us, love?"

(Im sorry if these are cringe and weird. Im still learning how to write proper yandere stories.)

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circeyoru · 10 months ago

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Hello you beautiful and amazeing writer!! I'm here to make a request that is more on the funny side (btw, I love ur stories. Unwanted soul being one of my favorites, lol)

That cursed cat Alastor is EVERYWERE!! And u know what? I give in... Could you write something funny where yan!Alastor is jelous of the cat? Like, he would be like:

"Me or the cat!?" And reader, with no hesetation, "The cat *takes cursed cat Alastor and leaves*". Then someome comes in "Damm, they didn't even think about it" (please tell me someome gets the reference😭)

That cat can have my fricking soul, I love it so much and it makes me laugh so bad udgdihdudhe. ANYWAYS!! Hope u have a good day/night!!! Heudhsudhjdgdhs

Go to MASTERLIST for the works. This ask is for {Unwanted Souls}.

Hi hi! Thanks for your love!! I agree that cursed cat Alastor is everywhere. More request and ask on him in my inbox!!

Okay, here is short part on Cursed Cat Alastor VS Yandere!Alastor. For easy distinction, I'm calling the cat Bambi.

Alastor's eyes twitched as he glared at the lookalike in your arms; that was his place when he came to you after working so hard for the little interest project you sent him to. The creature, Bambi as you named it, narrowed its eyes as it felt Alastor's death glare towards it, its smile widened as it felt the jealous aura radiating off of the demon.

"Darling, can't we have a meal without that inferno creature in your arms?" Alastor tried to ignore the thing and his ever-growing jealousy. Meal time was a time when you weren't absorbed into your artistic worlds, now your attention was on that damn cat! That looked like him! Smiles and all!

"Then where do I put it?" You continued to eat, ignoring how Bambi clawed some of the smaller pieces of meat to eat from your plate.

"Out the window." Alastor passed more meat onto your plate when he saw Bambi taking yours and you didn't react to it. "And on the streets of Hell where it belongs."

You chuckled, eating up the slice that Alastor passed to you first, "That's too mean, Alastor. I won't have the heart to do it because it looks and acts so much like you!"

Alastor's radio glitched and scratched, his eye twitching, "Me or the cat!?"

"The cat." You spoke and picked it up, ignoring Alastor's shock look and left the dining room.

Vaggie shifted to the side, as did Charlie, to let you passby. They looked over to Alastor, who was still sitting there, shocked and frozen. Angel poked his head in, taunting, "Woah, harsh. Your 'darling' didn't even hesitate."

Angel was immediately thrown somewhere by Alastor's tendril, making Vaggie rush to check up on him. Charlie came over and comforted him, "You know, we're having a fun movie night later, maybe you can—"

"Ha ha ha! Never will I watch those noise picture box!" Alastor declined quickly slapping off the hand she was going to put on his shoulder. "If you'll excuse me."

"Where you going?" You questioned as you re-entered the dining room.

Alastor double-checked to see if he was mistaken. His lips moved before his mind fully processed it, "Where's the cat?"

You took your plate and utensils, then went over to Alastor's side, nudging him to sit back down with your elbow before placing it down next to his. He pulled out the chair and pushed it in while you sat, then he too sat down. His eyes staring at the empty spot that would always have that creature and his ears listening to your honey words. "I left Bambi with Husk to take care while we have our meal. What? Now you want Bambi back?"

Alastor's mood brightened, "Of course not, My Love!" He took your hand and kissed it, "Let me cherish you without any distractions."

You giggled, using your free hand to pick up a piece of meat and feed it to Alastor, who ate it happily. "Right..."

"Oh, now it's even more delicious!" Alastor's eyes drooped as he smiled at you, "You should do this more often, Love."

BONUS:

Husk stares at the cat on his bar table; it growled at him with its fur all bristled like a porcupine. Husk inched away slowly to create distance from the creature that you gave him to take care in your absence. Angel came in, laughing out, "Oh! So you were the one! Ha! AHHHHH!!!!!"

Bambi pounced at Angel, biting at him with every opportunity given. Husk yelped and immediately came to help, "Uh, good cursed kitten?"

Angel screamed, "GET THIS THING OFF ME!"

Back in the dining room, you hummed as you cut another piece of meat and feed it to Alastor. He grinned darkly at the screams he heard, "My Dear, you're quite cruel."

You smirked back, "Well, Angel was being a loudmouth."

#Circe's Nighty Writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Unwanted Soul #cursed cat alastor

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frenchvanilla-mase · 5 months ago

Text

winner, winner | f. torres

summary: the spain national team win the euros and ferran’s girls couldn’t be prouder.

notes: dad!ferran always 😭 a draft from my old accounts i’ve edited to be more fitting. quickly edited. let me know what you think!!! enjoy! <3

“—AND HERE, PRINCESSA, IS WHERE your papi is going to lift the trophy tomorrow.”

his teammates laughed, smiling at the pair as others continued to walk around and inspect the pitch, mentally preparing themselves for the big day ahead.

ferran stood laughing as well, chuckling heartily even with a pink plastic pacifier hanging between his teeth and soft baby blanket in his arms, his entire heart and soul blinking up at him, clueless to his reason for laughter.

tia torres was, and always would be, his greatest prized possession. i mean, he wouldn’t complain if he got a trophy in his arms tomorrow, but no feeling would top the one when he held his baby girl.

she was just about to turn one, starting to crawl and make funny sounds. ferran was adamant to get her to say papi first, he didn't care if she was halfway there to 'mama' with her drawn out 'mmm's', he knew she understood him and wouldn't let him down by saying papi first. everytime he spoke to her, your heart melted. always such a upbeat, soft tone, he spoke nice and clear to her in the hopes she would repeat it back. he was so sweet with her, so in love, and the way she looked at him and smiled when he talked - you knew she was in love with him too.

she came into your lives a little unexpectedly and despite all the worries and anxieties, you didn’t know what you did without her. ferran didn’t know what he did without her. he didn’t know what he did before her. he felt like an entirely different man since tia came into your lives and cringed at the man he was before. he liked the night feeds and the early mornings. he liked the tasting of bad baby food and job of freshening his girl up with a fresh diaper. he liked the challenge of getting her to sleep (which was easy for him than you) and taking her out by himself so you could enjoy some time to yourself.

he took pride in being a ‘young dad’, he didn’t care about going to nightclubs in dubai or festivals in ibiza anymore, he was happy to be at home with his two girls and make many, many memories with the pair of you.

he stood with her in his arms, walking her around the pitch with his barça teammates by his side. tomorrow was the final against england and you’d flown out with your daughter for what you knew would be a historic moment. after all, you wanted to show your support and be there for your boyfriend in time of celebration or comfort.

“just think, hermano, this time tomorrow, we’ll be here, getting ready for kickoff,” pedri’s arms excitedly shook ferran’s shoulders from behind, hyping him up at the thought. bless him, he’d suffered an injury in his leg, but that didn’t stop his excitement for his teammates playing in the final.

tia’s eyes widened in her sleepy state, looking up at her papi who still had her pacifier in his mouth. he moved her around to face him, smiling at pedri’s antics as she stared up at him, reaching for her dummy, but ferran pulled away teasingly, watching her half-amusingly fight for it. the boys smiled at his immaturity, always messing around - even with a one year old. “hermanoo, give her it,” even pedri thought he was cruel, pouting sympathetically at the little girl.

he chuckled as tia’s small smile turned into a frown as she started to whimper frustratedly, and he gave in, letting go of the dummy for her to take back. "'m only joking, mi princessa, te amo mucho," her cheek was quickly smothered by his kisses as she rightfully sucked her dummy into her mouth. he’d never mean to upset his baby girl on purpose.

he continued to carry her around the pitch, bouncing her slightly as he knew she was usually asleep at this time, but her schedule was a little off with the travelling making her miss out her nap and now with ferran begging you to take her to see the stadium, she was behind on getting her final bottle which usually sent her to sleep.

although it looked like she didn’t need a bottle, as her eyes slowly fluttered with each rock of her daddy’s arms, she was content and cozy in his embrace and didn’t care about the big bright lights shining down on her. if she was in her daddy’s arms, she could fall asleep anywhere.

when she woke up again. it was 6:30am. you’d spent the entire day with her in berlin, exploring with ferran’s family while he was with the international team, prepping for the big day. you were nervous since the minute you woke up, wishing and praying things went their way and that ferran and the team got the result they wanted. you just hoped he would be fine no matter the turnout, and that tia would be able to put a smile on his face no matter what. he’d been playing so well and deserved it more than anything.

the next time you were in the stadium, tia was with you, dressed in a mini 11 jersey with papa on the back, she looked around the place she’d been in just the day before.

you were on edge the entire game, unable to take your eyes off the field and when halftime ended with 0-0, your anxieties increased. ferran was on the bench, undoubtedly awaiting a substitute until the game kicked off and not 2 minutes later - spain had the lead.

the stadium roared and you got the first real sense of hope and belief, trying not to jump and yell too much given your baby was still sat on your knee. from your point of view, you tried to point to the players bench where her papi sat, but she was clueless, too many things going on and too much to look at to keep her occupied, she was transfixed on the many different flags and people surrounding her.

when england scored, you were a wreck again, and prepared yourself for pens when m. oyarzabal shot the second goal into the net and all your nerves deflated. there was no coming back now, you had nothing to be afraid of.

the final whistle blew and you couldn’t stop yourself from jumping up, your daughter jumping in your arms, you yelled out with almost tears of happiness as she looked around bewildered. the stadium was thriving, singing and jumping, celebrating their country as fireworks went off. you watched the team take the stage, proudly representing their kit and your heart swelled with pride as your ferran stepped up the stage, shaking the hands of some very important people before his medal was hung deservingly around his neck.

as other families of players made their way to the pitch, you followed in lead, buzzing with excitement as you led you and tia down the steps.

ferran was talking with pedri’s family when he thought he heard you call him. he glanced around and broke out into the biggest smile when he saw you making your way over with your baby girl in your arms. “it’s papiiii!” you bounced her, trying to get her excited, “clap for papi!”

“mi querida!” he nabbed her from your hands and jumped around, kissing her over and over and over again while your heart exploded with joy. you stepped back and took photos as he tossed her in the air, her sweet giggles melting the hearts of anyone around. “we did it! we did it, bebe!”

tia’s hands held her daddy’s face as he held her in the air, grinning down at him, he took her dummy away so he could see those two little bottom teeth smiling at him.

“congrats! mi guapo,” you finally interrupted their moment, feeling left out, you wrapped your arms around your other half and squeezed him tightly. “we are so so so proud of you!”

“hermosa,” he awed, looking at his main girl. his entire world before his mini-me came along. “te amo.” he kissed your lips, and then again and again and again. you wrapped you arm around his neck and hugged your little family, kissing your daughter’s head before she started to feel jealousy again.

“te amo,” you batted your lashes lovingly at him, looking at those beautiful brown eyes you’d fallen in love with before placing a long sweet kiss on his cheek.

“tia!!” pedri’s voice called as he hurried quickly over to the little one. he didn’t know much about babies but one thing was for sure was that she was definitely ferran’s kid. she was just him as a baby with longer lashes and a cuter nose. “hello, cutie,” he tickled her arm with his finger.

she reached for him willingly, smiling at the familiar face and he gladly accepted her embrace, always flattered she would leave her papi for him for a few minutes.

“congratulations!” you sang from ferran’s side, sharing your pride for the boy. you weren’t the only one classed as ferran’s other half – you shared that title with pedri.

“thank you, y/n,” he nodded, his leg brace pulling a little at your heartstrings. you were glad he got to experience the win with the team nonetheless and got the medal he deserved. “campeons!” he sang, raising tia’s arm in the air.

“oh wow! isn’t she gorgeous,” pedri’s mum appeared with the rest of his family, his brother greeting the little baby in his brothers arms.

“thank you,” you smiled, watching them awe over her daughter.

“she gets it from me,” ferran cockily smirked, running his hand over his hair like he was some model which made you laugh. you elbowed his side as pedri handed her back, reaching for the trophy being handed his way.

“take your baby, i need to hold my baby,” he proudly took the award into his hands and began posing with his prized possession, leaving you and ferran to chuckle while he got his photos with his family.

ferran sat on the ground with tia who was infatuated with the confetti (trying to eat fistfuls of it which he had to keep pulling from). he placed the medal around her and took some of his own photos, classing this day as probably one of the best days of his life. here with you and his baby girl, feeling like all his hard work paid off in the moment. “are you proud of papa?”

“of course she is proud of her papa,” you answered for her, “she is proud of her papa every single day. she is proud of you when you manage to open a door, let’s be honest!”

he laughed, flicking more confetti from her hands. “are you? are you proud of your papa?” he looked down at her, mirroring her sitting position with her legs apart and hands inbetween. she looked so tiny across from him. “can you say papa? say papaaa.”

“pa!”

“yes! say papa!”

“pa!!” she repeated, laughing at his pleased reaction.

“yes!”

cameras clicked in your direction as the three of you stood together, tia getting distracted by the medal around her daddy’s neck and inspecting it curiously as the trophy was passed in ferran’s direction.

he posed with the trophy, the proud look on your face only growing before you joined. “wow,” you thought, running your thumb over the engraved title of spain on the silver. you all smiled with it, tia playing with the red and yellow ribbon when ferran lifted her to try and set her in it.

“ferran!” you laughed, watching your baby share a look of confusion and maybe a little discomfort from the cold metal at why her dad had placed her in there. he chuckled and quickly lifted her out, kissing her once more.

“that is getting framed for the living room,” he promised, laughing at the image.

her tiny fits wrapped around his fingers as he stood her up from the ground, keeping her still next to the trophy she was almost the same size as. he kissed it once more before handing it off to his next teammate, happy with his time with it. “my girls,” he smiled, hugging his little one on his left and pulling you into his side on the right. “i wouldn’t be able to do it without you,” he kissed both your heads.

“hmm, you couldn’t have done it without your teammates, more so,” you joked.

he rolled his eyes and shook you playfully, feeling you hand hold his over your shoulder as you began to walk around the pitch, greeting other families and congratulating his teammates. really, it gave ferran an excuse to show off his baby girl to his teammates and show just how cute she was, and how much he looked just like him.

to show off both his girls in general, and how they made him feel like he was a winner every day.

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joyfulcowboycandy · 2 months ago

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My tears, oh my tears, I just read your Lilia fic😭😭😭😭I don't think I'll be able to get through my day well. I really need a happy ending for him with her🤧🤧🤧

HI ANON! Thank you for your request ❤! I had to think pretty hard for an idea and I settled on this I hope it's satisfactory! I'm not very good at writing fluff and happy endings so I tried my best:p

Lilia Vonrogue x Reader

❥ part two (part 1: here)

Content warning: none

fem reader

Lilia had spent countless years as a hardened warrior, fighting on the front lines and keeping his heart guarded from attachment or sentimentality. But when she died in his arms, all his strength and resilience seemed to dissolve. Now, he was left with only her memory—and the child she’d entrusted to him, Silver. Raising Silver should have been a way to honor her, but each day felt like a reminder of his failure to protect her. Despite this, he kept her memory close, never sharing the truth with anyone else.

When he’d returned to Briar Valley, he had simply told others he’d found the boy abandoned. He didn’t want their sympathy, their prying questions, or their pity. She was his secret, a part of his soul he guarded as fiercely as any territory he’d once protected in battle.

Though he loved Silver fiercely, Lilia struggled to raise him properly. Silver was human, fragile and dependent in a way that bewildered him. Malleus, though eager to help, was just as lost. He was unused to anything so delicate, and his fascination with Silver’s human traits sometimes did more harm than good.

“I do not understand, Lilia,” Malleus said once as they watched Silver wail at the unfamiliar taste of solid food. “Why does he reject this nourishment? Fae children devour their first meals.”

Lilia only chuckled, masking his own frustration. “Human babies don’t always eat everything, Malleus. They’re… unpredictable.”

But when he was alone, Lilia was less assured. How could he teach a child when his own life had been war and solitude? He often tried to remember the warmth of her smile as she held Silver, the way she’d cradled him with a patience and gentleness he could never seem to match. He’d even picked up books on human parenting, flipping through pages with an intensity usually reserved for military strategies. Yet, with every attempt to follow the words, he felt her absence even more sharply, the emptiness of her laughter lingering in the silence of their small home.

Silver was growing quickly, and with him, Lilia’s feelings shifted. At times, Silver’s big eyes, so much like hers, would look up at him with a trust that made Lilia’s heart ache. But he was also reminded of his failings. How could he raise this child with warmth when he had none left to give? He was a warrior, not a father. And yet… he couldn’t let her down. Each time he saw Silver sleep, curled up and peaceful, he’d lean against the doorway and watch, feeling something unfamiliar and gentle soften his battle-worn heart.

‧₊˚ ☁️��♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. Years Later

As he grew older, Silver began to notice things that didn’t quite fit the stories his father told him. Lilia had always said he found Silver, abandoned and alone, and that he’d taken him in. But there were gaps in the story, inconsistencies that left Silver questioning his past.

Sometimes, late at night, Silver would wake to find his father sitting by the fire, staring into the flames with a distant, sorrowful expression Silver had rarely seen. And sometimes, Lilia would hold a small trinket—a ribbon, or a faded piece of cloth—that he quickly hid whenever Silver approached.

“Father,” Silver asked once, “were you alone when you found me?”

Lilia’s gaze shifted, and he masked his expression with a wry smile. “You were all I found that day, Silver. Just a bundle of trouble waiting to happen.”

But Silver couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. Over time, he learned not to ask too many questions, knowing they would only be deflected. Yet, the mysteries lingered, especially in the moments when he saw a softness in Lilia that he couldn’t quite understand—a gentleness that seemed to speak of someone else.

One night, Silver dozed off after a long day of training, only to find himself drifting into a dream unlike any he’d ever had before. It felt unusually vivid, he realized he were stepping into someone else’s memories rather than his own. He was in a dimly lit forest clearing, and through a haze of recollection, he saw his father, but not as he knew him. This version of Lilia seemed slightly younger, sterner, his gaze sharper and full of fire. And beside him was a woman Silver had never seen before.

She was human, with soft, gentle eyes, and the way she looked at his father was unlike anything Silver had ever witnessed. In one scene, she was gently binding a wound on Lilia’s arm, her hands steady and careful. Lilia was grumbling, clearly unused to being cared for in such a way, but there was a tenderness in his eyes, a look Silver had never seen directed at anyone before.

The memory shifted, and now she was holding a small child—an infant Silver realized with a start was himself. She whispered to the baby in her arms, her words too soft for him to hear, but the expression of love on her face was unmistakable. And when Lilia glanced at her, it was with a mix of admiration, something deeper and unspoken lingering in his gaze.

Silver stirred, feeling an ache in his chest he couldn’t explain. Who was this woman, and why had his father never mentioned her? The dream faded, but the questions remained, and the next morning, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Father,” he began hesitantly, watching Lilia’s face, “I had a dream last night… or maybe a memory. There was a woman with you. She looked… kind.”

Lilia stiffened, his usual mirth fading as he met Silver’s gaze. For a moment, he was silent, his eyes betraying a depth of pain Silver had never seen before.

“She was…” Lilia’s voice was barely a whisper. “Someone I lost long ago.”

Silver remained quiet, sensing the weight of the memory and the love his father had hidden all these years. Though Lilia didn’t offer any more details, Silver understood that this woman—his mother—had been someone truly special.

Silver felt a quiet desperation gnawing at him. Now that he had glimpsed a fragment of her—a woman he felt connected to yet hardly knew—a hollow ache settled in his chest. His father had always kept his sorrow hidden, masking any sign of grief with his usual humor and lightheartedness. But after seeing her, Silver couldn’t ignore the emptiness left by her absence, and he couldn’t accept that this was the end of their story.

The longing grew sharper with each day, his mind drifting back to the mystery of her—a mother he barely remembered, a bond he could only dream of. How could he let things end like this? To never have truly known her felt wrong. Still, he was just a human, and what power did he have over something as final as death?

But the thought wouldn’t let him rest. He was not as helpless as he felt. He was strong, he knew magic, and he was connected to some of the most powerful beings in Twisted Wonderland. Surely there was a way—some forbidden knowledge, some hidden path he hadn’t yet considered.

And then he remembered the rumors, whispers of a witch who resided far beyond Briar Valley, somewhere between worlds, where human souls and fae magic brushed against each other. A powerful sorceress who understood the mysteries of life and death and could speak to the spirits themselves.

The path to this witch wouldn’t be easy, but Silver knew he couldn’t turn back now. This was something he had to do—not just for himself, but for the one who had given everything for him, the one he knew his father had loved in a way he had never spoken of.

Silver set out quietly, keeping his journey a secret from his father, Sebek and Malleus. He ventured through dense forests and past enchanted lakes, traveling farther than he ever had before. His heart remained steadfast, though fear began to settle in as he neared his destination.

Finally, after days of travel, he reached the borderlands between the human world and the realm of the sea—a place where twilight lingered, where ancient stones rose from the mist, and the air was thick with enchantment. In the shadows of the rocks, he caught sight of her: the witch he had heard of. She was cloaked in dark robes, her figure partially obscured, but her gaze was piercing, as though she had been expecting him.

“You seek to bring back a lost soul,” she said before Silver even spoke. Her voice was calm but held a warning, laced with an unsettling wisdom. “A dangerous wish, young one. Life and death are not to be tampered with lightly.”

Silver’s resolve held firm. “I know it’s dangerous, but… she was taken from us too soon. I just want the chance to know her, even if it’s only once.”

The witch regarded him in silence, her expression unreadable. “To bring back a soul from beyond… it requires a great sacrifice,” she finally said. “Not in gold, not in power, but in spirit. To restore what was lost, you must be willing to give something of equal weight in return.”

“What do you mean?” Silver asked, feeling a shiver of uncertainty.

She gave him a steady look. “It will cost you a piece of yourself. Memories, perhaps, or a fragment of your own life force. To give life, something must be taken. And even then, it may not work as you hope. The dead do not always return as they were.”

Silver’s heart raced, but he nodded, his determination unwavering. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The witch watched him, assessing his resolve before finally nodding. She led him to a clearing at the edge of the shore, where she instructed him to gather rare herbs and light a circle of candles in the shape of the full moon.

Silver could feel the energy drain from him as the witch chanted in the language of old, his very life force spilling into the circle they had created. He closed his eyes, focusing on his mother’s face, the brief glimpses he had seen in his dreams—the gentle smile, the warmth that lingered even in a memory. He barely noticed as the witch’s voice faded, the mist thickening in front of him until it nearly obscured the world.

When he opened his eyes, she was there.

She stood just beyond the edge of the mist, her form wrapped in simple robes of soft, muted colors, somewhere between the shades of twilight and dawn. Her hair, flowing, caught the light in a gentle, silvery sheen. Silver’s heart stilled, his breath caught in his throat as he took in her familiar features—the softness of her gaze, the contours of her face that mirrored his own.

For a moment, she looked around in confusion, her brow furrowing as her gaze settled on him, lingering with a glimmer of recognition that hadn’t fully settled. She studied his face, her eyes taking in every feature as if piecing together a puzzle from fragments of memory.

Silver’s lips parted, and the word slipped out like a breath. “Mother…”

Her eyes widened, the dawning realization flooding her expression, and then, as if nothing else in the world mattered, she moved toward him. At first, a tentative step, and then, as recognition and emotion surged within her, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him with a force that belied her slight frame. Silver’s arms moved instinctively to hold her, his heart pounding as he felt the solid warmth of her, the reality of her presence.

They held each other for a long moment, both too overwhelmed to speak, both still trembling with the fragile wonder of what had just happened. She pulled back slightly, gazing up at him, her eyes studying every line and shadow on his face. She let out a soft, incredulous laugh, a sound both joyful and tearful.

“Silver…” she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. “You… you’ve grown so much. You’re so big now.”

Silver managed a shaky smile, barely able to contain the overwhelming surge of emotions. “I… I never thought I’d see you…”

Her hand reached up, brushing his cheek, her fingers lingering as though she was still trying to assure herself he was real. “I don’t understand how… or why… but I felt something calling me back, a longing I couldn’t ignore.” Her voice faltered, softening. “I thought I’d lost you both forever.”

Silver shook his head, his own hand moving to cover hers. “No. I had to bring you back. I had to know you—just once.” His voice broke slightly, but he didn’t care; he needed her to know the depth of his longing, the years he had wondered about her.

They shared another silent moment, just taking in the wonder of being reunited before Silver finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s someone who needs to see you… someone who’s missed you even more than I have.”

Her gaze brightened, and she nodded, a glimmer of emotion flickering in her eyes as she realized who he meant. “Take me to him.”

When they returned to Briar Valley, Silver led her to the castle, his heart racing with anticipation and awe. Lilia was there, his usually cheerful expression softening as he spotted Silver at the entrance. But when his gaze landed on the figure beside him, he froze.

For a heartbeat, Lilia seemed unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His eyes widened, his mouth slightly open as he took in the sight of her, standing beside Silver, alive, her eyes shining as she met his gaze.

“Lilia…” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears pooled in her eyes.

Lilia took a hesitant step forward, his composure slipping away, replaced by an expression Silver had never seen before—a vulnerability, a disbelief, and a raw, overwhelming joy. “How…?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Unable to hold back any longer, she moved toward him, her steps quickening until she wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as if he might vanish. Lilia’s arms encircled her, holding her tightly, and a tear slipped down his cheek as he buried his face in her shoulder.

They stayed like that, the two of them locked in an embrace, their reunion marked by silent tears and whispered words of comfort and disbelief. Silver watched, a warmth filling his chest, his heart swelling with quiet happiness as he witnessed the reunion he had always longed for.

When they finally pulled back, Lilia placed a gentle hand on her face, brushing away a tear. “I thought I’d lost you forever,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes softened with a depth of love that Silver had never seen before.

She placed her hand over his. “You never lost me. I was always there… watching over you both.”

Lilia looked toward Silver, his gaze filled with gratitude and something else—a newfound pride, a warmth that he struggled to put into words.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. BONUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Silver led his mother, Y/N, through the stone corridors of the castle. She held herself with quiet grace, her steps soft, but she was clearly a bit nervous. As they approached the courtyard, Malleus and Sebek stood waiting, expressions guarded yet curious.

“Mother,” Silver began, a touch of pride in his voice, “these are my friends: Malleus Draconia and Sebek Zigvolt.”

Y/N gave a small, respectful nod, her gaze briefly meeting theirs before she glanced aside shyly. “It’s… nice to meet you both. I’ve heard a little of you on the way here.”

Malleus tilted his head, regarding her with a steady, thoughtful gaze. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Wait,” Sebek interjected, brows drawing together in confusion, “Silver, you… have a mother? That’s not the story Master Lilia told us…” His voice was skeptical, yet respectful.

Silver shifted slightly. “I uh…. Well, it’s complicated…”

Just then, Lilia approached, hands behind his back, giving the scene an amused glance before his gaze softened on Y/N. She caught his eye, a bit of warmth there, even if neither spoke right away.

“Lilia,” Malleus finally ventured, “perhaps you could enlighten us?”

Lilia gave a faint smirk, his tone dry. “Oh, I do seem to have forgotten a few details, haven’t I?” His eyes flicked to Y/N with a hint of warmth. “She has a habit of showing up when you least expect it.”

Y/N chuckled softly, glancing at Lilia. “Some things haven’t changed.”

Sebek was still gaping, while Malleus studied the quiet exchange between Y/N and Lilia with a thoughtful look. Lilia only shrugged, his voice nonchalant but his gaze carrying a deeper feeling as he said, “Every family has a few secrets, after all.”

Bonus 2: Y/n: Oh… You cut your hair. Lilia: Yes, I did… Did you like it longer? I’ll grow it out. Y/n: W-what? It’s okay! I love it now too. It’s cute. Lilia: I love you too–oh, I mean I love it too, yes.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia x reader #general lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #lilia #malleus draconia #malleus #silver #silver twst #sebek #sebek zigvolt

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grapefives · 3 months ago

Text

REVÓLVER SEXUAL | HC

supernova trio x gn!reader (separately)

very light angst + implied nsfw + hispanic/latin reader + past fat shaming + insecurities + fluff + mentioned past unhealthy mechanisms

a/n: totally not self indulging. this has been in my drafts for a year LMAO please like 🧍🏻‍♀️

૮ ּ ۟ monkey d. luffy ׅ ۫ ✧

when you first joined the crew, luffy KNEW you had some sort of trouble with food

you were so hesitant of EVERYTHING that he found himself insisting and making sure you ate well, along with sanji

“y/n, eat more.” you felt like he was your MOM.

you could hear the “estas muy flac@” from your family members or the “ni que estuvieras a dieta” from your mother

but it was so HARD to say no to luffy, captain or not.

you still didn’t have a healthy relationship with food, and still felt a little guilty if you found yourself eating more than you FELT like you should’ve

sometimes you’d go all day without eating until luffy drags you for dinner, it’s not that you did it intentionally, you just don’t find it in you to eat

honestly, it worried luffy but he never really commented on it

all he would do is make sure you at least ate

but when you would play with your food more than eat or even just stare at the plate before you, he would frown and actually force feed you

“Y/N YOU HAVE TO BE STRONG AND HEALTHY SO WE CAN BEAT EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT WAY!”

yet, one day he finds out you literally had an issue with eating, you had mentioned it to chopper and he just happened to overhear

then it clicked why you were always squirmy during intimacy

and WITHOUT FAIL, to your surprise, he started being reassuring to you

he’s always a sweetheart with you, your hype man regardless but this time you knew his intentions were for you to understand you shouldn’t worry about your physical appearance

his eyes were ten times more tender outside the bedroom

yet, when it came to intimacy he was like a hungry animal— kissing, biting and grabbing. it had taken you aback at how specific he was being, but you still melted into him

he made you forget the voices that would say “hide that” or “don’t let him notice” but he made sure you understood that he’ll love you regardless of what you think

and he’s an eater

he’ll eat you up. always.

૮ ּ ۟ trafalgar d. law ׅ ۫ ✧

he’s a DOCTOR. man’s knows when someone is off.

he mistook your lack of interest in food for a stomach bug, genuinely concerned and forcing you to take pills and medicine

lowkey made you feel bad and ashamed to the point you came clean

medical confidentiality right?

😭 the face he gave you!!

“it’s unhealthy to neglect vital nutrients to your body.”

very stern about your meal intake, takes it upon himself to make sure you eat what you can stomach at first and make sure you grow comfortable with both him and food

he’s sweet really, just shows it in private

he literally sits you down and asks you what you would like for your body, because if you have any concerns then you MUST attend them CORRECTLY

no more unhealthy mechanisms

and he falls even more in love when you seem more radiant, more confident.

he’d come up from behind always and just plant a warm, wet kiss on your ear before whispering a compliment on your appearance

he made you feel like no one else’s opinion mattered anymore.

literally it didn’t matter if people commented on your weight, the results you were having made you feel confident

he was definitely surprised when you’d initiate intimacy, when you’d devour him like a starving animal

“someone’s hungry,” he teased once, but when you had paused, he realized his wording must have affected you

he low key panics and stutters out an apology but you smirk at him

“for once i don’t feel guilty for eating-“ and you devour his heart and soul too

૮ ּ ۟ eustass kid ׅ ۫ ✧

i’m sorry but this doofus was really oblivious about it until killer pointed it out

he was so mad at himself. how dare he not see your issue with food?? he thought you gave him your leftovers out of love!!

dude he’s like, an insensitive giant thinking he’s being helpful

it made sense of why you were always trying to put off intimacy or why you’d try to make him see less of you

“i don’t give a damn about how you look. why would i care?” he asks.

in his head he was being sweet and saying “i love you just the way you are.”

but it made you feel like shit

you were already struggling with feeling right with yourself, and he comes and says he doesn’t care? maybe you’re being sensitive but even that made you feel worse

it felt like you’ll never be enough for anyone, even eustass.

you never felt like you mattered, but growing up your weight put labels on you. you grew up with insults being used as nicknames, yet you felt like eustass saw you as nothing

“why aren’t you eating?” he asks when he notices you still aren’t developing a good eating habit, some days you eat well and others you either overeat or don’t eat at all

“does it matter?” you huff.

“i give a damn when you could get sick!”

“you said you don’t give a damn about how i look, so shut up about what i do.” you growl.

“eh? when did i say that!? you need to eat!” he huffs.

“well no thank you.”

you ignore him and he has to corner you in your room to get you to pay him any mind

his interrogations fall deaf in your ears as he cages you under him on your bed

“if i don’t matter to you get out,” you blurt out.

“what are you talking about? when have i made you feel like you don’t matter to me.”

“you know i’m struggling and you just- you just said you don’t give a damn about how i look!”

“because i don’t! does it have to matter? i love you for you! pirates seek out people for their bodies and for their own pleasures! i’m with you because i love you for who you are!”

“and i am not saying you’re ugly or whatever it is you think i think!” he beats you to every argument.

and then he goes on to show you PHYSICALLY what he means. not like, harsh or anything. you’ve never felt so precious under his care before, he kissed you so tenderly.

he didn’t make you feel fragile, like something that could break in a bad way

he made you understand how he sees you as more as his partner- as an extension of his soul, his missing piece

“i’ll make sure you never feel like that again, as long as you’re with me, you’ll be more valuable than a poneglyph. whatever you struggle with, i’ll help you through it.”

your confidence went up, because honestly he’s brutally honest and many people take what the captain says seriously; yet you knew he’s never lie to you

at the end of the day, what your lover says is what matters to you.

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scoutswritingcorner · 9 months ago

Note

Can we have more overlord huskerdust? With a male reader who's soul belongs to zestial, they're a Butler and is being abused and used by him. Reader never said anything about zestial being his owner cause they're were threatened and scare that zestial would hurt them.

Hope this isn't too much, srry if it is 😭🩷

Safe And Sound

Overlord!HuskerDust x Male Reader

TW: Mentions of abuse but nothing is explicitly written , crying.

A/n: I’m so glad you like my Overlord HuskerDust headcanons friend! I love these two silly men, not gonna lie I cried when writing this purely cause of the angst. BUT! It does have a happy ending and I hope you enjoy it anon!

Being the boyfriend of two very powerful overlords means you get everything you want when you want, but sadly your freedom is not one of those things until one night.

You sat comfortably on Husk’s lap as you watched the poor fool in front of him slowly lose all his money, the way he kept coming back day after day just to beat the big boss himself. You grimaced and looked away to hide how much pain you were in as a simple fact of nuzzling your boyfriend’s neck as his claws slowly raked over the forming bruise on your leg. You had come straight to the casino after you had survived another grueling day of being a butler for Zestial, you just wanted to be surrounded by your boyfriends and grab a nice drink. But now you felt..uncomfortable around all these people, like they knew. Like your boyfriends knew about the damn contract keeping you locked down by the neck.

It felt suffocating and you hated it, Husk’s hand moved up to squeeze your waist, “What’s wrong, Pretty Boy?” He whispered, concerned as he waved off the poor excuse of a demon and leaned back in his chair. “Nothing, Husk..just tired is all.” You replied, leaning your head back and ignoring how his golden eyes stared at your face as you fixed the suit you had worn today, you didn’t want to worry him or Angel they had enough on their minds as is so when his paw had moved down to brush your leg once more your body had tensed and you swallowed down the pain you felt. “Give me a moment to get everyone out so I can close up, then we can head to bed.” He replied leaning in to give you a gentle kiss as you slowly stood up from his lap.

It was only a few moments later when he had appeared once more, guiding you to the back of the Casino with his paw on your lower back, you were so glad that the bruise was finally healing up and didn’t hurt much anymore. You leaned closer to Husk as he led you into the elevator that went up to the penthouse that you, Angel and Husk lived in at the top of his Casino. When you first started dating them, you didn’t want to move into the penthouse with them. Not because it was bad, but because you didn’t want to move into their space, it was too nice and you felt you would’ve ruined it a long time ago.

“C’mon Handsome, what’s going on?” Husk’s voice caught you off guard, your face heating up from the name but your hand played with the button on your suit jacket. “You’d be upset if I told you,” You replied as Husk pulled you closer to his side, kissing your cheek carefully as if he was trying to ease your worry. The elevator doors opened with a soft ‘ding’ and you quickly excused yourself from his grip to rush to the bedroom, the suit felt heavier and heavier by the second making you think about the green chain wrapped around your neck. It made you want to throw up and lay in bed all day. You could hear Angel’s voice echo down the hallway as you shut the bedroom door behind you, you just needed to get your pajamas on and go to sleep, it would be better in the morning. Right?

It wasn’t until you were already in bed, snuggled deep into the covers with Fat Nuggets curled in your arms did it hit. The tears started to flow as you could barely move your bruised leg, you couldn’t sleep as the thoughts kept racing and you don’t remember when you felt a pair of arms wrap around you. But you were crying harder than before trying to keep your boyfriends from seeing you like this, soft paws carefully moving the pig away from you as you turned and buried your face into white chest fluff, “We got ya’ suga’...take deep breaths for us?” Angel’s voice whispered out as he kissed the top of your head, nodding along as you took deep but shaky breaths feeling Husk rub your back, both of them sent a look to each other, something was seriously wrong. Once you had calmed down a bit but was still curled up on Angel’s chest was when they finally asked the question.

“Handsome? Is someone hurting you?” The question was simple but the way you froze before slowly nodding immediately made the anger in them rise as it tried to show its ugly face. “Zestial owns my soul and has been hitting me, I was so afraid to tell you both cause what if he finds out and kills me?” You whispered sitting up as tears formed into your eyes once more, but Angel pulled you close and gently kissed your tears away. “He’s been..abusing me ever since he found out that I’ve been dating you both. I’m nothing and you both are everything.” You whispered out as you looked at Angel. Angel knew the look he had on his face wasn’t the soft look he gave you and Husk in private, it was the one he used when someone had threatened you and in turn threatened him and Husk.

“You are everything, Suga’. You are our everything, we would never be angry at the simple fact that someone is hurting you. We want you safe and sound in our arms, that old bag of bones is nothing but hateful. We’ll deal with everything okay?” Angel hummed and watched as you nodded, glancing over at Husk who was angrily puffing on a cigar near the window. He was pissed but not at you, never at you. “Husky, babycakes, come back to bed.” Angel called out watching as the feline’s ears fell flat on his head before he put the cigar out easily. “Fine, but I’m dealing with that old fuck in the morning.” Husk growled out moving back towards the bed, his suit long gone as he now wore nothing but his lucky pair of boxers with the hearts on it.

~~~

You were slowly waking up when you had realized Husk and Angel were gone from the bed, you didn’t mind it as they were always busy with something and Angel only left if he needed to get up right then. Otherwise, he would’ve still been in bed with you and Fat Nuggets. You slowly get up and get dressed for the day, but the whole time something felt off. There was no calling from Zestial pulling on that wretched chain nor the feeling of dread right around the corner, something that followed Zestial around like a plague. You walked around the home whilst the little piglet happily followed after you, you stopped at Angel’s in the home office and knocked on the door. After a few seconds you slowly opened the door and peaked your head in. He wasn’t there and you didn’t hear Husk playing his favorite Jazz from his office either so you huffed, guess they had to go out and get work done or there was a meeting.

You quickly closed Angel’s office door shut and made your way to the kitchen, you were hungry and you guessed the little piglet at your feet was too. You chuckled hearing his little oinks as he looked up at you, “Hold on, Nuggies. Papa is making you some breakfast.” You hummed as you pulled out his food and your own ingredients to begin making breakfast, the little piglet patiently waiting for his food and laying on one of your feet. It wasn’t until you heard the doors to the penthouse opening that you looked up seeing as Angel and Husk walked back in holding bags and looking amazing as always.

“Good Morning, Handsome!” Angel called out walking over to kiss your cheek before wrapping one of his lower arms around your waist, as Husk pulled you into a gentle and loving kiss, “Sorry for leaving so early, Pretty Boy.” He hummed as you smiled, “No worries, you both are busy men. Are you hungry?” You asked leaning back into Angel’s embrace as he gasped, “Oh you know it, baby~ I could just kill for your cooking~” He purred into your ear, making a shiver run down your spine and a blush form on your cheeks.

After a very interesting breakfast between the three of you, they both sat you down on the couch and you watched as Husk reached into his suit jacket. Once he showed the golden paper, your body froze and began to shake but he quickly handed it over to you. Angel wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek, “It’s okay..just read it for us, Handsome..” He whispered out as he watched your shaking hands slowly unravel the scroll. Your eyes shakily scan the paper as the anxiety rose in your stomach before it dropped in a matter of seconds replaced by the feeling of excitement. The big bold words across the whole contract read ‘VOID’ and you looked up at Husk and then Angel then back down at the paper. “You..you got him to void the contract? I’m..I’m not under his control anymore?” You asked, hands shaking as both men smiled at you. “Not anymore, Hot stuff. You’re free once more.” Husk purred leaning back in his favorite armchair, cigar hanging from his lips as his grin grew. So that’s why everything felt different this morning, you had your soul back and it was freeing. Dropping the golden paper you hugged Angel Dust close as he pressed kisses all across your face.

“No one will hurt you anymore, Suga’.” He purred out, you couldn’t be happier.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #angel dust imagine #angel dust x you #angel dust x male reader #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x reader #huskerdust x male reader #male reader #overlord husk #husker x reader #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #huskerdust #overlord angel dust #overlord huskerdust x male reader

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lalacliffthorne · 7 months ago

Text

🤍 just a one time thing 🤍

modern!Cassian x Reader

summary: add together best friends and a drunk slip up and you got a massive load of chaotic feelings.

part I

notes: well - so much for next week? life just - majorly got in the way. anyway.

fuuuuuuck I can't. 😭💞 this has been long overdue, bc honestly - Cassian just has my whole fucking heart, and this modern version reduces me to a pile of giggling, feet-kicking mush. I've had this idea for a while now, along with some impeccable inspiration - and it's finally coming together. this one's got smut (duh), flirting and friendship (and a whole lot of f-bombs on Cassian's side) -- and, which seems to be business at usual for me at this point - it got insanely long. in fact, it got so long that I had to scratch posting it in one part, cause I think that would have brought tumblr down, like - really. *winces* so, this is part one, somewhere around 20k words (oh boy) -- you know the drill; get cozy, get comfortable, you're gonna be here for a while.

______________________________________________________________

The library was my favorite place on campus.

Even though it was way too small for so many students and had way too little workspace, which meant it was chronically stuffed with people, there was just something calming about the absolute silence you entered once you walked through the front doors. And I had quickly realised that if you slipped into one of the lesser frequented sections, moving through the aisles all the way to the back where the tilted roof was glass and everything was completely quiet, you could actually pretend you were alone, just surrounded by hundreds and hundred of books, not another soul around.

Which meant it usually was the perfect place for any sort of breakdown.

Usually.

♡

“You okay there?”

The deep, amused voice made me jump slightly; quickly, I pulled the book from my face and dipped my head back, craning my neck – and felt my breath catch.

Oh.

A guy was standing a few feet away, his brows crunched together and eyes narrowed, but the corner of his lips twitched.

At least it looked that way from upside-down.

I blinked. Then I sent him a slow, sheepish smile from my position down on the carpeted floor, sprawled out on my back, head tipped back and neck craned to look up at him.

“Hi.”

The guy stared down at me, and slowly, his lips curved upwards.

My heart missed a beat, and my breath hitched.

Oh.

“Hi.” His voice sent a tingle over my skin, deep and warm. Creases dug into his cheeks as he grinned down at me.

Creases.

Crap.

Clearing my throat, I crunched my nose, smiling innocently up at him. “Can I – help you?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” The dude narrowed his eyes, but his lips twitched like he was trying not to smirk as he leaned his shoulder against one of the shelves. His voice rumbled through me, low because of our surroundings, sending tingles down my spine.

Using my book to scratch my chin, I squinted up at him. “Why?”

The dude’s eyes narrowed further, a slow grin spreading over his face.

Creases.

“Cause you’re laying starfish-style on the floor with a book on your face.” He raised his brows, eyes twinkling. “I don’t know ‘bout you, but to me, that kinda sounds like a breakdown.”

I blinked. Then I laborously pushed myself up into a sitting position, grumbling “Judgy much.” under my breath. Somehow, the guy still picked up on it, because he chuckled, the deep sound travelling, and my breath hitched. My eyes darted up, and for the first time, I really looked at him.

My heart got stuck in my throat, and I almost felt myself shrink a little.

Well, shit.

Of course he was gorgeous.

Dark eyes that tracked over my face in amusement, even darker hair, the top half pulled back haphazardly into a bun. His grin caused dimples to appear in his cheeks, there was a faded scar on the side of his face shifting with his smirk, and his jaw looked like it could cut through paper.

And then there were the tattoos.

All in black, they were scattered all over his muscled arms, down to the backs of his veined hands and disappearing into the sleeves of his t-shirt, peaking out above the collar. His shoulders were straining against the material even though it was hanging loosely on his wide frame, muscles working under the fabric when he shifted lightly in the spot, crossing his arms over his chest. I tried not to stare as his biceps tensed and relaxed again.

God, there probably wasn’t an inch on the guy’s body that didn’t carry muscles. Even with his loose joggers it was clear that he never skipped leg day, his biceps were the size of my head, and his chest and shoulders were broad enough I felt my throat go dry.

I blinked, and the guy’s shit-eating grin grew.

Ah, crap.

Clearing my throat, I quickly raised my brows.

“So, can I – help you?”

“I don’t know.” The guy narrowed his eyes in thought, pushing off the shelves. “Any reason you’re back here?” The corners of his lips twitched, his deep voice vibrating like he was holding back a smirk when he sauntered towards me. “Deleted someone’s assignment when they went to the bathroom? Spilled soda on a book worth more than your apartment?” Dimples formed in his cheeks when he grinned. “Smuggled in your cat?”

I crunched my brows.

That seemed – oddly specific.

“No...” It came out more like a question, my head dipping to the side in slight confusion, and the guy chuckled as he crouched down in front of me. A wave of his warm cologne washed over me, something dipped in my stomach, and he raised his brows at me with a smirk.

“Hope it hasn’t got anything to do with you currently blocking the number one hook-up spot on campus.”

I blinked. Then I snorted a little and started to giggle, raising my brows.

“You’re kidding, right?”

The guy stared at me, the corners of his lips slowly curving upwards.

I stared back with a wide smile that dimmed a little. Then I crunched my brows. “You’re joking.”

The guy grinned, his gaze tracking over my face.

“Nope. Wish I was.” He sighed deeply before crunching his brows. “Have you been back here often lately, ‘cause that would explain why suddenly every horny student has migrated to the fourth floor over at the auditorium; before you ask how I know,”, the corners of his lips tipped into a smirk, “I walked in on a couple fucking in the broom closet a week ago.”

I stared at him. For a second, my mind was simply blank as I felt heat wash into my face and the guy stared back, the corners of his lips twitching and eyes twinkling mischievously. Then I blinked and crunched my face in confusion.

“Why didn’t you knock?”

The guy arched his brows. “Knock. At a broom closet.”

I raised my shoulders, somehow managing to fight a wide smile when I widened my eyes at him.

“I don’t know; it’s a broom closet in an empty hall, that’s like the second most cliché place for a hook up. I mean,”, I tried to keep my lips from curving upwards, “you probably scared the crap out of them; neither of them will ever be able to do it in a confined space again because they’ll be too scared of you suddenly barging through the door, but – to the rest of the student body, a broom closet will still be pretty high up on the list!”

The guy snorted, dropping his head for a second as his shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

“So you’re saying it’s my fault?” He looked up at me again, creases digging into his cheeks as he grinned widely and raised his brows.

“Well, it’s definitely not mine.” I frowned, something giddy bubbling under my ribs as I tried to suppress a beaming smile. “What did you just walk into a broom closet for?!”

“I thought someone was dying in there.” The guy widened his eyes at me, his grin growing bigger. “That poor girl was faking her fucking heart out, and it wasn’t surprising, the guy was practically making her teeth chatter.”

A snorted giggle broke from my throat before I could hold it back, and the guy raised his brows, deep creases forming in his cheeks. “Seriously man; it was traumatising, I’m getting flashbacks every time I just open a fucking door.”

I tried to fight the giggles bubbling in my chest. “In that case, maybe it’s good then he can’t do it in small spaces anymore.”

For a second, we just stared at each other while suddenly, I couldn’t keep my grin at bay, my heart hopping against my ribs and the guy’s lips curving, dimples in his cheeks as his twinkling eyes pierced mine. Then I blinked, and my gaze caught on the clock on the wall behind him.

My eyes widened as something dipped in my chest, startled.

“Shit.”

Hastily, I crammed my book into my bag and scrambled to get to my feet. Looking around to make sure I hadn’t left anything, I turned – and almost ran face first into a broad chest.

My heart missed a beat, my gaze slowly moved up, and my breath caught in my throat as I felt my lips part a little.

Oh.

Crap, he was tall.

The guy’s lips curved like he could read my thoughts as he stared back down at me. He was so close, I could feel the scent of his cologne fill my lungs with every soft, hitching breath, something dark and warm and addicting.

I could have stepped back to make it more comfortable for both us. I probably should have; I was still barely an inch away from bumping into his chest and had to crane my neck to look up at him, the top of my head barely even reaching his shoulders, his own head dipped so he could hold my gaze.

But for some reason, I suddenly couldn’t move a muscle, my breath caught in my throat and my heart thrumming against my ribs as I stared up at him with slightly widened eyes. His wide shoulders were basically blocking the light and his broad, solid chest was radiating warmth, his scent making my head swim. There were green flecks in his iris, surrounding his dark pupils in a ring and melting into warm brown that slowly started to twinkle.

“What were you doing back here again?” The guy’s quiet voice vibrated like he was suppressing a grin, his eyes narrowing lightly.

Somehow, I kept myself from swallowing. Instead I managed to pull myself together with a huff and started to glower up at him.

“Not what you’re thinking right now.”

The guy slowly started to smile shit-eatingly, dimples digging into his cheeks as he raised his brows.

“Actually, sweetheart, you’re the one thinking it -”

Grumbling, I turned around, barely fighting the stupidly wide grin threatening to break over my face.

When I threw a quick look back before turning the corner, the guy was still standing in the same spot, dimples in his cheeks as he stared after me with a grin.

♡

Rain pattered onto the skylights above, the lamps dunking the quiet library in warm, golden light.

It had started chucking it down just a little after I had slipped into my favorite rarely visited section, setting up camp under the windows. I had gotten some work done before pulling my book from my bag, curling up against the wall.

Crunching my brows in focus, lost in the story, I was about to turn the page when a pair of sneakers appeared in my vision.

The scent of dust and paper was chased away by a dark, warm scent; my heart leapt into my throat and my head whipped up, and someone plopped down next to me.

My breath caught, and the guy that had been wandering my mind since his appearance in my section a few days ago stared at me with contemplatively narrowed eyes. There was the hint of a crease showing in his cheek, his loose sweatshirt somehow making him look even broader, and his huge frame dwarfed mine even with him sitting on the floor.

“You know…” He shifted, one tattooed hand rising from where it was loosely draped over his pulled up legs as he dipped his head towards me.

“Over there,”, squinting as his lips quirked, he pointed towards the aisles leading back into the main space of the library, “are workspaces where you can actually sit at a table instead of on the floor?”

I stared at him, and slowly, something started bubbling in my chest. It felt warm and giddy, causing my heart to hop and a big grin threatening to break free on my face.

Biting it back just barely, I crunched my brows.

“Yeah, but, over there,”, leaning his way without being able to help it, I also pointed towards the aisles and looked back at him, raising my brows dramatically, “you have to actually kill someone to get a seat.”

The guy chuckled, the sound travelling through me. Eyes crinkling and dimples digging into his cheeks, he grinned and leaned back against the wall, easily stretching out one long leg and propping his arm onto the other. I tried not to stare at the tattoos inked onto his skin, muscles flexing beneath when he shifted to get comfortable and smirked at me.

“I was hurt when you ran away from me the other day.”

Something fluttered high in my chest. “I didn’t run away, I had class.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye.” The guy’s eyes were twinkling even as he furrowed his brows with a pout, which – looked ridiculously adorable for a six-foot-something guy with tattoos all over.

“I was late.” Widening my eyes at him, I tried to fight that strange feeling that started bubbling in my chest, warm and giddy and causing my lips to try and break into a huge smile.

“You had time to stare at me.” The guy smirked, a crease digging into his cheek as his gaze lazily dragged over my face, and I glowered at him even as heat bled into my cheeks.

Damn it.

The guy’s grin grew, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then he raised his brows, draping his hand over his knee.

“So you’re still sitting in the hook up-section.”

I huffed, trying to fight my twitching lips.

“Yeah, well; your word is the only one I got that this is actually a hook up spot, and I’m not about to give up the only place in this library where I don’t have to fight anyone to get a seat.”

“I'd fight for you.” The guy’s eyes were twinkling as he stared at me, his grin growing when a laugh broke from my throat.

“Besides.” I turned back towards my book and raised my brows, feeling my lips curve. “I decided that if that whole thing is true, then I will gladly keep scaring people off with my presence.”

The guy’s eyes were twinkling as his gaze dragged over my face. “You sure you’re the right person to scare anyone away?”

I quickly turned my head to scowl at him. “Hey; I might not be a fucking giant, but I can kick very painful places.”

The guy’s smirk widened, creases digging into his cheeks and iris sparkling as he stared at me. “Kinky.”

I huffed, mostly to suppress the laugh rising in my throat as the happy bubbling under my ribs grew.

“Also, I don’t have to be scary, just a person being here is gonna do the job.” I felt a cheeky grin tug at my lips when I arched a brow. “People generally don’t want an audience when they’re having a quicky in the library.”

The guy squinted at me, his lips curving.

“You talking out of experience?”

My cheeks heated, and I glared at him.

“I don’t know; you’re the one who heard people fucking in a closet and decided to take a look,”, I grumbled.

A deep laugh broke from the guy’s chest, the sound suppressed as he tipped his head back, his shoulders shaking as he laughed silently. Something hopped against my ribs, and I tried to fight the stupidly wide smile pushing onto my lips.

Breathing a chuckle, the guy dropped his head again with a grin, his twinkling eyes flickering over my face as he narrowed them.

“So why did you decide robbing people of quickies in the library was a good idea? Cause there’s a bunch of students 'bout to be really fucking pissed.”

“Because unlike a broom closet, no aisle here has a door. I don't wanna know how many people got traumatized because they were looking for a book at the wrong time,”, I grumbled drily before crunching my face. “Also; fucking in a library, have some respect, the poor books.”

“What, a broom closet is less sensitive?” The guy furrowed his brows, his lips twitching like he was fighting a laugh.

“Yeah; I mean, the only thing to defile in there are mops, and they’re used to dirty stuff,”, I mumbled absentmindedly.

For a second, there was silence, and when I raised my eyes before looking to the side, the guy was staring at me, the grin on his face slowly growing.

My lips started twitching, and a giggle bubbled in my throat.

“You know, I don’t even know your name.” The guy reclined lazily, his eyes bright when he raised a brow.

Staring back at him, I felt my lips curve. “Well, I don’t know yours, so I’d say that’s fair.”

The guy’s grin widened. Then he sent me a light wink.

“Cassian.”

Something leapt up and down under my ribs, and I tried to fight a wide smile.

“Y/N.”

For a second, we stared at each other, something bubbling wildly in my stomach. Then the guy, Cassian, blinked and crunched his brows, again looking ridiculously adorable.

“So what was that breakdown the other day about?”

I sighed and raised the book I was holding. “This. I’m really trying to enjoy it, but it’s just breaking my brain –“

“It’s a book, baby; how bad can it be?” Cassian’s lips curved into a smirk as he plucked it from my grip, crunching his brows as he turned it to read the back, and I felt my breath catch at the absolute nonchalance with which he called me baby. But somehow, I managed to push past it, widening my eyes at him.

“It’s the story, okay; listen –“

“Next station -”

The tinny voice coming from the speakers overhead ripped me out of my thoughts, and I raised my head, my gaze landing on the name of the station on the screen.

“Shit.” I felt my eyes widen as my heart jumped against my ribs, and I quickly darted out of my seat.

♡

“Sorry, excuse me –“, wincing, I weaved my way through the people coming my way from the crosswalk. Squinting against the last rays of sunlight, I breathed out, the cold air making me shiver gently as I slid my hands into my pockets and stopped at a red light. Rocking back and forth on the spot, I let my gaze flicker over the square behind the crosswalk.

I didn’t know why exactly today, my brain had decided to take me on a trip down memory lane. But it caused that same happy, bubbling feeling to rise under my ribs and made me barely suppress a wide, giddy grin.

The light shifted to green, and I crossed the street, feeling my brows furrow gently as I let my gaze wander over the square. The windows of the restaurants and shops reflected the last golden rays of light, there were people crossing the square; elderly couples, groups of teenagers -

My breath hitched in my throat, and slowly, a wide smile spread over my face.

In the middle of the square next to the fountain, a tall figure towered above all others, wide shoulders even broader under a dark puffer jacket, his profile lit by the last golden flickers of sunlight, straight nose crunched against the cold and strong jaw tensing and relaxing as he lazily shifted on the spot. His eyes slowly tracked over the square, the last light causing the scar on the side of his face to shift.

My heart rose in a warm thrum, and I whistled sharply.

Cassian looked over his shoulder, gaze darting over the people - until his eyes found mine.

Even from a distance, I could see the twinkle beginning to spread through his iris.

Creases slowly started forming in his cheeks, and something skipped happily against my ribs when my best friend began to grin shit-eatingly. The lines of his smirk, now, nearly two years later almost as familiar as my own, made my heart do a happy wiggle, and I began to beam back.

I quickened my steps, and Cass turned towards me, raising his brows as his lips curved.

I got faster, a happy giggle bubbling in my throat, then I crashed into him.

Cassian grunted, but the sound quickly turned into a chuckle as he leaned down with a dramatic groan and lifted me off the ground. His arms tightened in a squeeze around my waist, his shoulders broad and solid beneath my arms, and feeling something skip happily against my ribs, I swung my legs around his waist with a giggle, interlocking them tightly.

“Hi monkey.” Cassian’s deep voice rumbled through me, a little raspy as always and vibrating with a grin. Slipping his arms under my thighs to hold me up, he chuckled when I pulled back just enough to press a firm kiss onto his cheek.

The scent of his cologne started to fill my lungs, and something hopped happily against my ribs when I leaned back and saw a dimple forming in his cheek.

“Hi.” Sliding my arms around his neck, I grinned at him, and Cassian smirked, a crease digging into his cheek. The light hit his eyes when he shifted, causing the green spots in his iris to glow, and something wriggled in my stomach.

“You good?” Cassian hoisted me up a little to adjust his grip, grinning when I tightened my grip out of reflex.

“Yup.”

My belly grumbled, and Cass raised his brows.

I squinted. “Apart from that.”

Cassian smirked.

“You know, I’m always surprised by how much food you can stomach,”, his eyes narrowed, “it’s like you’re a little black hole for snacks or something –“

I glared and lightly slapped the side of his head, and Cass broke off with a deep chuckle that made my whole body shake.

“Leave me alone, I haven’t eaten all day.”

“You? Haven’t eaten?” Sliding his right arm under my ass to hold me up, Cassian freed his other hand to slap it against my forehead, brows dramatically crunching. “Are you sick, baby?!”

“Oh, fuck off.” Trying to push his hand away, I nearly lost my balance, quickly locking my legs tighter around his waist and linking my arms back together at the nape of his neck. Cassian chuckled, his warm eyes flickering over my face as he grinned at me, and I had to fight the overwhelming urge to press a kiss onto the side of his nose.

“I’m fine. Just got sucked into writing this morning and basically didn’t stop until like an hour ago.” I shrugged.

Cassian stared at me. Then his lips curved, and slowly, very slowly, that familar shit-eating grin spread over his face, only doubled tenfold now as he eyed me, creases digging deep into his cheeks.

I blinked and felt my heart do a little swerve.

“Don’t.”

My best friend widened his eyes lightly, even as his grin grew. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

I widened my eyes back at him, something warm suddenly bubbling wildly in my chest. “I know you, dipshit; you were about to drop some suggestive innuendo about sucking!”

“Dude, your mind went there; I didn’t actually say anything -“ Cassian’s grin was broad as he raised his brows and slipped his hand back around my thigh, and my heart leapt against my ribs.

“I can’t with you.” I shook my head, barely keeping the warm, giddy feeling in my chest from causing a stupidly wide smile to spread over my face.

“Can’t without me either, baby.” Cassian smirked and winked, and I lost the fight against the giggle breaking from my throat.

“Put me down, you idiot.” Trying to keep the grin mirroring his in check and failing, I slid my legs off Cassian’s waist. “If Mor’s gonna make me drink, we gotta change the food-situation.”

Cass leaned down to place me back onto my feet with a dramatic groan.

“Alright.” Straightening laborously, he pulled his phone from his pocket and squinted at the screen. “We got - another hour until we’re meeting the others; so, let’s get you something to eat before you start getting hangry.”

“I don’t get hangry.” Frowning, I craned my neck to stare up at him indignantly.

Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Cass stared back, brows rising.

“Okay, fine; maybe sometimes. A little.” Grumbling, I crossed my arms in front of my chest as I glared up at him, and Cassian slowly started to smirk, causing his cheeks to crease. Then he dropped his head, and something toppled under my ribs when he pressed a kiss onto my cheek, his hands sliding around my jaw to keep me from moving when the first was followed by another, and another, until my heart hopped and a giggle bubbled in my throat.

Cassian grinned against my cheek before pressing one last firm kiss against my temple.

“Alright, c’mon, sweet cheeks.” With a smirk, he straightened to his full height, his arm sliding over my chest and turning me around, his body pressing into my back as he started to push me down the sidewalk. I craned my neck to try and look up at him.

“Who’s party is this again?”

Cassian shrugged, the neon lights of a shop throwing shadows under his jaw and cheekbones, dark brows furrowed lightly.

“I don’t know, think someone from one of Rhys’ classes?”

I hummed, frowning in thought. “Think they’ll have food?”

“Nah, don’t count on it; we’re getting you something now.” Looking back, Cassian wrapped his arm over my shoulder, lightly drawing me into his side as a cyclist zipped past us.

My stomach twisted with a soft growl, and I looked up at him with a pout, fighting a smile. “Thanks.”

“Are you kidding?” Cass threw me a look, huffing. “Not eaten all day; you and I need to have a talk.”

Warmth rose under my ribs, and I looked back ahead, shaking my head even as a wide smile spread over my face.

Cassian sniffled against the cold air, pulling up his shoulders a little as he crunched his brows contemplatively. “I could eat."

“You can always eat.” I grinned teasingly up at him before yelping and snorting a giggle when Cassian tightened his grip and leaned down with a grin to playfully nip at my jaw. His breath hit my skin, something bubbled high in my chest, and Cass straightened up again with a smirk.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Food’s life.”

Snickering under my breath, I huddled into his side, shivering dramatically and chattering my teeth.

“Why is it still so fucking coooold –“

“Want me to warm you up?” Cassian’s grin was shit-eating enough that I snorted, elbowing him into the side. Whining dramatically, Cass tugged me into his side, grinning when he rubbed his palm over my arm and raised his brows.

“Okay, seriously, what do you wanna eat?”

♡

Crunching my brows, I studied the two packages of crisps in my head, trying to figure out which one to take.

Something warm brushed against my shoulder, then a head slowly appeared right next to mine.

I felt my lips twitch; a snorted giggle broke from my throat, and I quickly reached up and pushed Cassian’s face away from me.

His chest vibrated in my back as he straightened up with a deep laugh, his head tipping back, and shaking my own, still snickering softly, I raised the packages to squint at them dramatically.

“I can’t decide!”

"It's okay, I'll help with the rest." Grinning, Cassian leaned over my shoulder and plucked both of them from my grip, pressing a dramatic kiss onto my temple before straightening. His chest pushed into my back, and quickly snagging the packages from his grip, I piled them into my arms, letting him steer me down the aisle.

The small supermarket was fairly empty thanks to the time, the city and sky outside becoming darker by the minute as we reached the register. Dropping my things onto the conveyor belt behind what looked like a guy’s dinner and a girl’s grocery run for the weekend, I sighed happily at the sight of crisps and two bottles of soda.

Cass leaned over me to snag a pack of gum, throwing it down next to my stuff, then he straightened, his arms sliding around my collarbones and his chest pressing into my back when he rested his chin on my head. Snuggling into my jacket, I leaned into him, giggling into his sleeve when Cass squeezed me with a dramatic sound.

Something started bubbling happily against my ribs, and I felt Cassian grin into my hair. Then he placed his chin back on my head and slightly clacked his teeth together, the vibration travelling through me. I snorted and Cass chuckled, his chest shaking in my back.

The guy in front of the line paid as the girl got ready to start shovelling her groceries back into her cart, and I looked to the side, letting my gaze roam until it met the one of an elderly woman a register over. I sent her a grin, and the old woman beamed, her eyes gleaming as they darted back and forth between Cassian and me. Then she leaned over slightly, her voice lowered confidentially as she said with a wide smile: “Such a lovely couple.”

My heart dipped, and I froze, my eyes widening and lips parting awkwardly. But before I could quickly correct her, Cassian’s deep voice echoed from somewhere above me, a grin vibrating through his voice.

“Thanks.”

I blinked before quickly craning my neck to stare up at him in bewilderment.

The smirk I got in response was shit-eating, only topped by the quick wink that followed.

The elderly woman beamed happily, sending me a gracious nod before moving forward in line, and I quickly turned and elbowed Cass into the ribs, something skipping in my chest when I hissed: “What the hell?!”

“What?” Cassian dropped his head so he could mumble into my ear, his smirk still wide as he threw the old lady a look over my head. “Didn’t wanna disappoint her. Besides.” His nose grazed my temple, and his smirk became shit-eating as his eyes dragged over my face. “Can’t blame her for assuming.”

My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes darted back and forth between his, warm and twinkling and suddenly so very close with his head dipped.

With a blink, I pulled myself together and rammed my elbow into his ribs again, and Cassian whined softly and dramatically, his grin wide as he straightened up again.

Grumbling, I turned back ahead, trying to ignore the heat suddenly pulsing in my cheeks.

♡

“No, wai- stop that!” Quickly yanking the my fries away, I glared at Cassian, trying to keep in a laugh.

We were sitting on a bench circling the big tree at the corner where the others were supposed to meet us, the sky above dark, cars rushing past. I was huddled up, legs criss cross, my knee pressing into the side of Cassian’s thigh while he lounged against the backrest, squinting into the neon lights of a laundromat across the street. The wrappers of the burgers and fries we had picked up at the take-out place next to the supermarket were crunched up next to me, and one bag of crisps was open in Cassian’s lap, but for the past few minutes, he’d been trying to sneak his hand into the paper bag that contained the rest of my fries.

Glowering, I turned to hold the package out of Cassian’s reach, twisting as I dropped my head back to pop a fry into my mouth. Cass quickly leaned forward, his arm sliding past me, and I gave a sound of protest that bubbled with laughter as I hastily held out my arm, trying to put the package to safety.

“Stop it, you already had the rest of the extra fries, your burger, your fries, and that huge bite of mine, and you’ve got the whole package of crisps, why can I not eat this in peace?”

“Cause baby, I’m twice your size; how can you expect me to not still be hungry when you are?” Cassian’s grin was shit-eating, his warm breath brushing over my nose, and I glowered back at him.

For a moment, we stared at each other, faces only inches apart, the green flecks in Cassian’s eyes twinkling as something bubbled in my chest and I barely fought the wide smile trying to form on my lips. Then Cassian’s hand shot forward, I quickly tried to twist away, and a soft squeak broke from my throat when Cassian dipped forward, sliding his arm around my waist and dragging me into his body.

For a few seconds, we were caught in a scuffle as I tried to save my fries while aimlessly flailing my legs and shaking with uncontrollable giggles, Cassian’s huge body half burying me beneath him as he tried to reach the bag, groaning and cursing under his breath until he managed to snag some fries. A dramatic whine broke from my throat, and whooping lightly, Cassian sat up with a wide grin.

Breathlessly, I slumped against him, and Cassian tipped his head back and dropped the fries into his mouth with a smirk.

Grumbling, I tried to sit up, but Cassian’s arm wound around my waist wasn’t budging, instead sliding tighter around me.

For a few seconds, I struggled, then I gave up.

Slumping into his side in defeat, I huffed. Cassian’s scent started to rise into my nose, dark and warm and familiar, and I could feel the warmth radiating from him even through his puffer jacket.

Shivering slightly, I shuffled a little to get more comfortable, pulling up my legs. Cassian draped his arm over my collarbones, and I snuggled into the curve of his elbow, squinting into the light of the laundromat as I leaned my head against his chest. Then I plucked some fries from the little package and craned my neck to look up at my best friend, holding them up.

A wide grin spread over his face, and leaning forward quickly, Cass snagged them from my fingers, teasingly biting my knuckles. I yelped a laugh, slapping his chest, and Cassian’s chuckle vibrated through me when he leaned back, chewing lazily.

Snuggling further into his arm with a happy sigh, I dropped some fries into my mouth, chewing contendly. I could feel Cassian shift as he took a sip of my soda, then he dropped his head to steal another fry from my fingers, sending me a wink when I glared up at him, dimples digging into his cheeks.

A few minutes later the fries were empty, and I was digging around in the second package of crisps, giggling breathlessly as Cassian kept dipping his head, lightly nipping my jaw.

“Stop the-“ Quickly holding out some crisps, I snorted when Cassian pulled them out of my grip with his teeth while grinning, dipping his head back to let them slide into his mouth.

There was a sharp whistle, and I turned my head, craning my neck.

My gaze flickered over the street until it caught onto three people slowly making their way towards us, and I started beaming and waved. Cassian’s body shifted in my back as he leaned over me with a soft grunt, stretching his arm out to dip his hand into the crisps and shortly making me vanish from sight.

When he straightened up again, three shadows fell over us, and I happily grinned up at our friends.

“Starting the party without us, I see.” Rhys shook his head in disappointment, letting his arm slip from Feyre’s shoulders. He was wearing a thick jacket, his hair fashionably messy as always, and the tip of his nose was pink from the cold, but the twinkle in his eyes was mischievous as usual.

“Hey, you’re the ones late,”, I grumbled with a pout.

“Someone took ages getting ready.” Feyre, also with a slightly pink nose and huddled into her jacket, rolled her eyes.

Both Cassian and I turned our heads to look up at Azriel, tall and brooding and never the one making anyone late.

Az returned our looks before raising a brow. “Very funny.”

Snickering, I laborously sat up up, Cassian’s arm sliding down my side. Feyre dropped down next to me onto the bench, freeing her hands from her pockets before she hugged me, her teeth chattering dramatically. Giggling, I squeezed her back.

“You two ready?” Leaning down slightly to greet Cassian with a bro-handshake, Rhys raised his brows.

“Yeah,”, I crunched my brow and squinted up at him, “where’s Mor though?”

“Should be -”, Feyre dipped her head to the side, “ah, nevermind.”

Leaning forward to follow her gaze, I nearly tipped off the bench, but Cassian's hand slid over my stomach, keeping me upright as I beamed when I saw a tall blonde speedwalk towards us, red painted lips glinting in the lights.

“Punctual as always!”, I yelled, causing Feyre to grin widely, and Mor called back loudly: “Fuck off!”

Snickering, I pushed myself up again, gathering all of our trash before getting to my feet on the bench. Cassian’s hand slipped off my waist, and I rested my own on his shoulder to laborously climb over his lap. His calloused fingers wrapped around my wrist, keeping me steady, and a deep chuckle travelled through me as Cass held onto me until I was on his other side, dimples digging into his cheeks as he smirked up at me. I flipped him off with a grin, then I turned around, wandering over the bench towards the trashcan on the other side of the tree.

When I got back, Cassian and Feyre had gotten off the bench, Cass towering over Mor who was bickering with Rhys over which way to go. Azriel caught my gaze over Feyre’s shoulder, rolling his eyes and causing me to snicker.

Coming to a halt on the bench next to where Cassian was standing, I exchanged a look with Feyre, and she sighed and stepped forward, trying to break up the bickering.

Shivering, my eyes got caught on Cassian’s profile, and my heart did a little flip.

“Hey Cass?”

Cassian looked up at me, and I raised my arms, beaming at him.

“Piggyback ride?”

My best friend smirked, eyeing me. “Sure you can carry me?”

I dropped my arms and glowered at him.

Chuckling, Cassian stepped towards the bench, turning his back towards me, and smiling brightly, I leaned down slightly, sliding my arms over his shoulders and hopping onto his back.

Cass caught my legs, his warm hands gripping my thighs before he slipped his arms under my knees, lightly hoisting me up. My chest pressed against his broad back, his scent rose into my nose, and grinning happily, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Okay, ready.”

“Can we just go?”, Cassian interrupted Mor and Rhys, a dimple forming in his cheek as he smirked. “By the time you two are done, the party's over.”

I parted my lips with a soft gasp. “The horror.”

Cassian’s chest rumbled as he laughed, his head tipping back lightly.

“Fuck off, baby.”

Grinning, I slung my arms tighter around his neck before crunching my brows and pouting. “Seriously, can we please just go; I don’t give a shit about how quickly we get there as long as we get there.”

“Amen,”, Azriel grumbled.

“Well, if he would listen to me –“ Mor glowered at Rhys.

The two started bickering again, and Az shook his head and brushed past us. “C’mon.”

I slid my arms tighter over Cassian’s collarbones, and Feyre sighed and slipped past her boyfriend, Cassian waiting until she was past him before following after her.

Resting my chin on my best friend's shoulder, I felt my heart do a happy wiggle as my body swayed with his steps. Behind us, the bickering slowly faded into the distance. Az and Feyre, a few steps in front of us, fell into conversation, Feyre linking her arm through Azriel’s, and Cassian craned his neck slightly to look back at me.

A deep crease slowly formed in his cheek as his eyes flickered over my face, and I crunched my brows.

“What? Do I have – something on my face?”

Cassian’s body vibrated as he chuckled and turned back ahead with a grin, squeezing my calves. “Nah.”

Staring at the side of his face for another second, I blinked before shrugging and leaning forward quickly to press a kiss onto his cheek. I could feel a crease forming beneath my lips, then I pulled back, grinning widely, and Cassian shook his head, gaze directed forward but eyes twinkling.

♡

Rhys and Mor caught up with us after maybe two blocks, both grumbling about being left behind, but I just snickered and slid off Cassian’s back, linking my arm through Mor’s to pull her with me.

The party of who-knows-who was located in some industrial loft further downtown. There were people standing in front of the entrance, smoking, a few stepping out of the way as Rhys pulled open the heavy steel door with a dramatic flourish. When I slipped into the stairwell after Feyre, I felt a warm, tall body towering in my back.

The music was audible even down here, and sliding my arm out of Feyre’s, I tipped my head back to stare up the winding staircase. I could feel the others push pass me, talking as they started to climb the stairs. Then something brushed against my back, and when I looked over my shoulder, Cassian’s breath hit my hair as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against my shoulders as he crunched his brows and stared up the stairwell.

“What are we looking at?”

A snorted giggle broke from my throat, and elbowing him into the ribs, I turned, sliding my hand around his wrist to tug him with me towards the stairs with a wide grin.

By the time we reached the fifth floor, the floor was vibrating, the noise of the party had doubled, and I was wheezing dramatically.

“God, who thought throwing a party up that many stairs was a good idea?” My voice was breathless as I held my sides, grimacing at the huge, open metal doors opposite of the stairs behind which lights flashed, illuminating the silhouettes of dozens of people. The others had apparently already gone in, because the landing was empty apart from empty bottles on the floor.

“Someone who’s never fallen down any steps while drunk.” I could hear the shit-eating grin in Cassian’s voice as his hands closed around my shoulders, rubbing slowly back and forth. I snorted a breathless giggle before straightening with a wince and, trying to steady my breathing, began to trudge over the landing, feeling my best friend in my back.

When I stepped through the open doors, I was hit by the noise and the music that made the thick, stale air vibrate. My gaze darted over the open floor loft, only lit by flashing lights changing colors and spotlights hitting the walls, so dark you could only see the outlines of the mass of people, and my breath caught in my throat. The noise and the amount of people crowding the space caused my chest to begin thrumming with a mix of exhilaration and anxiety, and something slowly closed around my lungs, making the flickering lights swim, the noise closing in on me -

A calloused hand slipped under my jacket, wrapping around my side as a solid chest pressed against my shoulders, and a familiar scent washed over me, chasing away the stale smell. My heart dipped; I ripped my gaze away from the crowd dipped in darkness and looked up over my shoulder, and something loosened in my chest.

Cassian was so close that I could see the details of the dark ink at the base of his throat, towering over me like a lighthouse in the dark as he let his gaze flicker over the crowd, the flashing lights illuminating his face and slightly crunched brows. His thumb absentmindedly brushed up and down over my ribs, and something started to bubble gently in my chest. The noise slowly faded to the edge of my conciousness, still present but no longer a weight on my senses, and I could feel my shoulders sink as the tightness around my throat slipped away.

“I think the others are over there!” Cassian’s deep voice vibrated through me as his grip tightened, then he dipped his head, and I could feel his shit-eating grin against my cheek when he called over the noise: “Want me to put you on my shoulders?”

I lightly kicked his shin, and Cassian’s chest shook when he laughed into my hair, his smile wide as he straightened. His body pressed into my back, and he started to gently push me through the crowd.

In the flashing lights, it was hard to even make out faces, the music causing the floor to vibrate and the noise leaving my skin humming. I quickly reached back, hooking my fingers into Cassian’s belt loops as my heart thrummed against my ribs, my breath hitching when I felt his body tower over mine like a rock between the waves.

Cassian’s grip tightened. Then the next second he drew me back into his chest just before some girls shoved past us. I nearly tripped over my feet, but Cass held me steady, and when I threw a quick look up at him over my shoulder, he was glaring after the group, muscles in his jaw flexing and a dark shift in his eyes.

Something toppled in my stomach when I felt his hand slip up a bit, wrapping around my ribcage, then his body pressed into mine, and Cass nudged me forward.

We caught up with the others about halfway through the loft. Feyre clocked us first, and I waited until a group of guys had pushed past us, yelling over the music and causing me to unconciously move back into Cassian’s grip. Then I stepped forward until I was standing next to her and crunched my brows.

“How ‘bout we find a - less crowded spot?”, I called over the noise, trying to sound lighthearted, but Feyre looked right through it. Squeezing my elbow comfortingly, she called back: “The guys are gonna see if they find a place to sit or something!”

Nodding back, I craned my neck to look up at Cassian. He was still towering over me, his hand wrapped around my ribcage protectively as he didn’t make any move to step away from me.

Warmth rose in my chest, and I leaned back into him without being able to help it, feeling him shift when he looked over his shoulder, then Mor appeared at my side, calling loudly: “Let’s go get something to drink!”

Glad about an opportunity to blend out some of the noise and chaos, I nodded, poking Cassian’s ribs to get his attention. He turned his head back towards me and dropped his gaze, and I stretched lightly to call: “We’re gonna go get drinks!”

“I’ll come with you!” Cassian’s deep, steady voice vibrated through me, and feeling something warm bubble high in my chest, I rolled my eyes with a grin.

“I’ll be okay, I got the girls! Just go with Rhys and Az, we’re gonna be fine!”

Cass crunched his brows, looking ready to protest, and with a soft laugh bubbling in my throat, I slid my hand towards his collar, tugging him down with a grin. Cassian complied easily, one corner of his lips curving as a wave of his scent washed over me, and stretching, I pressed a quick kiss onto his cheek, just long enough that I could feel a crease forming under my lips. Then I pulled back, and something leapt into my throat when my nose brushed against Cassian’s.

The room and noise faded. Cassian’s head was dipped so far that I could see the green specks in his twinkling eyes as they flickered over mine, only an inch away, so close that his breath was fanning over my lips.

Like he could feel the way I suddenly stilled, Cassian’s gaze flashed. Something twisted low in my stomach when his lids suddenly grew heavier, eyes darkening with something deep, hazy, almost heated as they slowly dragged over my face, and suddenly, I was acutely aware of his wide, towering body half pressed against mine.

My breath caught, Cassian’s muscles shifted, and his lips parted as he slowly, absentmindedly ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

My heart got stuck somewhere in my throat, someone’s elbow hit my back and made me jump, and Cass blinked, his lips tipping back into his usual, lazy grin as he straightened slowly, nothing left of that strange, heated look but the light twinkle in his eyes when he dipped his head to call into my ear: “Stick close to the girls!”

Maybe it was the noise around us, but Cassian’s voice sounded deeper, travelling through me and almost causing me to shiver. But somehow, I managed to push away the way my heart pounded against my ribs and poked his side, sending him a wide, cheeky grin. “Duh.”

Cassian’s chest vibrated when he chuckled, his cheeks creasing as he dropped his head to press a kiss against my temple, and something leapt against my ribs. Then Feyre took my hand and pulled me with her.

♡

After raiding the kitchen area at the other end of the loft, we squeezed back through the crowd towards the windows where couches were set up. Mor was carrying shotglasses and a bottle with clear liquid that just the sight of had already made me feel woozy, glancing over her shoulder every few steps to check on us and glaring at anyone who got too close. Feyre had beerbottles in her arms, her hand on my shoulder as she stayed in my back, and I was carrying boozy lemonade I had found in the fridge, the ice cold cans pressing against my arms and keeping my focus away from the crowd and bass vibrating through the floor.

Mor slipped past a group of guys, and following after her, I threw a quick look back to make sure Feyre was still behind me before turning ahead again, and something leapt high in my chest.

The boys had cleared one of the couches and two armchairs facing them. In the flickering lights, I could see Cassian’s teeth flash when he grinned, a chuckle causing his shoulders to shake. He was lounging on the couch, melted into the cushions, his long legs spread lazily. His black t-shirt was straining against his wide shoulders, the colorful, raging lights flickered over the tattoos scattered over his arms all the way down onto his hands, and deep creases formed in his cheeks when he smirked at something Rhys said.

Mor called their names over the noise, and when I blinked, Cassian’s gaze darted over the crowd, finding mine over her shoulder. The corners of his lips curved up, a lazy twinkle spreading through his eyes as he started to smirk.

Rolling my eyes, I took two of the beerbottles Feyre handed me and squeezed past Azriel. He was occupying one of the armchairs, boot propped up onto the coffee table and sending me a faint smirk when I handed him a beer.

Cassian grinned up at me as I moved to squeeze into between the coffee table and the couch, his legs falling apart further to make space for me, and I handed him the other bottle of beer.

“Here,”, I called over the loud, blaring music, and Cassian straightened and leaned forward, snatching my wrist.

My heart nearly toppled out of my chest, and I yelped softly when he pulled, dragging me down onto his lap.

My breath caught in my throat as I toppled into him, chest colliding with his, Cassian’s breath grazing my lips and nose nearly bumping mine. One corner of his lips tipped upwards as his twinkling eyes dragged lazily over my face. Then he dipped forward, and I made a light noise of surprise, hastily holding onto his shoulders when his arm slid around the back of my butt, nearly lifting me into his chest as he dragged me closer until my thighs bracketed his hips.

Something skipped into my throat, and I huffed, causing Cassian’s grin to widen as he slouched back into the cushions, his head tipping back lazily as he stared at me.

“Best seat in the house, baby.”

I snorted under my breath, feeling my lips curve into a wide grin as I leaned forward to speak into his ear. “I don’t know; Az looks pretty comfy too -”

Cassian leaned forward quick as lightning, and my laugh caught in my throat when he lightly sank his teeth into the soft skin of my neck just below my ear, his grin so wide, I could feel it against my skin.

Curling my fingers into his hair like reflex, I held my breath, and, dimples showing in his cheeks, Cassian pulled back, his eyes twinkling.

Huffing, I managed to tear myself away from the sight of his curving lips and the crease digging in his cheek. Flicking his forehead, I shifted to get comfortable in his lap, feeling warmth rising in my chest when Cassian’s large hand cupped my hip to keep me from sliding away to the side.

“Did we miss anything?”, I called over the noise, carefully opening one of the cans I had dropped onto the couch.

Cassian made a non-commitical sound and plucked the drink from my fingers, turning his head to take a sip. His throat worked when he swallowed, causing the tattoo at the base of his neck to ripple, then he made a face.

“Urgh.” Blinking and smacking his lips, he looked at the can, brows crunching. “How the fuck can you drink that?”

“By knowing it’s the only thing you won’t drink for me!” I grinned and pulled the can from his grip, something warm bubbling happily in my chest, and Cassian’s body started shaking as he tipped his head back with a deep laugh.

Grinning, I took a sip, feeling Cassian’s gaze drag over my face and down my throat.

“Hey!” Mor’s loud voice made me look over my shoulder, and when Cass dipped his head to the side to look past me, the blonde grinned widely. “They got a beer-pong table!”

My heart dipped, and slowly, I felt a grin spread over my face.

A couple minutes later, we had fought our way through the crowd and Mor and I were standing on one end of the dining table by the windows, cups arranged in front of us and Azriel and Cassian on the other side. Cassian’s eyes were twinkling in the light as he propped his arm onto Azriel’s shoulder, raising his brows at me, and without a word spoken, I saw the challenge in the way he smirked as his eyes dragged lazily down my body.

Something rose under my ribs, and I narrowed my eyes, feeling a wide, cheeky smile slowly spread over my face. Then I lightly nudged my chin forward.

Do your worst.

Cassian started to grin. Sliding his arm off Azriel’s shoulder, he caught the ping-pong ball some guy threw his way and turned slightly, raising his hand. Then he sent me a wink and tossed.

♡

A few hours later, the sky outside was pitchblack and a happy buzz had taken over my entire body, making me very giggly and a little sleepy.

“Hey.” A finger gently tapped my nose, and I shifted, forcing my eyes that had started to feel very heavy to open, and my breath caught a little in my throat.

Cassian stared down at me, a grin causing dimples to dig into his cheeks. Then he dipped down his head, and his breath grazed my cheek when he called into my ear: “Think it’s time we get you home, baby!”

I didn’t protest, not with how heavy my limbs and eyes had started to feel. Instead I reached up to poke Cassian’s cheek and sent him a wide, slow beam that caused his own grin to widen.

It’s goofy edge, the depth of his dimples and his pupils, blown and darker than usual, were the only signs that he definitely wasn’t sober anymore either.

Slowly freeing myself from where I had curled into his side, I felt Cassian’s arm slide off my shoulder, curling around my waist instead to keep me steady, and following a warm, lazy impulse, I leaned up and pressed my lips onto his cheek, long enough for his scent to fill my lungs, dark and warm and mixed with a boozy edge.

When I pulled back, Cassian turned his head, and in the flashing lights, his eyes suddenly seemed deeper and darker, his warm breath grazing my lips as his gaze dragged over my face. Then he blinked, his lips curved upwards and creases appeared in his cheeks, and his arm slid tighter around me when he dipped his head and pressed a slow kiss onto my cheek. His nose dragged over my skin, and shivers raced down my spine.

Somehow, I pulled myself out of the warm, buzzing feeling that filled my chest and turned around, pushing myself to my feet laborously. The room tipped just a little and I only nearly tripped over my own feet, but large, warm hands wrapped around my waist, holding me upright, and a giggle bubbled in my throat when I felt Cassian’s wide chest pressing into my back. Craning my neck to stare up at him, the warm buzz seemed to swell when I caught a glimpse at his wide, dimpled grin, his chuckles causing both our bodies to vibrate.

Cass leaned down his head, and his breath grazed my cheek when he called into my ear: “Let’s say bye to the others and then get the fuck outta here!”

♡

The next bus was another half an hour, so Cassian and I walked the way from the loft to my apartment.

The night air was cold and crisp, making the warm bubbling feeling in my chest swell even as the wind nipped at my skin. I slid my hand into Cassian’s after few blocks, his palm large and warm, engulfing mine as I linked our fingers and quickened my steps, tugging him with me, the happy, bubbling buzz in my body causing a giggle to rise in my chest, the smile on my face so stupidly wide it made my cheeks hurt when I turned and walked backwards, swinging our hands. Cassian’s answering grin was unrestrained and wide, causing dimples to dig deep into his cheeks when he pulled me back into his side, his arm sliding over my shoulder. Giggles broke from my throat when I bumped into him, nearly stumbling.

Cassian chased me the last few steps to the front door, even drunk still quicker than me, his arms wrapping around my waist just as I leapt onto the front step, and the storm of wild flutters in my chest reached new heights when he twirled me around in a circle, his chest vibrating as he laughed into my hair at the giggles bubbling from my throat that I just couldn’t contain.

“Stop i-“ I almost tripped when he dropped me back onto my feet, a snorted giggle leaving me, and warm hands gripped mine, keeping me upright as Cassian laughed fully, head tipped back and shoulders shaking. I flipped him off, and Cass caught my hand, grinning so widely, creases formed in his cheeks. He looked a bit flushed, from the cool air and the alcohol that seemed to make his gaze slower, more intense as it dragged over my face, and feeling something dip in my stomach, I turned around, trying to get my keys out of my pocket.

The warm light in the staircase flickered on when I pushed open the door. Shushing Cass and trying to suppress a giggle at the offended look he sent me, I nearly groaned at the sight of the stairs.

By the time we made it to the third floor, I was out of breath and desperately trying not to laugh at nothing in particular, the happy bubbling buzz in my chest making it hard to stay quiet as I dragged Cassian to my door.

Trying to slide my key into the lock, I missed, and a snorted giggle burst from my throat, shaking my body so badly, I leaned my forehead against the door, trying to keep the giggles in as more bubbled in my chest.

There was a deep, chortled laugh behind me, then I felt a warm weight in my back and a solid body pressing against mine when Cassian leaned an arm against the doorframe and dropped his head to smother his chuckling in my hair. The scent of alcohol rose into my nose, mashed with that scent that was just him, deep and dark and warm, causing my heart to rise, and I inhaled it softly without being able to stop it.

Trying to suppress more giggles, I pulled back my head just enough to look down, squinting dramatically. After two more tries, my key finally found the lock, jingling quietly when I turned it, and whooping softly, I pushed open the door.

My apartment was only lit by the glow of the streetlamps outside falling through the windows, the sky outside inky black like Cassian’s hair. I kicked off my shoes in the small hall, hopping on one leg and nearly falling over, causing a startled, snorted laugh to leave me.

“Fuck, I love your place.” Breathing out happily, Cassian let the door fall shut and slid out of his jacket, carelessly throwing it over the shoe rack before moving past me, and I switched on the small lights in my bedroom, just in time to see him collapse onto my bed.

“Dude,”, I whined, crunching my brows, “not the clothes on my bed!”

Cassian snorted before he rolled onto his back and started to laugh, his head tipping back and body shaking, and something rose high in my chest when I caught a glimpse at his face; the way his closed eyes crinkled and dimples dug into his cheeks.

Grumbling, I started taking off my socks, and still grinning, Cass pushed himself to his feet with a soft, dramatic grunt, his chest pressing into my shoulders as he pushed past me with a chuckle. I felt my skin tingle where his hands had closed around my ribs.

Cass ducked his head to the side to not hit it at the doorframe and trudged into the small kitchen, opening the fridge, and I made a face and started to shimmy out off my pants that had started to feel incredibly uncomfortable a while ago.

Screw jeans. I wanted joggers.

Kicking them to the side, I turned around, moving towards my bed while wrangling myself out of my top and carelessly throwing it over a chair. Tugging my bra over my head, I unceremoniously dumped it onto the floor before dragging the oversized t-shirt I slept in out from under my blanket. It vaguely smelled of something else besides me, something warm and dark and addictive, and after sliding into it, I buried my nose at the collar, breathing in deeply.

Something swelled and fluttered against my ribs, and I turned around with a happy sigh.

Cass was still bent over the fridge, arm propped onto the open door and head stuck inside, grumbling under his breath as he dug through the contents. Feeling a wave of giggles bubbling in my throat, I kicked our shoes out of the way and squeezed into the bathroom to wash off my make-up that had started to feel sticky on my skin. Nearly groaning happily, I dried my dripping wet face before raising my head and catching a glimpse at myself in the mirror; eyes bright and hair messy.

Looking around for the joggers I had left in here before leaving earlier, I crunched my brows. Then I shrugged and turned around.

“What are you even looking for?” I pulled the bathroom door close behind me before stepping into the door to the small kitchen and leaning against the frame, feeling the warm, bubbling feeling rise against my ribs when I stared at Cassian’s large frame towering in my kitchen, chugging soda from a colorful can. My gaze flickered over the curve of his throat and the tattoo rippling at its base, and something curled low in my stomach.

Finally dropping his head, Cassian swallowed and exhaled dramatically. “That was good.” He dropped the can into the trash before turning around, and I could see his movements slow as his gaze dragged down my body. His eyes flashed with something heated, growing deep and hazy, and my breath hitched, the warm feeling in my chest swelling.

Cass blinked, and slowly, he started moving, his piercing gaze never leaving my face as he walked towards me. A wave of his scent washed over me, warm and addictive, and all my thoughts quieted down when he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his knuckles brushing against my side as his low-lidded eyes dragged over my face. My chest brushed against his t-shirt, his warmth travelling even through the layers of clothing, and I stared up at him, feeling the warm thrum in my chest as my lips parted softly, my breath hitching as the warm buzz under my ribs swelled. My mind felt slow, hazy, muddled either by the alcohol cursing through me – or by Cassian’s scent filling my lungs, the warmth radiating from his large body, pulling me in, and the way he was gazing down at me, his eyes hooded and dark under heavy lids, an intensity in the way his gaze dragged over my face that sent tingling shivers over my whole body.

My breath caught in my throat, and my thoughts narrowed.

Beautiful.

All of him. The dark ink all over his skin, the shift of his muscles and hazy heat in his goddamn beautiful eyes. It felt like all of him pulled me in to swallow me whole, made my chest flutter with something so powerful, it caused my breath to catch as I stared up at him, my heart thrumming warmer against my ribs with every second.

And just because it felt like I might combust if I didn’t, I stretched and kissed him.

Something burst in my stomach, like hundreds of bubbling fireworks rising to the surface.

Cassian's lips were soft and tasted like fruit soda and alcohol, sweet and bitter at once. My chest swelled as my fingers curled into the soft cotton of his t-shirt and Cassian’s lashes fluttered against my cheek. Then a deep, low sound broke from his throat, and dropping his head to meet me, Cass slid his hands up my sides. His calloused palms wrapped around the sides of my neck, and exhaling deeply like a weight had lifted from his shoulders, Cassian kissed back like he’d been starving for it.

The rising feeling in my chest burst into a warm, fluttering storm.

Sinking down onto my heels, I dragged him with me, gripping his shirt and curling my fingers into the nape of his neck, feeling his warm skin and the way he shuddered at my touch, causing my heart to thrum and the bubbling feeling under my ribs to swell.

Making a deep, hoarse noise, Cassian moved until his wide chest pressed into mine, and his hand wrapped around my ribcage, dragging me into his body as he kissed me harder.

He was kissing me like he was trying to swallow me whole, devour me, his jaw flexing with every kiss that deepend, hungry lips parting mine, tongue swiping into my mouth like he was trying to memorize the way I tasted.

I dug my fingers into his sides when Cass began to push me backwards, feeling the planes of his torso, warm and hard, flush against mine and his body towering over me, causing the warmth bubbling in my chest to swell and heat to pool in my panties.

My back hit a wall, and something curled low in my stomach when Cass groaned low in his chest as his whole body pressed against the length of mine, so close my breath caught in my throat. His long fingers curled into my hair, and Cass dragged my head back and dipped his own to kiss my throat bruisingly.

My heart leapt into my throat, I sucked in a breath, and my eyes fluttered shut as my lips parted.

Cassian moaned against my skin, his hot breath heavy as he dragged his lips down the side of my bared neck, licking, biting, teeth sinking into my skin and leaving soft whimpers tumbling from my lips. His hand slid down to my waist and slipped under my t-shirt, and I held my breath when his palm dragged up my side to cup my ribcage, his calloused skin burning against mine.

Raising his head breathlessly, Cassian crashed his lips against mine, and the flutter in my chest hitched like my breath. His hand slipped further into my hair as his lips parted mine, tongue swiping greedily into my mouth, and a whimper spilled from my throat as I clung to him, kissing back feverishly.

Cassian groaned against my lips, biting down onto the bottom one and pulling lightly, causing my insides to flutter madly. Dropping his forehead against mine, he breathed heavily, and when I forced my eyes to open, my heart leap into my throat at the sight of his, half-lidded and feverish as they dragged over my face.

Cassian's throat worked like he was suppressing the urge to swallow, then his hand slipped away from my ribcage, his fingers brushing down over my stomach.

My lips parted, and my fingers curled into his shirt as the buzz in my chest slowed to a heavy, warm thrum.

Cassian watched me through hazy hooded eyes, swollen lips parted as he absentmindedly ran his tongue over the bottom one. Then his thumb hooked into the waistband of my panties.

The bubbling feeling in my chest rose until I held my breath.

Cass shifted and his nose nudged against mine, his head dipped so far that I could feel his hot, heavy breath on my lips, could see the green flecks in his iris bleeding together, and warmth built in my chest, fluttering wildly at the feverish look in his hazy, half-lidded eyes. His lips grazed the corner of my mouth, causing the thrum between my legs to tighten. Then his finger pulled at the waistband of my panties, and dragging them down my legs, Cassian dropped down to one knee.

My eyes widened, my heart rising, and my hand flew out to hold onto the doorframe as the other shot down to bury in his hair, some part of my brain catching up with the fact that he couldn’t possibly want to –

“Open your legs.” Cassian’s deep, hoarse order mumbled against my hip sent shivers down my spine so violently, my body shook.

“I –“

One big, calloused palm slid under my knee, and I nearly lost my balance when Cass dragged it up and over his broad shoulders.

My heart leapt into my throat, my back hit the wall, and Cassian groaned, his eyes hooded as he ran his nose up the inside of my thigh before biting down softly where my leg and hip met.

“Fuck.” His raspy words sounded slurred as he squeezed his eyes shut. A muscle in his jaw worked and I felt his wide shoulders shift. Then he dipped forward with a soft sound and ran his tongue greedily through my folds.

My lips parted as pleasure raced up my stomach and my fingers dug into his hair, and Cassian gave a noise sound low in his throat that sent my back arching.

“Shit, baby, you’re perfect,”, he mumbled into my skin, his deep voice so hoarse, it slid over my skin like sandpaper. His pupils were so large, they swallowed all color of his iris as he stared up at me through hooded eyes, hazy and heavily lidded as his palms closed around my hips, and with another soft groan, Cass dove forward, running his tongue hungrily over my pussy.

My body spasmed as my head fell back against the wall and pleasure twisted through me. Cassian was moving like he was trying to map out every inch of me, tongue circling my clit before dipping lower, coaxing whimpers from my throat.

“Shit –“

Cass buried his nose in my skin and sucked my clit into his mouth, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as my fingers dug into the doorframe and shaky curses spilled from my lips. My hips rolled forward, and Cassian grunted.

“Fuck, you’re killing me.”

Diving forward, his hazy eyes on my face, he sucked, slow, hard, his warm hands sliding lower, holding me in place as he firmly ran his tongue over me.

“Oh.” My insides twisted as heat washed through me from my muddled head to tensing legs, and my lips parted, no sound leaving my throat as I grabbled to hold onto something, my pussy clenching, and Cass groaned.

“Shit, do that again.” He pressed closer and sucked harder, his hooded gaze piercing my face. The sounds bounced off the walls, causing my insides to wind tighter and my body to stutter.

“Fuck.” My fingers curled into Cassian’s hair, and he groaned, deep and hoarse, his eyes fluttering and tall body bowing into mine as he pushed me further into the wall, lapping greedily at me.

My breath caught as I clung to the doorframe, feeling a familiar tightness build in my lower stomach, twisting more taut with the second.

“Shit,”, I whimpered; Cass dove forward, licking and sucking harshly, and my eyes rolled back as without warning, the tension snapped.

My back arched as my body shook and pleasure crashed over me in a tidal wave harder than anything I had ever experienced. My eyes squeezed shut, head pressing against the wall as I cried out, feeling my insides shudder and tighten, pulsing harshly around nothing, and Cassian tightened his grip around me, his moan vibrating through me and causing my limbs to tremble.

My body shook, and I slumped against the wall, trying to catch my breath, heat washing through me, skin buzzing and insides thrumming. Then a soft, delirious giggle broke from my throat, my heart pounding against my ribs as I leaned my head back and closed my eyes as the warm, bubbling feeling in my chest swelled.

Lips pressed against my hip, followed by teeth sinking softly into my skin before something warm brushed against my chest and calloused hands slid under my shirt to keep me upright.

Still breathing a little unsteadily, I forced my hazy eyes to open, and the warm thrum under my ribs grew tenfold when I found a tall body towering over me, so close our chests almost pressed together.

Cassian’s gaze was heavy-lidded and feverish, his lips swollen and parted, a dimple digging into his cheeks as he stared down at me through hazy, twinkling eyes.

My breath caught in my throat, and Cass blinked, his gaze shifting, becoming deeper, molten, hungry.

My heart rose, I swallowed, and Cass made a low, rough sound deep in his throat as his piercing gaze flickered over me face. Then he dropped his head, and I sucked in a sharp breath when his lips crashed onto mine.

My eyes fluttered, and a soft moan broke from my throat when I stretched, clinging to him as I dug my fingers into his shirt and kissed back feverishly.

Cassian’s body pressed closer, rough palms cupping my sides as he started pushing me backwards into my bedroom. Half-stumbling, half-pulling, I tugged him with me, curling my fingers into his t-shirt, the warmth and strength of his body towering over mine causing something to bubble and swell in my chest, and Cassian’s lashes fluttered against my cheek when he made a low, hoarse sound against my lips. Then he dropped his head, and his hand slid into my hair and dragged my head back.

A broken moan vibrated through my chest when he attacked my neck, kissing and sucking harshly, sinking his teeth into my throat until my lids fluttered and I fought soft whimpers.

My fingers tugged at his t-shirt desperately, pulling it up, and Cassian let off my neck just long enough to help me drag the soft fabric over his head.

Dropping it carelessly, I stretched, my lips crashing onto Cassian’s as my fingers curled into the hair at the back of his neck. My hand ran down his warm chest, and I felt his muscles shudder under my touch, causing warmth to buzz under my ribs and something to twitch low in my stomach.

Heat rose in my chest, and I broke the kiss to start trailing hungry, breathless kisses down his throat, sucking and biting gently at his pulsepoint, drunk on the taste and softness of his skin. A low moan vibrated through Cassian’s chest, the sound so deep it travelled through me as he let his head fall back, jaw flexing, and I softly bit into his collarbone, licking over the spot before pressing kisses down to his right pec, my tongue trailing over the art inked onto his skin.

Cassian made a sound somewhere between a groan and a moan, his fingers curled into my hair, and when I raised my head, thoughts hazy, he crashed his lips onto mine.

I whimpered, and Cass swallowed the sound greedily, his tongue wrestling past mine, swiping into my mouth. I inhaled sharply, my fingers digging into his warm skin, Cassian pushed closer, his large body pressing against mine, and without breaking the kiss, he leaned down and slid his calloused hands under my thighs, lifting me off my feet.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I sank my teeth into his bottom lip, and Cassian's eyes fluttered as he moaned before breaking into a deep chuckle, his lips curving upwards into a wide grin against mine. His hand squeezed my ass, and feeling that bubbling feeling in my chest swell, I let the giggle in my throat break free, my fingers sliding into Cassian’s soft hair.

Beginning to walk towards my bed, Cassian dropped his head and bit into the soft skin below my ear, licking and sucking at the spot harshly, and my eyes rolled back as I clung to his large, warm body, his bare skin pressing against my thighs and the muscles in his back shifting, causing something in my chest to soar. Then Cassian let himself drop forward, and a startled squeal broke from my chest when my back hit the mattress, turning into unrestrained giggles when his huge body buried me under its weight.

Grinning into my neck, Cassian dropped his head, and something tumbled in my stomach when his gaze clashed with mine as he sank his teeth into the fabric of my t-shirt, his dark eyes hooded and heated.

“Off.” The deep, mumbled order sent shivers over my body, and I pushed myself up, quickly starting to shimmy out of the fabric, Cassian’s tattooed fingers curling into the hem, helping to tug it up my torso. His eyes seemed to grow more hazy and heavy lidded the higher the seam went, and a low grunt escaped his throat when I slipped it over my head.

Dropping his head, Cass nuzzled his nose against my collarbone, sinking his teeth softly into my skin. Then he dragged his lips lower, and my back arched, a flutter exploding in my lower stomach when he slowly circled his tongue over my nipple.

“Shit.” My fingers dug into his neck, and Cassian groaned softly, his eyes fluttering when he buried his nose in my skin, biting the soft skin of my breast before sucking it into his mouth as far as possible.

A soft shaking sound broke from my throat and trembling shivers ran through my body as my insides twisted and the bubbling feeling in my chest rose, and Cassian moaned low in his chest as he started to suck and lick my nipple greedily until my fingers dug into his nape and I arched into him with a breathless whine.

Running his nose over my skin, Cass pressed a lazy kiss against a forming bruise, then he switched sides, his calloused palm closing over my breast. I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping into my throat, and Cassian watched with hazy eyes as a tattooed finger slowly circled my nipple until the pull was so tight, I squirmed, soft whimpers breaking from my throat as I pressed my head into the mattress and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Perfect,”, Cass mumbled raspily against my skin, sinking his teeth lightly into the soft skin above my breast before dragging his lips up to my neck, running his tongue teasingly over my throat. My hand shot up to grip his hair as I fought for breath, and Cassian dipped his head and kissed me, lazy and hungry, parting my lips and dragging his tongue over mine.

A shiver shook my body, I could feel Cassian's lips curve upwards, and warmth bubbled in my chest as I felt a soft, delirious giggle rise in my throat.

Cass grinned against my lips, his forearms pressing down into the mattress next to my shoulders as he shifted, his hips lodging into between my thighs, and the giggles got stuck in my throat when I felt the hard bulge in his pants press against my core.

A breathy sound escaped me as my hand shot out to dig into his back; my back bowed and my hips bucked, and Cassian groaned against my lips, his teeth sinking into the corner of my mouth. My eyes fluttered when I felt the outline of his cock, huge and what had to be painfully hard, straining against his jeans, and the rising feeling in my stomach grew unbearable.

My fingers were trembling with need as I slid my hands down over Cassian’s stomach, my chest thrumming and stomach buzzing, and I hooked my fingers into his belt, the clasp clinking when I pulled to open it. My eyes fluttered when his teeth sank into my neck, and cursing breathily, I tried to tug at his pants.

Cassian snorted a laugh into my skin, and a giggle burst from my throat as I kicked his ass with the heel of my foot.

“Stop – laughing –“

Cassian’s shoulders shook as his deep, unrestrained chuckles caused his body to vibrate, and my heart got stuck in my throat when he raised his head, dimples digging into his cheek, eyes hazy and grin wide.

“Need help?” Teasingly, he rolled his hips down, grinding his hard on against my pussy, and my back arched at the jolt of pleasure racing down my spine, a whimper breaking from my throat the same second a low groan tore from Cassian's chest, his eyes fluttering.

My heart leapt against my ribs, and an uncontrolled, breathless giggle spilled from my lips.

“Fuck you.” My breathy voice vibrated with more giggles that shook my body, my chest buzzing, drunk on alcohol and kisses and the familiar, dark scent filling my lungs, and I felt Cassian's face split into a wide grin against my neck. Then he raised his head, blown iris twinkling, and my heart leapt against my ribs when he nudged his nose against mine, lips ghosting over mine and crease digging into his cheek as he mumbled huskily: “That’s your job, baby.”

My breath caught, something twisted sharply in my stomach, and Cassian's hazy eyes pierced mine.

Swallowing softly, I reached down, touching his belt.

"Off." My voice was just a whisper, breathless and hoarse as heat built deep in my stomach, thrumming under my skin.

Cassian's gaze flashed, flaring as his heavy lids fluttered. Then he pushed himself up, his warm, solid weight disappearing from my body as he sat up. His hazy, dark eyes pierced mine, and without looking away, he started unbuckling his belt.

My lips parted softly as my gaze followed his tattooed hands like hypnotized as they undid his button, slipped into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a foil package, raising it to his mouth so his teeth could rip it open. Then they slid under the waistband, and Cassian pushed his jeans and boxers down his hips in one.

My soft inhale got stuck in my throat. Scorching heat washed over me, setting my cheeks aflame as my lips parted further and I couldn't do anything but stare, at sharp v-lines and flexing muscles as Cass slid the condom over his hard length.

My insides tightened, throbbing around nothing, and swallowing, feeling the bubbling feeling in my chest rise up into my throat, I tore my gaze away. My eyes darted up, and my breath hitched when my eyes found Cassian's, deep, heated and hazy beneath low lids as they pierced mine. Then he leaned forward, and his palms pressed into the sheets next to my sides. The mattress dipped under his weight when he pushed his pants off, his blown iris never breaking away from mine, then he moved up my body until he was hovering over me.

Staring up at him, a wild flutter rising under my ribs, I felt my breath hitch, and slowly, Cass lowered his head until his nose grazed mine.

My lips parted, and with a low, deep noise, Cassian leaned forward and crashed his lips onto mine.

My soft inhale got caught in my throat, something in my chest rose in a flutter, and with a quiet, needy sound, I stretched to slip my arms around his shoulder, my fingers curling into his hair as I inhaled sharply. Then I kissed back feverishly, and Cass groaned softly, his lips parting mine greedily, and his tongue swiped into my mouth, sliding against mine.

My body shuddered, and I arched closer as Cassian slowly lowered himself until his forearms pressed into the mattress next to my head. His chest brushed against mine, his warm, smooth skin causing shivers to travel down my body, and I felt myself push closer almost involuntarily until Cass let himself sink lower, my muscles going lax at the feeling of his warm, massive torso pressing mine heavily down onto the mattress. My thighs slowly fell apart, and Cassian shifted, his chest sliding against mine and causing my nipples to tighten. Then his tip dragged through my folds, and my heart leapt into my throat as I gasped against his lips, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Cass groaned, low and hoarse. His throat worked, jaw muscles flexing, and his heavy lids shuddered.

“If you want me to stop, you tell me.” His voice was so raspy, it sent shivers down my spine.

My fingers dug into his back when I felt his cock slide over my pussy again, and I inhaled shakingly, nodding as my eyes rolling back slightly.

Cassian's nose nudged my cheek, his low, raspy voice vibrating through me. "Look at me, baby."

Somehow, I managed to force open my heavy lids, and something twisted tight and low in my stomach when my eyes met Cassian’s, blown like he was drunk on more than alcohol, his jaw muscles flexing like he was trying to reign himself in when he made a deep noise low in his throat.

“Need you to tell me.”

The bubbling warmth in my chest rose, and I nodded again, my voice breathy when I whispered: “I’ll tell you.”

Cassian softly sank his teeth into my bottom lip, then he shifted his weight, one of his hands sliding over my thigh, his calloused palm leaving shivers in its wake as it grabbed onto my knee and dragged it higher up his side until my leg slid over his back. His nose nudged against mine, his blurred, feverish eyes piercing mine. Then he rolled his hips forward, and my lips fell apart as I felt his tip push into me and how I clenched around him.

Cassian's body shuddered, his eyes fluttered, and he dropped his head into my neck.

“Fuck.” His deep voice sounded slurred, his back muscles flexing under my hands. His jaw worked as low, broken sounds rose in his throat, and a shaking whimper tore from my lips as my body arched into him.

“I - I don't -“ I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing shakily. “This might take a while.”

Cassian’s lashes fluttered against my cheek, and a low groan broke from his throat as he nuzzled his nose against my jaw, sounding hoarse when he mumbled: “Fuck; yes.”

A soft, startled giggle broke from my throat, and Cass grinned against my skin, my insides twisting at the sight of his hooded, hazy eyes and the crooked line of his smirk. Then he dipped his head and nipped my jaw, softly biting into my neck as he rolled his hips forward, and my eyes rolled, my nails digging into his back.

♡

With a soft groan, I buried my nose in my pillow. Then I slowly blinked open one eye, feeling my nose crunch when the light sent a wave of pain through my head.

Ouch.

Whining softly and squeezing my eyes shut again, I dropped my head and buried my face in my pillow.

Urgh.

For a few seconds, I just laid completely still, feeling a steady pounding set up residence right underneath my skull. Birds chirped softly outside the window, a car passed on the street outside, and I could hear quiet clatter in another room.

My limbs felt heavy when I slowly raised my head again, making a face at the fuzzy taste on my tongue, the general queasiness and the spike of pain in my head as I squinted to take in my surroundings.

I was in my bedroom, stretched out diagonally across the mattress, clinging to my pillow. The gap in the curtains allowed warm rays of sunlight to fall onto the floor, and a cool breeze swayed the fabric. There were pieces of clothing scattered over the floor and the furniture, throw pillows dropped onto the carpet around the bed, my blanket was tangled around my bare legs, and I was wearing nothing but underwear and a too big t-shirt that smelled dark and warm and familiar.

Making a low sound in my throat, I contemplated just burying my head under the pillow and going back to sleep until my head stopped pounding and I didn’t feel like death anymore – but then the smell of something frying wafted into the room, and my stomach twisted and grumbled miserably.

Whining softly, I exhaled deeply. Then I slowly dug myself out of my blanket and slid my legs over the edge of the mattress. My whole body was aching, and wincing at the drumming pain in my head, I pushed myself to my feet, nearly moaning at the soreness of my muscles. Grimacing and tiredly rubbing my eyes, I sluggishly trudged over the carpet and pushed open the half closed door.

The smell of bacon got stronger, and running a hand over my face, I trudged through the small hall, coming to a halt in the door to the kitchen. Squinting into the sunlight, I blinked tiredly, and my heart performed a small, happy hop against my ribs at the sight of the tall guy moving around my small kitchen.

Cassian’s back shifted, muscles flexing under his bare skin as he smoothly flipped a pancake, the soft, concentrated crunch of his brows melting away when he placed the pan back on the stove. Twirling a spatula between his fingers absentmindedly, he looked around before beginning to stir what looked like scrambled eggs in another pan. The golden sunlight falling through the window made his eyes look softer and skin glow warmly, his large body dwarfing my kitchen as he moved around, and something squeezed softly in my stomach as my eyes flickered over his bare torso down to the black boxers peeking out over the waistband of his low hanging joggers.

Cass moved and threw a look over his shoulder, and our gazes met.

For a second, his gaze flickered down my body, and something shifted in his eyes when they seemed to linger on my bare legs. Then Cassian blinked and raised his eyes again, and something pulsed warmly against my ribs when one corner of his lips slowly curved upwards.

��Hey.”

His deep voice, warm and raspy, paired with the teasing twinkle spreading through his eyes sent a gentle tingle down my spine, and breathing out, I reached up to rub my eyes, crunching my nose gently as I mumbled hoarsely: “Hey.”

The scratchiness of my tired voice nearly made me wince, and Cass chuckled softly, dimples forming in his cheeks when he sent me a slow, shit-eating grin.

“You good, baby?”

Something leapt softly against my ribs at the teasing tilt of his voice, and exhaling heavily, I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe and dropped my temple against the cool wood as I stared at him tiredly, feeling my head pound. Then I raised my brows. “I definitely had too much to drink.”

A snort broke from Cassian’s throat, and the wide grin on his face caused something to topple lightly in my chest.

Breathing out, I blinked tiredly. Feeling my brows crunch softly, I stared into space as I tried to separate the blurry strands of memory in my head.

“Did you sleep here?” My hoarse voice sounded as sleepy as I felt as I blinked slowly.

Cassian raised his head, and his eyes flickered over my face.

I winced lightly, squeezing one eye shut as I sent him a crooked, sheepish smile. “I’m – sorry; I just remember that we left that – ridiculously full party last night, everything after is – blurry.”

Cassian’s gaze flickered over mine. Then he blinked, his jaw muscles shifted, and his throat worked gently like he was suppressing the urge to swallow.

Something twinged gently in my chest, and raising my head a little, I felt my brows crunch gently with worry as my eyes moved over his face.

“What?”

Cass blinked again. Then he turned his eyes away, one corner of his lips curving gently as he mumbled: “Forgot you’re a fucking lightweight.”

A soft giggle burst from my throat, and the curve of Cassian’s lips deepend just a little as he let the pancake slide onto a plate that was already filled with other, turning off the stove.

Staring at him and the shadow of a dimple in his cheek that didn’t feel fully him, I felt that soft twinge in my chest twist a little.

I blinked, then I pushed off the doorframe and trudged towards him, rubbing my eyes before sliding my arms around his waist and dropping my head against his chest with a tired, soft sound.

For nothing but a second, I thought I felt Cassian’s back muscles tense under my touch, his warm body seeming to freeze gently. But just was I was about to raise my head, a small breath left him, and I felt his shoulders sink. His hand slid up my back and his arm wrapped over my shoulder, and Cass dropped his head to bury his nose in my hair.

There was a small flutter against my ribs, and exhaling slowly, I slid my arms further around him, then I buried my face in his chest, his bare skin warm against my cheek. My eyes dropped close on their own accord, and just for a few seconds, the pounding in my head faded a little as I soaked in the solid feeling of Cassian’s body towering over mine and the warmth and scent of his skin. Then I raised my head relucantly and with a soft sigh, tiredly staring down at the pans for a second before I tipped my head back to blink up at Cass, feeling my lips curve just a bit as I squinted.

“That for me?”

Cassian’s eyes flickered over my face, and slowly, the smallest trace of a crease appeared in his cheek. Then he crunched his brows, narrowing his eyes a little even as his gaze started twinkling the tiniest bit. “You even hungry?”

My stomach tightened and rumbled, and a slow grin spread over Cassian’s face, causing his eyes to crinkle a little and small dimples to form in his cheeks and warmth to rise in my chest.

Chuckling softly, he slid his arm from my shoulder. “Sit down.”

Squeezing his sides with a tired, happy sound, I breathed out sleepily, dropping my arms from his waist and stepping back to move past him. My heart did a little skip when I saw that the small table at the window was set, glasses with orange juice next to cups and a steaming pot of coffe, another glass with water and painkillers sitting in front of the seat on the small sofa.

Something warm started bubbling in my chest, and feeling a soft smile spread over my face, I crunched my nose to barely suppress a yawn before wriggling past the table and climbing onto the couch.

Pulling the soft blanket over my bare legs and cuddling up in my seat, wrapping my arms around my knees, I tiredly blinked at the set table for a second, feeling the warm bubbling sensation under my ribs swell a little. Then I slowly pulled the glass with water towards me, ripping open one of the packages and dumping the contents into the glass. It started fizzling, turning bubbly and pale, and picking it up and making a face, I quickly chugged down its contents.

The bitter taste made me shudder and smack my lips with a grimace, quickly refilling the glass to rinse the taste out of my mouth and quench the sudden wave of thirst.

Emptying the second glass of water in one go, I barely suppressed a soft burp, and there was a quiet chuckle. Then a plate stacked with pancakes, eggs and bacon was placed in front of me, and when I raised my head, Cassian took the seat on the other side of the table, a soft dimple digging into his cheek.

The greasy smell of bacon rose into my throat, and groaning softly, I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply.

“Thank you.” My voice was still raspy and tired, but the smell of food made some of the queasiness melt away, my mouth watering as I took my cutlery.

Warm silence settled over the kitchen as I started eating, feeling too sleepy and hungover for conversation. The sun tickled my nose and made Cassian’s eyes look like light hazel with flecks of green as he slow sipped his coffee, brows crunched a bit against the light. He didn’t seem in the mood for conversation either and just protested with a soft, dramatic sound when I snuck bacon off his plate, the corners of his lips curving just a little as he played with his fork, hazel eyes watching me.

Polishing off the last bit off pancake and egg, I breathed out happily, most of the queasy feeling gone as I put my cutlery down and blinked tiredly. Now, my stomach full and warm, the ache in my head dulling down to a painful thrum, I felt like curling up on the spot and napping for the next 24 hours.

Though –

Crunching my brows softly, I dropped my head, I carefully sticking my nose into the collar of my shirt and sniffling.

Wincing lightly at the stale smell of alcohol, I slowly raised my head again and blinked tiredly.

“I think I’m gonna take a shower.” Resting my elbow on the table and leaning my cheek against my hand, I sleepily stared at Cassian. Then I mumbled softly: “You okay?”

Cass blinked. His gaze slowly moved over my face, and his throat worked slightly. Then he dropped his head, the shadow of a crease forming in his cheeks when he nodded.

“Yeah.” His quiet, raspy voice sent a warm tingle down my spine as he looked up again, watching me, and I stared back at him, my lids fighting to close, the sun warming my skin.

“You sure?” My words were soft, quiet.

One corner of Cassian’s lips curved, and he leaned forward until he could rest his chin on his arms, staring up at me. “You know, showering sounds like a good idea. You’re kinda stinky.”

Warmth swelled in my chest, and without changing my position, I picked up a piece of packaging and tossed it across the table. A soft giggle burst from my throat when it hit Cassian’s forehead, and Cass crunched his brows and whined softly, dimples digging into his cheeks and eyes twinkling softly in the light.

Feeling happiness bubble gently against my ribs, I stared at him with a tired, crooked smile. Then I got up slowly with a sigh, grumbling dramatically under my breath as I climbed off the couch.

Cass straightened, throwing the piece of paper onto his plate, and sluggishly squeezing past the table, I leaned down and wrapped my arms around his neck from the side in a tight hug, leaning my chin against his head and closing my eyes tiredly.

Cassian’s hand rose to wrap around my forearm, his thumb slowly brushing over my skin, and feeling warmth rise in my chest, I dropped my nose to bury it in his hair. Then I pressed a long, dramatic kiss onto his temple and slowly straightened up again, squeezing his shoulder. Cass looked back at me, his palm wrapping over my hand for a moment, and sending him a soft, crooked grin, I gently flicked his forehead. Then I turned around, sighing tiredly and rubbing my eyes.

Taking a detour to the bedroom to get fresh clothes, I trudged into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The warmth of the sun and my full belly made me feel even more tired than before, and I barely managed to keep my eyes open as I stripped out of my clothes, dropping them carelessly to the floor before stepping into the shower and turning on the water.

My lids slid shut, and I allowed them to as I slowly scrubbed myself clean, letting hot water run over my face and down my back. The steady sound nearly made me doze off on my feet, and somehow pulling myself together, I turned off the water and stepped out onto the small matt, reaching for my towel.

Wrapping myself up, I stayed motionless in the same spot for a second with half closed eyes, dripping quietly, listening to the sound of a bee buzzing against the window.

A light knock against the door made me startle, and Cassian’s low, deep voice travelled through the door.

“Hey, you still awake?”

I blinked slowly. Then I mumbled, softly and hoarsely: “Fuck off.”

There was a muffled chuckle that sent a warm tingle down my spine, and I could almost see the way Cassian leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, dipping his head towards the door with a light grin.

“I used up the rest of your groceries, your fridge’s a fucking wasteland now; I’ll go down to the store and get you some shit for the weekend.” His deep voice vibrated over my skin even muffled by the door. “You want anything special or just the usual?”

Breathing out, I leaned my hip against the counter and blinked tiredly, my voice still rasping a little when I mumbled: “You staying?”

Cass was quiet for nothing but a second. Then his warm, raspy voice echoed softly through the door.

“Yeah.” The hum of his low, deep voice sent warm shivers over my skin when he added: “If you want me to.”

“Duh”, I muttered tiredly, my voice sounding a little less scratchy when I crunched my brows. “You always do. It’s tradition now.”

Cass huffed a deep laugh, and I felt my lips curve as I blinked slowly, my eyelids drooping. “Just get the usual. If I don’t feel like death tonight, I’ll make pasta, so – you just pick whatever you want for a sauce, and – get snacks. Lots of ‘em.”

Cassian chuckled, and warmth bubbled gently against my ribs. “Got it.” He lightly rapped his knuckles against the door. “Don’t fall asleep until I’m back, okay?”

I felt a slow, wide smile spread over my face.

“No promises,”, I mumbled with half-closed eyes, and Cass breathed another low laugh, then he pushed off the doorframe, the floor creaking. Warmth gently fluttered against my ribs, and breathing out, I slowly pushed myself off the counter as the front door fell shut.

Somehow, I managed to dry off and get myself into my underwear and a soft bra, even after giving up the fight against my heavy eyelids. Then I blindly grabbed my bodylotion from the shelf and forced my eyes to open dramatically as I turned around.

Just this and brushing my teeth and maybe sorting my hair and then I could go back to be-

My gaze found the mirror over the sink, and my breath caught in my throat.

The bottle of bodylotion slipped from my fingers and hit the tiled floor, and my lips parted as I stared at mirror and the dark bruises littering my chest, ribs and the side of my neck.

My heart thrummed once against my ribs, and memories crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Of heated, messy kisses and large hands wrapping around my limbs, turning and sliding my body into positions that had made my back arch, of lips dragging over my skin and teeth softly sinking into my ribs, of sweaty skin sliding together, my eyes rolling back into my head and a warm, massive body hovering over mine, husky curses rasped into my skin and fingers tangling with mine in the sheets.

Shit.

I stared into the mirror as my cheeks paled and my chest squeezed.

Shit, shit, shit.

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers @icey--stars @ailyr92

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