#i like this guy a lil bit he’s dear to me or whatever :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 4 months

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

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

Word count: 11K (I'm sorry)

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

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

***

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

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

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

Seems like the sort of place for him.

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

Or somethin’ along those lines.

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

Whatever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then I remember Rust doesn’t sleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sigh. I ask him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kindness almost cancels out his arrogance.

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

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

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

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

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

Asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” I reply.

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

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

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

He tilts his head away in dismissal.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want it,” he snaps quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs. “Because decisions define a person?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re part of the people,” I argue.

He hums, nodding in acceptance. “Yes.”

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

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

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

I thought that everything meant fuck-all?

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

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

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

I want – my breath trembles with it.

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

He shudders – I notice. “Since when?”

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

“I will.”

His voice sounds clogged. It sobers me right up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he contradicts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can feel you against my leg.”

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

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

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

Give me strength. Give me strength.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

I can feel him swallow.

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

“Kiss me again, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

A switch in his brain must flick on.

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

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

He then lifts his knee to place against my cunt.

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

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

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

He kisses the hollow of my neck.

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

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

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

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

Rust lets out a grunt and swallows hard again.

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

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

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

How unlike him.

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

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

I sigh, try not to squirm.

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

I nod. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want, Rust?” I whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lie back, girl,” he tells me.

My cunt flexes.

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

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

“Said lie back, didn’t I?”

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

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

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

“Can—?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“Lie back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” I reply.

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

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

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

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lainsshop · 4 months

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A Lovely Night ౨ৎ

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Tags: fluff(?), crack(?), developing relationship, dancing, singing, lalaland n probably more..

Song: A Lovely Night - La La Land

A/N: Sorry if it’s so bad even tho I just copied everything from the scene but please give feedback if it’s bad..

You n Alastor were walking around the empty streets of the Cannibal Colony.

He insisted that he wanted to spend the night together in a lil cafe to just “catch up” even tho you guys always see each other in the hotel, Hazbin Hotel.

It wasn’t unusual for you two to spend nights like this, you used to hang out before he disappeared for 7 whole years.. he still won’t tell you why cause nobody needs to know.. which it did kinda annoyed you but that’s how Alastor was and still is.

Even if it did annoyed you and his whole person itself, you still had developed a tiny crush on him, in your words anyways. You clearly had a crisis cause you’ve never had crushes so it was a new feeling for you.. you wanted to throw up and keep being in denial but sooner or later you will accept it so there was no point in hiding it.

Alastor knew you so clear as a book so he obviously knew about ur lil crush on him but he didn’t said anything cause he enjoyed your reaction to almost everything, it was entertaining after all. So he waited for you to just burst out but not without his “help”.

As you continue to walk, you suddenly tripped a bit. “Shit..” You said under your breathe. You don’t know why in hell did you wanted to wear heels today but here you are! Being an idiot..

“Those look uncomfortable.” Alastor said as his smile grew a bit wider. “They aren’t..” You responded, clearly a bit annoyed.

You two didn’t said anything further on until Alastor spoke up. “Thank you for this wonderful night, my dear, reminds me of the old times.” He said. “You didn’t give me much of a choice anyways.” You replied, Alastor just chuckled at that. “Oh but I know you enjoyed it either way.” “… whatever.” You said.

You continued to walk up a hill and stumble across the city skyline. A ribbon of lights, stretching as far as you can see. It’s the most romantic sight in hell that you’ve seen since who knows how long it as been. You looked at each other. A beat. And then..

You shrug. As you continue to walk a bit. “I’ve seen better.” You commented. “I have to agree with that.” Alastor responded as he walked to the pole and started to sing..

“The sun is nearly gone.. n the lights are turning on, a silver shine that stretches to the sea.” You knew Alastor could sing and all but you honestly didn’t expect that right now. He was many things that you couldn’t quite puzzle out. “We’ve stumbled on a view, that’s a tailor-made for two.. what a shame those two are you n me.” He said he walked towards you. You wanted to looked annoyed but the way he’s singing makes you wanna.. but you just rolled your eyes and walk towards somewhere else trying to ignore him. “Some other girl and guy, would love this swirling sky..” He said walking next to you. “But there’s only you and I, and we’ve got no shot,” You wanted to laugh at that but- “This could never be, you’re not the type for me.” He says as he’s smile grew a bit.

Oh, he was teasing you at this point. “Really?” You saiid unamused. “And there’s not a spark in sight, what a waste of a lovely night..” He sings before walking away.

You narrowed your eyes as you looked at him before clearing your throat. “You said there’s nothing here, well, let’s make something clear, I think I’ll be the one to make that call.” You sing along. “Not quite sure about that, darling.” He commented as he looked at you. “And though you looked so cute in your silky lil suit..”

“It’s polyester.”

“You’re right, I’d never fall for you at all..” You lied. “And maybe this appeals to someone not in heels.” You said as you walk to the bench. “Or any girl who feels, there’s some chance in romance but, I’m frankly feeling nothing..” You sing as Alastor looks at you still smiling as he raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” “Or it could be less than nothing.” “Good to know, so you agree?” “That’s right..”

“What a waste of a lovely night.” You both sang along.

Alastor sits next to you in the bench. You cross your leg as you take one of your heels and put on some more comfortable shoes. Alastor looked at his shoes and started to “accidentally” move dirt towards you, just to annoy you. You paused and give him a glare and lightly hit him in the chest and continue to put remove your other heel.

He started to mock you as he cross his leg too. As you finish with changing shoes, you two put your feet down and you looked at him suspiciously, and started to move in sync. Alastor turned to look at the view and looked at you, he tried to poke you but you stopped him.

As you two slide from to the other side of the bench, he grabbed your bag and tried to open it but you snatched it from him. He suddenly jumps onto the bench and starts dancing and gets off. You two suddenly started to move in sync and jump onto the bench once again looking at the view and then each other and jumped off the bench and started to really dance.

As you two stopped dancing, yall got closer and closer.. on that moment you just wanted to confess to him and everything. Oh, he was very much waiting for that. You slightly opened your mouth to speak and then-

Your cellphone ring started to go off, it was Charlie.

Tag List: @thisisafish123

#alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel

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sundays-wing-piercing · 3 months

Note

Listen listen listen. Now, this may be a bit too suggestive so feel free to ignore or delete.

Sunday is definitely a chest man. You cannot convince me otherwise.

You know those bodices with the structured corset whatever right? That when women wear it squishes up the chest? Sunday ADORES that. He absolutely loves the chest squish. He probably takes off his glove to feel the skin. He's a gentleman and won't stare, especially in public. However, in private, if you're comfortable with him? He stares. He stares SO much.

On top of that? Hes a thigh man. My hc is that he loves sleeping on thighs. Bonus points if reader is a lil thicc. He loves thigh-highs, the squish of your flesh, and how it slightly falls over the seam of the thigh-highs. So basically? He loves thighs, he loves the chest. ?Literally chicken breasts and thighs ig HABAHHQ)

– moon anon 🌘

You dare send me such an ask? That incredibly suggestive ask? Well lucky you im a boob and thigh lover and a Sunday boobs over ass truther

Btw fem bodied reader for this

God those corsets drive him crazy. Honestly It's probably not even sexual most of the time IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT BAZONKA HONKAS ARE JUST AESTHETICALLY PLEASING. It may not look like it but he's fighting back demons in order not to stare. Excuse the clingy bird man please he just can't hold back any longer. His favorite way of cuddling is him laying on top of your chest while you stroke his hair/wings. How could he not they're just so soft (me next pls) a few more minutes please? He's been good afterall. 2 words, boob window. Thats all.

No can do? He'll just settle for your lap. They're just as soft. Man's wings are flapping like a dog tail whenever you wear stockings. The way they barely hold your thighs and how some overflow at the edge of the fabric. At this point im the one going feral GET OUT OF THE WAY IT'S MY TURN ON THE LAP PILLOW. Doesn't matter what type you wear. The normal ones, those with cute cat ears at the end, fishnets, sheer tights, lacy, GARTER BELTS?!? DEAR AEONS YOU'RE GONNA MAKE HIM OVERHEAT. Typa guy to have his hand on your thigh maybe under a table or in the car.

*taps mic* Sunday suffocating either between your legs or againts your chest. *puts mic back on stand as I get off the stage followed by everyone clapping at me as they throw confetti everywhere.*

Omg first named anon thank you thank you I LOVE WOMEN

#ai rants #hsr sunday #sunday hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #ai is downbad #– moon anon 🌘

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weirddreamer · 7 months

Text

Spooky Month! (Rise! Boys x Reader Scenarios)

I'm just doing this 'cause it's almost Halloween where I am-

tw: slight mentions of FAKE blood.

Raphael

I have a strong feeling you two are gonna have matching Halloween costumes.

He won't be into it at first probably because he's the 'oldest' and is getting 'too old' to go Trick-or-Treating.

Or something similar (Ex. Frankenstein and his wife, or just something cute <3)

He wants to go.

Just let him go.

Just please for the love of god, don't have over bloody things-

He'll panic.

"Y/N, WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING!?"

"Raph, it's fake..."

"Oh-"

You two would probably share the candy.

No horror movies though, he'll just a big baby 🥺

Would probably scold Leo and Donnie for messing around.

They stole candy from kids most likely.

Anyways-

Y'all would just have a great time <3

Leonardo

Matching Outfits. No matter what. No option. No getting out of it.

It doesn't matter what it is. It's probably inflatable dinos. You know how the silly lil' man is.

Leo would boast about how his costume looks AMAZING...

You're too, but he just has to talk about his first, though.

A necessity.

Doesn't really care if it's overly bloody, he might freak out a little bit, but he'll calm down.

"Ohh, look at you~!"

"Leo, this is just literally an inflatable."

"You still look amazing."

No sharing candy. Trading is fine, no sharing though.

The man loves his Reeces.

If you two get scolded by Raph (probably Donnie as well,) Leo would just make a joke out of it.

"Why were you two breaking into a HUMANS home?"

"They didn't give us candy."

You two would probably steal candy from kids as well... Shady dealing... I'M JUST SAYING, IT SOUNDS LIKE A LEO THING.

Overall, 10/10, best Halloween.

Donnie

He would probably not dress up.

He thinks it's childish...

No matching costumes.

Oh wait a minute- he can dress up like a mad scientist, even though he already is one!?

GASP

HIS TIME TO SHINE.

Would freak the HECK outta Raph (I know he is in all of these, but like, older brother instincts-) though-

"DONNIE, ARE THOSE REAL CHEMICALS!?"

"I can neither confirm, or deny that by dear brother, FOR IT IS HALLOWEEN, THE ONE DAY OF THE YEAR I CAN DO CRAZY THINGS AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME."

Would probably force you to just walk around in a lab coat, claiming you're his assistant.

Screw the no costumes thing, it's Donnie time.

No eating in his lab.

No go.

No show.

He would probably let you have 90% of his candy.

The other 10% will go to tomorrow night's new invention.

You know how big brain boi is with his tech

Mikey

You know him.

You love him.

He's the silly lil' man!

Matching outfits are 100% guaranteed, no doubt ADORABLE, cause he's MIKEY.

You both have to agree on something though, otherwise you can't go out on Halloween night.

IT IS A SACRED THING TO MATCH OUTFITS WITH HIM. (Because Mikey asked, and you can't say no to him, HE'S TOO PURE.)

No blood though.

We all know this.

"C'mon, Y/N! Hurry up! We don't wanna miss- FESTIVAL!"

You were talking to Leo about whatever, then you noticed Mikey running off towards a Halloween festival.

How did that get there?

You have to go run after him in case he doesn't do anything dumb

Or to get hurt.

You know how bouncy boi is.

What REALLY caught his attention was the bounce house.

Unfortunately for him, he couldn't go in because he had to be 5...

JK, he got in, and you just watched him bounce for a while before you went to go back to trick-or-treating before Raph noticed you were gone.

After you guys do that and go back to the lair, You and Mikey trade candy and eat it while watching Jupiter Jim and his 1000 FREAKING SEQUELS OF JUPITER JIM AND HIS LAST TRIP TO THE MOON.

Overall, you had fun :)

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

Note

Hewo I know Halloween is over but may I have TADC cast x Jack Skellington!Reader? Plus their dog also got transported and turned into Zero.

Imagine an 11ft tall skeleton rising out the giant ballpit thing

If Jax or Caine pisses them off they do the scary face thing

TADC cast x jack skellington! Type reader!

I dont mention the dog much since I dont really. Have many ideas for them <\3

Also I have not seen nightmare before Christmas in YEARS so UHUH! This may be a bit off

Written on mobile

I'm down with the sickness but the sickness is not down with me (too sore to sleep)

CAINE:

You guys walk bubble and your dog together/j

Actually no that would be.. kind of funny.. I can definitely see caine doing that if hes trying to befriend you

Chaotic gentleman (is that a thing? Honestly I'm just basing the gentleman part on the fact caine says stuff like "my dear" and goes out of his way to welcome new circus members but uhuh) and calm gentleman duo

Things happen

Honestly I think you would balance him out, like either he tones down or you compliment his personality enough to make it more bearable to others

POMNI:

Similar to the skeleton reader post, pomni is a little offput by you being a skeleton. It's like how you instinctively get freaked out when you see an exposed brain, usually means somethings very wrong. Same case with your bones I think. At least for pomni while shes getting used to things. Though your gentle and kind demeanor really helps ease things along, and pomni finds herself comfortable around you!

AND you come with a dog? Tbh I can see pomni being a dog person

... If that's your dog, assuming it's not an NPC, does that mean your dog got a mini headset...?

RAGATHA:

Kind lady and kind person. You guys kind of just brighten up the room whenever you two are around, and even more so if you're together... though, that isn't saying much given the general attitude of the others..

You both tend to band together to look out for the others during IHAs, I think

Let's you rattle on about your interests; I'm sure most others would let you do the same, but I think Ragatha would actually be actively engaged in it! I think Kinger would be too...

Sets you three down in a corner and observes

JAX:

Writing this down first before I forget but Jax would do an exaggerated fake scream when you do the scary face thing. I don't think jax would be all the phased by it. If you're a skeleton you're cursed with him trying to undo your bones, very similar to the TADC cast x skeleton reader post from a few days ago

Personality wise? Jax is going to try to find your limits and break them. Oh you're a gentleperson who handles things with grace? Not for long.. unless you have the patience and forgiveness of a god

KINGER:

I think he would enjoy your prescence! Just dont do the face thing around him, hes probably gonna freak out even if it's not directed towards him. Kinger doesnt strike me as the type to like scary things..

Pets your dog, a lot

Emotional support animal/j but actually I can see him becoming attatched to your dog

Not much to be said here but I'm chalking that more up to me being tired <\3

ZOOBLE:

Is a little annoyed by your enthusiasm to learn as much as you can about whatever topic ha syour interest; bonus if you're current interest is the digital world and trying to figure out all the ins and outs of it

....they're more of a cat person, I think... ir maybe a snake person... or reptile person in general.. doesnt hate your dog, though

Can at least appreciate your mannerisms and politeness

I can see you two being decent friends , I think

GANGLE:

Another one where I think you guys could make decent friends. Honestly, I didnt write this to be romantic (though some of these can be interpreted as such!) But I wholeheartedly believe gangle would develop a crush on you. I mean, come on! You're a gentleman, you're a lil quirky, you're kind and curious, and so on! Bonus if you look the part, too. I have a hc lying around somewhere where I believe gangle used to play dating sims in the real world and tbh. She would definitely go after characters that reflected you... and oh look youre a real person, hell yeah

It was either characters like you or the dark mysterious ones

But maybe I'm hella projecting onto gangle

Gangle is our x reader enjoyer rep/hj

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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nyxthejinx · 1 year

Note

Heya!

I just saw your open for request post and want to commission an Cyno x gn!reader, please? :) a fluffy and spicy drabble would be lovely. Maybe smth like.. the reader is good friends with Cyno and Tighnari but the reader went on a journey thru teyvat and met the Aether (traveler) on their way and since then they traveled together and been thru much so they have a connection ofc and then when the reader and Aether visit sumeru and they meet Cyno - he will get all jealous? Cause he sees how close they are and he fears that he missed his chance with the reader? But obvsly its not like that and yeah. A lil bit of making out at the end, please? cause Cyno needs to let out some steam after his jealously :^)

Thank you for doing requests btw!

FIRST. It took ages but I was able to sell my soul in exchange for inspiration only recently, I'm so sorry. SECOND thank YOU for asking, I wasn't sure about this until the 3am among us potion made it work. THIRD beautiful pfp, akaza bb fr i love him a normal amount I promise. FOURTH it's 5 am, literally I'm not kidding, I tried to proofread and all that but I don't even know what's my name anymore so I'm sorry for typos and shit. FIFTH I hope It makes sense, enjoy 💀

𝐓𝐖: Fluff and obviously spice (making out, vague allusions to the dirty deeds ;) ), use of petnames (dear, love), lemme know if I missed something.

𝐅𝐭.: Cyno, Aether (but he's your homie) - GN!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k

𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨: Rendezvous - Little Mix (god this song is such a banger)

Cyno fears nothing.

"Cyno, this is Aether."

Cyno fears one thing.

He'd felt so happy after reading your last letter. You said you'd be back in a few days with a special surprise, but honest to Archons the fact you'd be coming back to him - for him, he’d wanted to say, but not dared to- was enough of a present.

He surely wasn't expecting that this "surprise" would be none other than the Traveler who's saved Sumeru, though. A charming blondie who drifts a bit too close to you, in Cyno's opinion.

"We met in Liyue, he's amazing." You smile, squeezing the blond's shoulder. "He's a well known traveler across Teyvat, even in regions he has yet to visit!"

"I just help those who need it, not that much of a big deal."

Aether blushes and rubs his neck. Aether blushes. And you're touching him in a way that only close friends do.

It's fine, Cyno wants to think. You're allowed to do whatever you want in your life, he sure as hell won't stand in your way. He already stepped aside back in the days, as you excitedly told him how one of his worst fears came true you were leaving for adventure.

Everything to make you happy.

But his mixed feelings would always get in the way and unleash endless internal conflicts. It wasn't simply about not having you around, it was some kind of longing sitting inside his chest and screaming at you not to go.

It was the distance that made him realise: he was, and still is, far too in love for his own good.

And Aether could get in the way of that.

"We meet again, Traveller." The General nods, pushing down such shameful thoughts. "I'm glad to see you are both fairing well."

"It's all thanks to [Name], actually." Aether nudges you in the ribs. "They're really helpful, no matter the task."

You smirk. "Oh, what an honour. The traveller complementing me, a common, mortal nobody."

"Hey, I'm not that annoying!"

"Maybe. But you sure snore at night. That is annoying."

"Wh-! I don't. I know for a fact-"

No, you don't sound like close friends. You sound like a married couple. What just happened in this handful of months? Did Cyno hesitate too long and lost his chance? Now that he had decided to expose his deepest feelings?

"You guys! Paimon is starving here."

Paimon's shrill voice cuts short the bicker, as the Matra's jaw clenches. Good time, credits to Paimon, but seeing the two of you stroll towards the tavern didn't ease the knot in his chest the slightest.

Your laughter wasn't addressed to him nor to his uncanny jokes. He wasn't the one making you smile.

He was the moon and he'd just been eclipsed by the Traveller's brightest light.

Dinner was... Gut wrenching, to say the least.

You'd known Cyno long enough to tell apart his feelings even as he wears that stoic facade of his. While Paimon and the Traveller didn't have a single clue about the situation, you could feel his dry gaze burning holes on both of your figures, as if the sun had ascended back to the skies and everything around had turned desert.

He was feeling something you'd never quite seen within him.

It took you a bit too long to realise that the fair, lawful General Mahamatra was jealous, of all things.

He was so subtle with it, carefully hid his resentment in his voice and choice of words, in his gestures and mannerisms. But worst of all he didn't propose a single joke during the meal, not even when you laid the chance on a silver platter for him.

That had your mind reeling for the rest of your time together, and even afterwards, as you waved goodnight to Aether and Paimon. As you walked these streets you still know by heart with your dearest friend by your side.

As you choked on the thick air surrounding the two of you.

Maybe you should've left Aether out of it, for the first day, at least. Cyno hadn't seen you in so long, perhaps he didn't like the way Aether inadvertently hogged your attention the entire time when all he wanted was to hear about your adventures.

Yeah, you'd been an idiot for that one.

But, you still had an ace up your sleeve. Quite literally. One that would grant you his forgiveness and hopefully help you say the words to him.

Because of course, it took you less than a week far from him to realise you were smitten for this dad-jokes-spitting being.

You patted your side as you approached Razan Garden in all its glory, and sighed at the feeling of the rectangular box still inside. You could do it, you had to! It took you months of preparation, you wouldn't let it go to waste.

"[Name]." Cyno's voice was soft, as if to match the atmosphere lingering in the marble gazebo. He'd stopped a couple steps ahead of you, but didn't turn to meet your eyes. "My congratulations and best wishes."

You alt abruptly at that. Where the hell is it coming from?

"Uh, thank you?" You quirk a brow. "Did I do something special without knowing?"

He chuckles under his breath. Yes, you are special and he's grateful a being so perfect can exist in this world and is part of his life. But he would never tell you that.

He turns instead. His eyes rich with emotion, gentler. "I'm beyond glad that you found the right person out there, [Name]."

Oh. Oh.

"I only ever hoped for your happiness and well-being, during this period of time."

"Cyno, wait a sec-"

He takes a step forward. "If I had to voice my honest thoughts... I must admit I couldn't find peace of mind knowing you would've been out there alone."

"Cyno-"

"But I see you're perfectly capable of handling your own," the man sighs, shakes his head. A small smile curves his lips. "Just like you've always done."

"Oi-"

And then he's placing loose hands on your shoulders, as if he's in some kind of automatic mode and has to finish the speech at all costs.

For a moment you think he's gone absolutely senile. "Still, I'm relieved you have someone who can watch your back, now. He's a kind-hearted person, level headed, the best you could wish for-"

"Archons' fucking sake, Cyno! Will you hear me out a damn second?"

Cyno almost jumps back, taken out of his weird reverie, but you're quick to trap his face between your hands. You're close, closer than you'd wanted to, unfocused in your frustrated fervor. So much his breath warms the apple of your cheek, as it wasn't burning already.

You take a breath and force more words out before you can cower away from it. "I get where you're coming from, I neglected you today and acted like a shitty friend. And I'm sorry for that."

You lower your gaze to the ground. Now or never. "But it's you, okay? It's always been you! I could travel across all Teyvat and even Celestia, but it's you and just you. So drop that thing you're on about please."

That was disgustingly corny. But hopefully did the trick, you guess.

A beat passes. Then two. You don't see his face, you don't have the courage to take a look at the mess you've made. Him being jealous didn't mean he liked you, not necessarily. Maybe you should've given him the TCG deck and call it a night.

Another beat goes by.

"So... You and Aether are not...?"

He's gonna be the death of you.

You groan, a guttural sound that shouts exasperation from the deepest parts of your chest. All rationality goes to hell as you drag him closer and slam your lips together.

You're kissing him. Archons you're kissing him-

There's no time for Cyno to react. You're pulling away in a frenzy, hoping the ground will open for the Abyss to swallow you right now. You kissed one of your friends only to prove that you're single, and in fact attracted to them. Could it be worse than that? More humiliating and disrespectful to him?

"I'm so sorry!" You wave your hands around. "I shouldn't have without your permission! Are you okay?"

You search his expression for any sign of discomfort; he looks absolutely flabbergasted, but somehow weirdly composed like a bronze statue. His lips -god you'd just kissed them- are parted in the slightest, his eyes wide and yet still. The calm before the storm.

He's showing yet another sentiment you've never really seen him wear.

"Again." Cyno says.

You blink. "Uh?"

You feel his hand slither behind you and circle your waist, as he pushes your body closer. His skin is running hot like the desert's sands and you curse at his choice, or better lack of clothes.

His silver hair falls like a curtain, his eyes sharp. Dangerous, even, if you're not careful enough.

"Please, do it again. I think I've just seen the gates of Celestia." He mutters close to your lips.

That sounds more like him. You can't help but snort at his choice of words, shuddering all the same. The implications of said words dig a flaming hole in your chest.

"How can you be so smart, but dum dum at the same time?" You whisper, one hand traveling to the back of his neck, the other busying itself with stray locks of hair.

And you dip in for another kiss. One you sigh into, one that can be called kiss, actually. It's slower, but full all the same, scorching hot, pushed by feelings that were repressed for too long.

Cyno locks his free hand at your nape, never possessive, although firm. Small sounds bubble in the back of his throat when you bite at his lower lip, then backs just enough to mutter a couple words.

"Can you really blame me? It feels like a dream coming true." He pecks your lips, then presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes. "I was scared you'd chosen him."

"So, all those pretty words from before?" You exhale a breathy laugh, cradling his jaw.

"I'd give away everything I have and am if it meant you'd be happy. I could only wish you the best and support you." Cyno smiles, pouting after the next words leave his mouth. "But it doesn't mean I would be fully content with the outcome."

Your brain has turned to mush. This man is too dangerous for this world, a hazard for you and your poor little heart that feels like exploding. It's a threat to your common sense and rationality. But most of all, it's damaging your brakes.

What he's telling you should not be legal.

"Archons, come here." And you kiss, and kiss, kiss again and again. You map each other's bodies with your hands as if it was the last time you'd be seeing each other. You press your mouths, clatter your teeth, intertwine your tongues.

You're straight up devouring in the dead silence of the night, in a public space. But as indecent the sounds you're both making are, it feels as if the world around blurred and blended into nothingness.

You've found yourself with your back to a wall, somehow, a couple buttons loose, skin hit by the cold air of the night. You -surely more clothed than Cyno- are an absolute mess, whereas his appearance doesn't falter much even at your hands' mercy.

It's unfair, he's unfair. He has no right to be this damn perfect even in the face of chaos.

"Not here, Cy." You manage to utter. "Let's go home."

His hand stops halfway up your shirt and he detaches from your neck with a small grunt, red splotches forming already thanks to his work. He doesn't sound pleased with your choice, but wordlessly complies, knocking you off your feet and picking you up so easily it's unfair.

And embarrassing.

You deadpan. "Seriously?"

He finds your eyes, suddenly composed as if nothing happened. "You seemed quite unstable on your legs, dear."

You're audibly gasping at that, whacking his chest and glaring daggers. "You!"

"Let's continue it home, now."

Cyno is really going to be the death of you, in many ways you'd never even considered.

It's almost dawn when you finally let yourselves snuggle up to each other in the peace of your home. More like his home, since yours needs more than a bit of cleaning after months of disuse, but he's made it clear already: everything that's his is also yours.

Cyno traces patterns on the bare skin of your arm, as you card through the knots on the back of his head, formed after... Recent activity. He seems too lost in your touch to even be awake, when his fingers stop.

"What was the surprise, in the end? Was it the confession?"

Your hands still, your face tightening at the question. When did you even... Oh, right.

"Would you be satisfied if I said yes?"

He pinches you.

"Owie!"

"You should know that what has been of this night matters more than anything, to me. Of course I would be satisfied." Cyno raises a thin brow, as his hand starts to descend agonizingly slow, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. "Was I not clear enough about my feelings? Perhaps you need a reminder-"

"Whoa, hold your horses, General." You chuckle, planting a kiss on his forehead before leaning over to your bedside table, where your bag had been thrown previously. "There was no way I'd come back empty handed after all these months, yanno?"

You pull out the wrapped box, place it in his hands. Cyno stares at it quizzically, but opens the packaging with care after you nudge him in the side.

Oh, his expression is so, so priceless. Cute, too cute, so cute you could die right now on the spot for excess of sugar in your blood. He looks like a kid who's just received the toy he oh so wanted and ranted about.

"It's not just any deck," You explain. "It's a deck made of cards I've gathered around from different regions. Some were more challenging to get, but I've been playing with you for a long time, haven't I? Of course I'd win."

Meanwhile Cyno takes the liberty to browse its contents, and just like you said, they're not from Sumeru. He's barely ever seen them, some are literally unknown, and he's ecstatic at the sight. How long did it take? How much effort?

"This is…" there's no right term to describe it. "Wonderful. You are wonderful, [Name]."

He goes for a hug and you feel like your bodies fit perfectly in each other's arms, as if it was meant to be. Right now, all that matters is this. And it will always be for all you care.

You smile into his shoulder, smooch the base of his neck. "Is it too early to say 'I love you?'."

"I would actually say we're late, Love."

"I love you, then, you Dum-Dum."

"I love you."

"..."

"You are like my asthma. You just take my breath away."

You make sure Cyno slams his head as you throw him off the bed.

DON'T copy/repost my work. REBLOG instead! ©nyxthejinx

#Genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #Cyno x reader #cyno #genshin Cyno #genshin impact #gn reader #Genshin drabble #genshin fluff #Genshin Impact smut #cyno smut #Genshin smut #| Genshin Impact 🌓 |#| Nyx Writes 🌑 |

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uhhhhjhfrogs · 1 year

Text

Uhh a quick lil 1.8k of Corroded Coffin Steddie | ao3

Eddie woke up to Steve running his fingers through his hair, he purred like a cat and buried his face in Steve’s chest, “can I just stay here forever?”

Steve chuckled softly and Eddie luxuriated in the vibration, “I mean forever is a long time but the rest of this Sunday seems doable.”

“I can’t Sunday I have…” Eddie's eyes snapped open and he sat up abruptly, “band practice! Shit!”

“Since when do you have band practice on a Sunday?” Steve pouted as he watched Eddie scramble out of bed, grabbing whatever clothes he got his hands on first.

“Since you seduced me into skipping practice on Thursday.”

Steve smirked to himself, “I don’t remember you complaining.”

“Well my mouth was pretty busy if you remember,” Eddie scoffed as he hopped around the room pulling up his pants.

Steve sat up in bed to watch him, leaning against the headboard, the sheets pooled around his waist and bare chest on display, all Eddie wanted to do was crawl in between his legs and take him under the sheets again but he had already flaked once that week he couldn’t flake again. Instead he groaned and came to Steve’s side of the bed, tilting his chin up to kiss him sweetly, “it’s torture leaving you dear but maybe you want to come by practice later? In like an hour or two? Watch us play a little bit?”

Steve hummed and kissed him again, “yeah sounds fun, but you should go now if you don’t want to be late.”

“What would I do without you?” Eddie grinned, giving him one more kiss before sprinting out the door. And if Steve didn’t mention how half the clothes Eddie had grabbed had been his? Well he would find out when his friends asked why he was wearing a Hawkins Varsity Swim shirt and Steve’s boxers.

____

Eddie was only 10 minutes late to practice rather than his usual 20, Steve must be a good influence on him. The rest of the guys were already there but they were still setting up so Eddie quickly put his stuff down and started setting up his own sweetheart.

They all started tuning their instruments and tuning turned into a little bit of a jam and then Eddie transitioned into the opening of one of their songs and they were off. It was messy and a little uncoordinated, but their first song at practice always was. It was fun though and Eddie jumped around like they were playing for an actual audience instead of just the garden gnomes in Gareth’s garage. All that jumping in Gareth’s sauna of a garage and Eddie was already sweating, he shed the jacket he had come in with and decided to play the rest of practice in just his tshirt; or what he thought was his tshirt.

“Is that Steve Harrington’s shirt?” Gareth questioned from behind his drum set.

“What?” Eddie looked down and realized that in his haste to get to practice in time he had picked up Steve’s shirt instead of his own, ‘Hawkins Swim and Dive’ plastered across his chest in varsity font. “This isn’t Steve’s… I must’ve swiped this from the locker room a while back, I was in a rush to get here on time - wasn’t looking at what I was grabbing.”

“Dude. It literally says Harrington on the back, why are you lying about this?”

“Shit. Uh I guess it is Steve’s then, whatever, maybe he left it at my house, should we do ‘stagnant’ next? We should practice it for the gig next weekend.”

It was a shameless segue but it worked, they dropped their line of questioning and practice went back to normal for a little while. Until Eddie dropped his pick and had to crouch down to pick it up.

“Who’s boxers are those!” Gareth threw his drumstick towards the revealing gap between Eddie’s shirt that was riding up and his pants that were riding down.

“What the fuck does that mean? My own?”

Jeff stepped forward and put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “Eddie, I think I can speak for all of us when I say, we’ve seen you in your underwear enough to know that those are not yours, so whose are they?”

“Maybe I bought new underwear? Have you considered that?” Eddie crossed his arms defensively.

They all burst out laughing and Eddie pouted at them, “I don’t know what’s so funny.”

“I literally gave you underwear for your last birthday because you never buy them yourself.”

“Think if we checked the waistband there would be a nice little ‘S. Harrington’ embroidered in script?”

“No!” Eddie squeaked, because he knew it was there.

Gareth stood up and came around his drum set,“I think we know what we have to do boys.”

The other two nodded in unison, “It must be done.”

The boys started wrestling, trying to pin Eddie down and he was scrappy but 3-on-1 is never fair and soon enough Eddie was immobilized under the weight of his entire band sitting on top of him.

“Holy shit I was joking but it’s real, he’s wearing Steve Harrington's underwear.”

Eddie braced himself for the next logical leap, for them realizing that he and Steve were dating and all the questions that came from it but instead Jeff just laughed, “I can’t believe you stole Harrington’s underwear, like we know you’ve had a thing for Harrington since Sophomore year but we didn’t know you were so desperate that you’d stoop so low to a panty raid.”

Gareth grinned, “this is great blackmail material.”

“What? you’re going to blackmail me because I’m gay? That’s kind of homophobic of you guys.” Eddie said as he tried to wiggle out from under them.

“Not because you’re gay, we would’ve done this if you stole a girls underwear too, it’s the underwear theft itself which is the blackmail material, like sure everyone had a crush on Steve Harrington at some point in their lives but I doubt more than a few went so far as to steal his underwear.”

They finally let him up and Eddie just rolled his eyes, “ok whatever, I don’t care.”

“You’re saying you don’t care if Harrington finds out that you like him soooo much that you stole his underwear?”

“No I don’t care, especially because I know you’ll never have the guts to actually tell him.”

“I mean he kind of has a point there, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you even stand within five feet of Steve Harrington.”

“Ooh your ears must be burning!” Gareth’s mom laughed as she led Steve into the garage, “Steve Harrington is here, asking for Eddie.”

“Hi, Eddie said I could watch you practice today.” Steve waved.

All the band members looked at Eddie with wicked smirks.

Eddie kicked his band mates in the shins subtly as he crossed to Steve, “Yeah, we were just gonna start going through our set list for the next show, you can sit on the couch over there.”

“Cool.” Steve smiled and settled on the couch to watch.

Thankfully, the band valued rehearsal over the potential humiliation of their lead singer and they followed Eddie’s lead-in to their set list. Going through the set list and fixing all the mistakes they made along the way took another hour and afterwards the boys were beat. Eddie dropped to the floor where he was, sprawling on the floor with Jeff, Gareth spun around on his stool and Kurt sat on the couch with Steve.

Eddie popped his head up and grinned at Steve, “so what did you think?”

“Loud,” Steve chuckled, “but really cool, there were some new songs in there right?”

“You know our music well enough to know which songs are new?” Gareth leaned over his drums.

“Yeah, Eddie gave me some of your tapes.”

“And you listened to them?”

Steve furrowed his brow, “yeah? What else would I do with them?”

“Huh.”

Breaking the awkward tension that had begun seeping into the room, Jeff popped his head up, “Do we have any beer?”

_____

A couple beers in all the guys were a lot more relaxed, Steve had slotted into the dynamic between them surprisingly well. Eventually Jeff had enough of the puppy dog eyes Eddie was giving Steve so he decided to stir the pot, “so what do you think of Eddie’s wardrobe today, Steve? Think we should add more jock style to the band?”

“I think you should,” Steve snorted, “imagine, you could be the only metal band out there in varsity jackets.”

“Yeah? You think so, Harrington? Would you lend all of us various athletic paraphernalia?”

“Playing multiple sports since middle school has prepared me for this,” he nodded solemnly, “if you wanted to you could all take a different sport even.”

Eddie laughed, “ok but I want your letterman jacket.” He shot Steve a secret little smile, he’s worn Steve’s letterman jacket before, he’s worn only Steve’s letterman jacket before, and he didn’t want any of his other band mates tainting that memory.

Kurt pouted,”aw you already got his underwear! I want the jacket.”

“Oh come on! There goes our blackmail dummy.”

“Your what?” Steve chuckled.

“Oh shit. Sorry Eddie, we really didn’t plan on saying anything, it just slipped. Fuck! Sorry man.”

“I told you guys, I don’t care if you try and tell Steve.”

“Are you sure? Because I think it’s so funny.”

“Go ahead” Eddie made a flourish with his hand from the floor.

“Hey Steve-“

“Yeah?”

“You know Eddie is wearing your boxers right now?” The band burst out laughing and Eddie just shrugged shamelessly at Steve who was grinning like an idiot.

“Huh, wonder where he got those.” Steve chuckled.

“You don’t care if we tell him the second part either?” Gareth poked Eddie on the floor.

“No go ahead, I would argue that’s the funnier part.” Eddie smirked directly at Steve.

“Well we assume that he stole them from your house because he likes you sooo much.” They cackled like hyenas the way that only drunk 18 year olds can.

“Hmm, and Eddie, you really don’t care that they told me this?”

“Not a bit,” he gave Steve a small knowing smile.

Steve popped off the couch and for a second the band was afraid he was about to kick Eddie when he was literally down but instead he laid next to Eddie, interlaced their fingers together and smiled, “Well I think it’s a good thing he likes me so much considering we’ve been dating for about 6 months now.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before the garage erupted into pandemonium. Steve and Eddie just burst out laughing and Steve leaned over to kiss his boyfriend silly like he had wanted to ever since he saw him shred the guitar solo in the first song they played.

#stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #corroded coffin #fic

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itsseohannbin · 4 months

Text

• Like A Volcano | Part One | •

Han Jisung Mini Series

♡ itsseohannbins masterlist ♡

Series Masterlist

Chapter Genre: Fluff 💕Angst⚡️ Crack💥

-Bestfriends to Lovers Trope-

Summary: being best friends with the kings of kpop always has its ups and downs, and when you're offered a spot on the next European-American book tour to promote the publishing of your new book, there's one kpop king in particular who just doesn't want you to go.

Pairing: Idol!Han Jisung x Female Reader x Bestfriend Skz

** Includes two of my own original female characters, both whom are romantically involved with two of the members. Chan x Jo / Minho x Ash **

Warnings: a lil bit of fluff. angst. swearing. sexual innuendos. use of alcohol. best friend skz. selfish han jisung. lots of crying. the boys do not use honorifics.

Word Count: 9.3k

**this chapter is unchanged**

Enjoy!

Lately you’ve been feeling like you were the last of your kind.

You sat slouched back in a drunken haze, your eyes glaring at yet another group of girls as they squealed annoyingly with one another. One of the females, a tall blonde with long hair and even longer legs, had just emerged from a dark room with a male idol you didn’t care enough to recognize. The male removed himself from her side immediately and disappeared into the crowd of people that littered the large house, no doubt looking for his next target, while she was carried away by her friends towards the nearby bathroom. The girls all giggled and whispered in not-so-hushed voices, vying for the dirty details you doubt any of them would experience themselves.

You sent a hard glare to the closed door they locked themselves behind and took a long swig from your red solo cup. Even over the music and ever-growing chatter around you, you could still hear the flock of airheads screaming relentlessly in excitement for their friend.

Girls your age have always been so fucking dramatic and it annoyed the hell out of you.

“What’s wrong y/n? Can’t handle a little competition?” a familiar voice cooed softly in your ear as the cushion next to you sank and a muscular arm hooked itself around your neck. Changbin planted a kiss on your cheek before taking the cup from your hand and chugging the rest of the liquid inside. He gave you a satisfied look at your drink of choice as he swallowed before tossing the empty cup onto the table in front of you. “I never pegged you for the jealous type.”

“Come on Binnie,” you joked, lazily turning your head towards him. “You know I put all those girls to shame.” It took a couple of seconds for your mind to catch up to your movements and you were left giggling at the delayed response of your own brain.

It’s been a while since you’ve been this tipsy and damn, did it feel good.

“You’re damn right you do.” Jisung hopped over the back of the L-shaped couch you were stretched out on and settled himself beneath your legs. He had two red cups in his hands and he handed one to you out of habit, which you happily accepted. “Those chicks don’t even come close to the level you sit on, Bubs.” he purred, his hand coming to rest on your thigh.

You smiled at his words, loving the way your ego grew as each syllable left his mouth.

“And that, my dear Sungie-” you leaned in towards him and flicked his nose. “-is why you guys are my best friends.”

Jisung gave you a wide smile in return and pushed his dark hair out of his eyes before he began toying with the strings that were hanging from the multiple rips in your black jeans.

“Because I’m devilishly handsome and put you on a pedestal not even God can reach?”

You let out a sigh and fell back into the side of Changbin’s body, resting your head against his shoulder for support and cuddling into the warmth his strong torso always emitted.

“Because you guys always lie to me so perfectly that I have no choice but to believe it.” you corrected him before chugging back whatever Jisung had filled your cup with.

You swallowed in disgust as the tequila burned the back of your throat. This was definitely going to be your last drink of the night.

Jisung just smirked at you, choosing not to respond to your words as his hand rubbed up and down your leg soothingly, absentmindedly tracing soft circles on whatever skin he came across.

Changbin, however, took immediate offence to your words, as he usually did, and wasted no time speaking out against your claims.

“Yah! We’d never lie to you, Bunny!” he protested, his phone momentarily forgotten as he frowned down at you.

You turned your head up to give him a blank look.

“Binne, you guys literally lied to me last week about going to the gym.”

“No we didn’t.”

“Yes. You did.” you deadpanned. “I asked if you guys wanted to go and get ice cream, and the two of you claimed you couldn’t because you were meeting Chan for arm day.”

The two boys exchanged a look of confusion before shrugging their shoulders at you. You rolled your eyes at them.

“I literally caught you guys eating ice cream together, at the ice cream place, without me. Do you know how much I had to pay Innie to come with me that night? Dude doesn’t like to be rented out for cheap, I’ll tell you that much.” you muttered before taking another long, treacherous drink from the cup.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders again and gave you a guilty look.

“To be fair, Bunny, the last time we went out for ice cream together you ate half of my sundae.” he stated, as if that made everything better. You glared at him, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm.

“Yeah, because you ate half of my cone. In one fucking bite!” you bit back.

“Hey now, it’s not Changbin's fault he’s got such a large mouth.” Jisung reasoned. Changbin took the opportunity to make the joke you knew would come the second the words left Jisung's mouth.

“I’ll show you something else that’s big.” he smirked down at you, his eyebrow raised mischievously as he popped his chest. You rolled your eyes and let out a groan.

“You guys are pigs.”

Jisung frowned at you. “So mean.”

“Says the one who lied to me.” you shot back, trying to stop the grin that fell on your face as you pulled a pillow out from behind your body and threw it at Jisung. You loved bantering with these two. You sure were going to miss this.

Jisung caught the pillow with his one hand and threw his other up in surrender, nearly spilling his drink in the process.

“Okay, okay, we’re sorry! We did go to the gym, but decided to have some guy time before coming home. You know, just us dudes.”

You feigned offence, turning your mouth down into a frown and pouting at Jisung. You knew your actions would immediately tug at your best friends heart strings, but you continued to push your lip out further for added effect.

“We’ve been best friends for nearly six years now. When did I get downgraded from one of the dudes to just some basic bitch?” You saw the way Jisungs face softened at your pout and you felt victorious. That is until Changbin opened his mouth and made you nearly spit your drink out directly into Jisungs face.

“Since Jisung realized he’d rather fuck your brains out than fist-bump you.”

Both you and Jisung turned to stare at Changbin.

“Oh my god! Binnie! What the hell?”

“Dude, come on. What the hell?”

You and Jisung spoke at the same time, your face twisted into a look of utter shock, while Jisung looked as if he wanted to beat Changbin to death right then and there.

“What?” Changbin laughed, smiling between the two of you as if what he said was the most natural sentence in the world. “I’m just saying.”

“You guys are pigs.” You repeated your earlier statement, rolling your eyes at him and squishing yourself into the corner of the couch.

“Maybe, but you love us.” Changbin said confidently.

“Well, that’s certainly debatable.” you retorted. Changbin just stuck his tongue out at you before pulling his phone back out of his pocket and going back to scrolling, indicating the conversation was done and he was satisfied with the havoc he caused.

You glanced over at Jisung, his face flushed with embarrassment as he chugged his drink back in one gulp. You were going to reach out to reassure him everything was okay and that you knew Changbin was only teasing, but just before your hand reached his, he jumped abruptly from his spot.

“Need another drink.” Was all he managed to mumble out before he disappeared into the crowd.

You glared over at Binnie. “Nice going, Bin.”

Changbin rolled his eyes in annoyance before standing up and straightening his clothes.

“I’ll go take care of it.” he muttered, shaking his head as he shoved his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. You called after him to be nice, but you doubt he heard you.

You took another gulp of your drink, finishing it off completely as Felix then approached the couch with a pout. His lower lip jutted out further than yours had and he looked incredibly cute.

“Lixie," you drawled, concern lacing your tone as you reached out for him. "What’s wrong?”

His eyes were red and glassy, his blonde hair was slightly disheveled and he looked so disappointed in himself you thought he was going to cry.

“I lost against Minho in beer pong.” He immediately took your hand and fell to his knees onto the couch before crawling up your body. He nuzzled himself in between your legs, his head resting on your soft stomach while his arms curled comfortably around your waist. Your one hand instantly ran itself through his slightly damp hair while the other rubbed his arm.

You smiled down at him as he propped his chin up on your belly, his frown growing impossibly bigger. You loved how much of a cuddle bug Felix was with you. It was so comforting and relaxing and nice.

“What did you guys bet on this time?” You questioned with a raise of your brow, knowing full well that Minho would never play just for the fun of it. There always had to be a prize to be won, one that he could hold over the loser for the rest of their days.

Felix let out a whimper.

“My black Chelsea boots.”

You tried not to laugh, but the sound escaped you anyways, earning a groan from Felix as he shoved his face back into the fabric of your shirt.

“It’s not funny, y/n.” he grumbled. You laughed again and patted his head.

“I hate to say it, but you did it to yourself Lixie. You know better than to challenge Minho to a drinking game. Didn't you learn your lesson after you lost your sweater?” you joked, your fingers still running through his hair.

“I just wanted to see him drunk. He’s always the only sober one out of all us males. It’s not fair. And now I lost my favorite shoes because I was a fool.”

You laughed at Felix’ words. Despite him being annoyed and upset, his words came out in a delicate sigh as he relaxed into your touch. Running your nails up and down his scalp only made him sigh again and relax even more.

“Don’t worry, Jo will get them back for you.” You reassured him. Your eyes scanned the crowd until you found Jo standing over on the other side of the room with a soda in her hand, situated across the beer pong table from Minho. She had a mischievous look in her big brown eyes as Chan held her lovingly at the waist.

“In fact, I think she’s about to win them back for you right now.” you continued, watching Jo sink her ball into one of Minho’s cups on her first shot. Minho glowered at her like a delinquent as he proceeded to chug back his drink.

Felix lifted his head from your stomach long enough to glance back at the two of them as they faced off in the intense game of beer pong. He chuckled lightly before laying his head back down.

“She’s so brave.” he whispered in amazement. “No wonder Channie loves her so much.”

You let out a laugh in agreement as your eyes stayed glued on your life-long best friends. They were disgustingly cute, and it made you want to throw up and squeal in adoration at the same time.

You watched as Jo then made another shot, sinking another ball, and Chan congratulating her with a kiss to the side of her head, her colored hair swaying as she laughed victoriously.

“She’s the only one I know who can go toe-to-toe with Minho and actually win.”

Felix laughed before curling his fingers into the back of your shirt, squeezing you tighter.

“I’m going to miss you so much, Bunny.” he whispered, his voice suddenly soft and sad. You glanced down at him and took in the look on his face. You could tell he was drunk from the way his eyes couldn’t quite focus on you, but you could also tell he was a second away from crying. Felix always got more emotional when he drank.

“I know Lixie. I’m going to miss you too.” you murmured.

He swallowed roughly, no doubt trying to prevent the lump in his throat from becoming even bigger.

“What am I going to do without you for the next eighteen months?” he asked. He didn’t even give you time to answer before he continued on his rant. “Who’s going to play video games with me until three in the morning and then help me bake cookies afterwards instead of going to bed? Who’s going to cuddle with me like this while we watch our shows and tell me to shut up when I talk through all the important parts? Who’s going to go on early morning walks with me and watch the sunrise from the roof? Who the hell are Seung, Hannie, Binnie and I supposed to flirt with now?”

You gave Felix a look of confusion at his last words, but he didn’t even glance up from where his eyes were now focused on the fabric of the couch. He just rambled on.

“You’re the last single female in the group you know. If we try to flirt with Ash, Minho will threaten to kick our asses for just looking at his fiancée, and if we try to flirt with Jo, she’ll literally kick our asses. You’re the only safe, tame option available. What are we going to do?”

You let out a sigh at his words and gave his head one last scratch with your nails as you braced yourself for the conversation you knew you needed to have. As much as you loved the boys and their naturally flirty nature, you were now officially no longer single, and you needed them to know that their shameless flirting was doing more harm than good.

“Actually, Lixie, about that. I’m not single anymore.” you spoke slowly, bracing yourself for his reaction. You felt his entire body freeze for a moment before his head popped up at the sudden news, eyes wide with shock.

“Wait, you and Seojun made it official?”

You couldn’t tell whether or not he was grimacing at the news, but you gave him a hopeful grin regardless.

“Yeah, we did last week after dinner.”

Felix smiled, though you noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it usually did when he was happy or excited. “Congratulations Bunny.”

You tried not to let his lack of enthusiasm affect you. “Thanks Lixie.”

“Guess I should stop doing this then, hey?” Felix then awkwardly pulled away from you before you could stop him, repositioning himself so he was sitting on the couch with your legs stretched over his lap, much like how you were sitting with Jisung moments earlier. Though, unlike Jisung, Felix’s hands stayed on your knees and didn’t wander. You felt your heart drop at the sudden change in the atmosphere that surrounded you two, but chose not to comment.

Your new boyfriend Seojun never got along with Felix, or any of the other single males in your friend group for that matter. He made an effort to be friendly with Minho and Chan, as they were already happily taken, but he struggled to get used to the idea of you being surrounded by six single males twenty-four seven. Even though Hyunjin and Jeongin saw you more like a sister rather than a potential romantic interest, Seojun was wary of them too.

He was trying to be alright with the idea, you knew that and you appreciated it, but you also knew that he wasn’t going to get used to it overnight, so laying down a boundary with the guys was a must if you wanted this relationship to last.

Felix cleared his throat awkwardly and sent you a hesitant laugh when you glanced his way. “Seriously though, Bun, what are we supposed to do now if we can’t even flirt with our best friend?”

You rolled your eyes and cracked a smile at his question.

“Oh, I don’t know Lixie. Maybe you guys should exert all the energy you use flirting with me into finding actual girlfriends while I’m gone?”

Felix granted you a look of complete and utter disgust, the tension that hovered in the air between you momentarily forgotten. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You sighed.

“I’m sorry Felix, but Seojun is growing less and less fond of you guys by the second, which isn’t good considering he wasn’t very fond of you all to begin with. Anytime you guys open your mouths and make a pass at me, he gets more and more agitated. You guys gotta stop, or at least tone it back.”

Felix let out a snort of discontent. You heard him mumble something about trust and relationships, but just as you were about to question him, you were interrupted by the sound of the music being cut short and microphone feedback echoing loudly off the walls.

You and Felix, along with everyone around you, all jumped at the noise and looked towards where Chan was now hoisting himself up onto the DJ’s stage that sat in the far corner of the living room, microphone in hand.

“Excuse me, can I have everyone's attention please?” he spoke loudly into the mic. The bodies that filled the room all turned to look at Chan as he waved at everyone to quiet down so he could talk. “Guys, please, if I can have a moment?” he tried again.

Groups of party-goers began sauntering out of the kitchen while clusters of people sat down along the staircase and others emerged from rooms looking guilty and disheveled. You were always jealous of how easily Chan could captivate an entire room of people in a matter of moments.

Changbin suddenly plopped back down onto the couch next you, wrapping his arm around your neck once more while Jisung took a seat beside Felix. He looked a little less flustered now, but far more intoxicated than he was before.

Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin pushed their way through the crowd and came around the side of the couch, settling themselves at your feet with drinks in their hands, while Minho plopped into an empty chair across from you, pulling Ash into his lap as he did so.

In a matter of seconds, the entire room was quiet, watching Chan in awe as he flashed his dimples and began to speak.

“Thank you all so much for being here tonight. The guys and I could not have asked for a better turn out. I’m sure a lot of you thought that the guys and I threw this party to celebrate our most recent comeback, but this party is actually a going away party we are throwing for one of our closest and dearest friends.”

When Chan made eye-contact with you and suddenly lifted his finger in your direction, you cringed and felt heat rise to your cheeks. Everyone's head turned your way.

“Y/n, Bunny, would you please join me on stage?” He beckoned you to join him. You resisted an eye roll and sighed as you looked up at Chan, your face flushed. You did not want this to be such a big deal.

“Bunnnnnnyyyyy,” Chan teased a second later, smiling at you expectantly. You shook your head and sent him daggers, begging him not to make you stand up in front of all these people. He didn’t let up though, and instead, he jumped down from the stage and pushed his way through the crowd towards where you sat, giving you a look that you knew all too well.

“Touch me and you die.” you threatened.

Jeongin and Hyunjin leaned out of Chan’s way once he reached the couch, and before you could fight back, Chan grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you to your feet. He immediately ducked and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing at all.

He held you firmly with one arm, laughing maniacally as he turned and retreated to the stage, ignoring the way you kicked your legs and begged him to put you down.

“Put me down you fucking heathen!” You squealed, trying to wiggle out of his tight grip.

He didn’t set you down until he was back on the stage, this time joined by Jo, who made sure to give your ass a loud smack before your feet even touched the ground. You glowered at her, but she just smiled and winked at you in return.

She was your absolute best friend in the whole world, like two peas in a pod. She was the Ying to your Yang, the Sugar to your Spice, the Minho to your Jisung, so it was impossible for you to stay mad at her for anything, big or small. Still, you glared at her as she smacked your ass once more before she wrapped her arm around your waist and smiled proudly up at you.

“This girl right here is one of my oldest friends.” Chan announced then, putting his arm around your neck and leaning his head against yours. “She’s one of the coolest, most down-to-earth and loving people I’ve ever met, and tonight, we are celebrating her last night in town, as she leaves for her first ever European-American book tour tomorrow!”

You felt your cheeks and the tips of your ears redden as the crowd of people you mostly recognized but barely knew all erupted into cheers. A lot of them were other idols and groups that trained with Chan and the boys before debut, and they all looked genuinely happy for you, but there were a handful of those who you didn’t know, friends of friends you guessed, who cheered regardless just to feel included.

“This is something she’s been working towards for the last three and a half years! Not only is this her first published book, and first tour ever, but Under Our Stars has just hit number two on New York Time’s Best Selling Books of 2022!”

Again, the crowd burst into cheers at Chan’s statement, your friends being the loudest and proudest of them all, and you fought back a wave of emotion that suddenly entered your body.

“She will be gone for the next eighteen months, so everyone, please, if you respect me and love me, please bid our Bunny goodbye and wish her luck on her journey before you leave tonight.”

Chan paused to grab his drink and raised it in the air.

“To y/n!” he toasted, and everyone in the room toasted along with him. "I am so proud of you Bunny. You deserve all of this. You’re going to kill it out there.”

You smiled awkwardly at the unexpected applause you received, trying to hold back your tears as you planted a peace sign to your dimple and gave the crowd a goofy grin in thanks.

Chan pulled you into a tight hug while the crowd continued to clap for you. You could hear Felix, Minho, Ash, and Seungmin scream your name as Hyunjin and Jeongin began clapping manically. Jisung and Changbin let out a ‘That’s my baby!’ somewhere in the background of the noise, but you were too focused on Chan and his now glossy eyes as you pulled back from his embrace.

“Bang Christopher Chan, are you crying?” you teased quietly, not wanting to draw attention to him. He all but nodded and buried his face into your hair, pulling you in for another tight hug.

“Y/n, you’re one of my closest friends. I’ve known you and Jo since we were in diapers. Writing has always been what you wanted to do, and you’ve spent your life working towards this accomplishment. You got to watch me and the kids live out our dreams, and I’m so excited that we finally get to watch you live out yours.”

The music started up again and people had gone back to what they were doing prior to Chan's dramatic speech, but you were too awestruck by his drunken words to return to your spot on the couch with Changbin. You gave him a frown as the tears escaped his eyes, and you reached up with the sleeve of your sheer shirt to try and wipe some of them away before you hugged him one last time.

“I love you Channie,” you whispered. Chan sniffled once, twice, almost three times before crushing you into his arms, causing Jo to step forward and grab him as he cried.

“Okay Big Guy, let the girl breathe.” she rolled her eyes as she thankfully pulled Chan away from you. “We aren’t saying goodbye until we drop her off at the airport tomorrow. You gotta’ save your strength so you can hold me when I inevitably end up blubbering like a little bitch.” she soothed, the tears still falling dramatically down his face.

He didn’t even care if he looked pathetic. He was so happy for you.

“I’m just so happy for her,” he voiced, practically sobbing into his girlfriend's shoulder. She shushed him and handed the microphone back to the DJ before wrapping her arm around him and pulling his large figure off stage.

You shook your head at him, thankful to have him in your life, before you jumped off the stage yourself and returned to your spot on the couch. People smiled and patted your back as you passed them, congratulating you on your success and wishing you luck, which you awkwardly thanked them for.

When you reached the couch again, you plopped back down in your spot beside Changbin, cuddling into his side. Felix had retreated to the floor with the other three, all four of them watching tiktoks together, allowing Jisung to take his place under your legs once again. Almost immediately after you laid back, Jisung bent his upper body to lay next to you, his head resting on your shoulder as you pulled out your phone and began checking your notifications.

The rest of the night went by like this. You, surrounded by your closest friends, laughing and drinking and enjoying the last few hours of peace you’d have before your life turned into one big stressful puddle. A puddle filled with book signings, late flights, early mornings, meet and greets and more. And even though you acted as if the entire tour wasn’t at all a big deal, deep inside you were scared to death.

*****

You have always been enamoured by Han Jisung.

Ever since you met him pre-debut, you knew he was the type of friend you’d inevitably have for a lifetime. His hard-work and dedication, his playful personality, his big brown eyes and gummy smile. The second he introduced himself to you at Chan’s backyard barbeque, you knew his presence in your life would be infinite.

Sure, he came across as an asshole during his time on the survival show, but you knew right away his attitude was nothing but a façade he had put up in order to protect himself, to mask the anxiety in his brain that never seemed to have an off switch.

But off camera, he was nothing but an introverted goofball who just wanted to be liked by everyone around him. He craved attention and praise, and as he and Chan and the other members who would eventually make up Stray Kids bonded, you and he bonded too, and quickly at that.

It had taken him no longer than two months to worm his way into your heart, and that’s where he snuggled up and stayed, taking up a permanent residence right next to Chan and Jo.

The two of you did everything together. Going out for food, clothes shopping, karaoke, late-night ice cream runs, bike rides, road trips, vlogging on your crappy iphones for no one else except for you two to see. You helped him find beauty in the smallest of things, creating inspiration for his music, and he helped you see the world in a different light, bringing you inspiration for your book.

You two were quick to become the best of friends, the perfect combo, like peanut butter and nutella; loveable on your own but together, you were unstoppable.

You never could pinpoint the exact moment your enamourment with Jisung grew into something more, only that it was after debut, when he really started to find himself. One day he was your best-friend, the next you looked at him as if he hung the stars, because for you, he did.

For you, he would.

Never in a million years did you think he’d feel even an ounce of something in return for you, and when he began bringing home random girls and disappearing into his room with them every Friday night, you knew you’d never be anything more than his best-friend.

But you were okay with that. The affectionate and loving friendship the two of you shared would suffice for the next one hundred years if it had to. You’d take him however you could have him, and if that meant watching him be happy with someone else, then so be it.

It took you a long time to get over some of your feelings for him; some days you still felt like you had a long way to go, but when you met Seojun at the most recent Authors Convention nearly five months prior to this fateful night, it immediately felt easier.

Suddenly, Jisung wasn’t invading every thought, causing a hitch in every breath, being the sole reason for every laugh that bubbled up from your throat. You loved Jisung more than you’ve ever loved anybody else, but with Seojun, it just felt easier to exist, and that was what helped your feelings for Jisung slowly begin to fade.

So, when Jisung wrapped his arms around your waist and snuggled his face into your neck in a drunken stupor, pulling you from your racing thoughts, your breath hitched in your throat, just like it always did. When he planted a soft kiss against your neck right below your ear, small enough for no one else to notice, you froze in place. When a soft whimper left Jisung’s mouth involuntarily, followed by a whispered plea, “Jagiya”, you thought your heart would stop beating right then and there.

Just like it did every time something like this happened.

Before you did something you’d both regret, you had to remind yourself that Jisung was intoxicated and just looking to get his dick wet, that he didn’t actually want you the way you wanted him.

A wave of guilt washed over you.

You knew you needed to tell him about Seojun. As much as you wished Jisung would do it again, you had to remind yourself of the romance you had decided to chase, a promise of a long-lasting relationship with someone who actually liked you back.

You weren’t about to throw that away for a one night stand you knew Jisung would regret in the morning when sobriety took over, no matter how badly a piece of you wanted to.

You needed to tell him, but this was not the time or place.

You gulped as your nerves sprung to life at the mere thought of the conversation, and Jisung picked up on your change in mood instantly. He lifted his head up to look at you in concern as a shaky breath left your mouth.

“You okay, Bubs?” he whispered quietly as to not draw attention to the two of you.

The house was emptying out slowly but surely as the clock drew closer and closer to midnight. A lot of the guests had early morning interviews and practices, so you didn’t expect anyone to really stay past one. But just because loads of people had already said their goodbyes and left, it didn’t mean there weren’t dozens more still lazily hanging about.

The music had dwindled significantly, leaving the room filled with nothing but noisy chatter. Chan and Jo were beginning their slow clean up of the house, accompanied by Minho, Jenn and Felix, but it still felt too crowded to have such an important talk.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” you gave him a reassuring smile, ignoring the way his hands ran up and down your sides. “Can we maybe go somewhere a little quieter? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Jisung gave you one of his goofy, gummy-filled grins and nodded before pulling himself up and off the couch. He grabbed you by the hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he pulled you to your feet and dragged you away from the crowd.

“I’m actually really glad you asked. There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you and I think now is the perfect time.”

You were silent while Jisung pulled you up the staircase and down the hallway towards his bedroom.

“I finished this song yesterday and I really need your opinion on it.” he spoke again as he pulled you into his room and shut the door behind you. He guided you excitedly to his desk and pushed you down into his computer chair, ignoring the way you sighed at him as he opened his laptop and loaded up his music file.

“Sungie, this isn’t really the ti-”

“Please Bubs? Please?” Jisung interrupted, a hopeful look on his face, his hands praying for you to hear him out. “Please, I just need three minutes of your time and then you can have the floor for as long as you want. It’s really important to me.”

You couldn’t help but give in after seeing the twinkle of anticipation in his eyes. You always loved how excited he got over the tracks he made, and how you were always the first one he showed them to. Sure, you knew almost nothing about producing music, just the basics you learned from Chan and Changbin, but Jisung always took your feedback seriously and worked his ass off to make sure each and every track was perfect.

“The working title right now is Volcano. It’s my favorite track yet.” he explained. He handed you his big headphones and helped you place them comfortably on your head before pressing play.

Jisungs expression while he watched your reaction was a mixture of anxiousness, enthusiasm, and hope, and you knew by the intensity of his gaze that this wasn’t just another track he’d stirred up in a day's time. He slaved over this track for months and your opinion and feedback alone would either make or break his decision to release it publicly.

The song was absolutely incredible. You never heard a song so raw, so passionate, so intense before, and you felt yourself get goosebumps along your arms and legs with every word.

You closed your eyes and allowed your entire body to get lost in the beat, the emotion behind Jisungs voice overwhelming you so much that you found tears building up in the corners of your eyes as you listened to the melody, the tune, the lyrics.

It made your heart flutter and clench in pulses, and when that chorus crashed back into your eardrums one final time, you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest and explode.

It was fucking phenomenal.

And then it was over way too soon.

Jisung was quiet while he watched you, smiling while he brought his hand up to wipe away the tears that managed to escape down your face. He waited patiently as you hit the replay button and listened to the song again, not once, not twice, but three more times.

Immediately, it became your favourite song.

After your fourth playthrough, Jisung waited patiently while you salvaged your composure, breathing through the emotions that had hit you like a brick.

“Sungie,” you whispered, shaking your head in amazement as you finally turned to meet his gaze. “That song is-” you trailed off, unable to even find the words to describe what you were feeling right now.

Despite the tears in your eyes and the proud look on your face, Jisung was still nervous.

“Did you like it?” he asked while wringing his hands together.

You let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Like it? Jisung, it’s fucking beautiful. I love it.” you told him honestly.

A breath of relief left Jisungs mouth before his face fell into one of the brightest, cheekiest smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Thank fuck.”

Another laugh bubbled out of your mouth and you gave him a look of endearment.

“What? Was my opinion really that important?” you teased, knowing full well that it was. You were completely unprepared for the next words to slip past his lips.

“Well yeah, I wrote this song for you, Bubs.”

You froze in place, your eyes on his once again as your smile fell.

“What?�� you asked.

Jisungs grin grew impossibly wider, his eyes beaming with adoration.

“A fucking beautiful song for a fucking beautiful woman.”

You suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe.

This is not where you wanted this conversation to go.

“Jisung, I don-”

You were cut off abruptly by the sound of your phone ringing loudly in your pocket. Confused and frustrated at the interruption, you pulled it out and felt a sharp pain stab through your chest.

Seojun.

Of fucking course it was Seojun.

“Shit, sorry Ji, I have to take this.”

You didn’t bother waiting for an answer before you jumped from your seat and paced towards the door, trying to keep your voice low. Jisung bit his lip and watched you anxiously, listening in to the one-sided conversation you were having.

He knew the second he saw Seojuns name pop up on your phone that something was up.

“Hey Seojun…. Yeah, I’m doing good, still hanging with the crew… Yeah, I’ll be heading home in the next hour or so to pack… You know I procrastinate!... Well, maybe when I’m home we can facetime and you can help me pack?.... God, you’re so wonderful…. I’ll call you when I’m home okay?… You too…. Bye.”

Jisung tried to keep it together as he overheard you speaking in a low, hushed voice. He tried to keep cool, but he could practically hear his heart shattering as each word left your mouth. You and Seojun were no longer just friends, and all plans to confess his ever-growing feelings to you after pining after you for so long suddenly dissipated.

All the years Jisung spent trying to make you jealous, trying to get your attention, trying to make you see that you were everything to him and more, was in vain. All his advances and relentless flirting had no effect on you.

You had found someone else.

It was game over for him.

Jisung felt ill.

“Sorry Sungie, wha-” you stopped short when you turned back towards him, noticing the way his head was now hung. His unblinking eyes stared at the ground as wetness pooled at the corners of them, causing panic to set in your bones.

“Jisung, what’s wrong?” He was picking at his thumbnail and didn’t even glance up when you spoke.

He was silent for a moment before, “I don’t want you to leave.”

His voice was quiet and sad, and it shook slightly as he responded. He knew trying to convince you to stay was useless, but now that he knew you and Seojun had taken the next step, he was desperate to grasp at straws. He needed you to stay.

You frowned at his words and sat next to him in the chair, taking his hands in yours. You rubbed your thumbs over his knuckles, urging him to stop picking at his skin.

“I know Sungie. This next year and a half is going to suck, but we’ll survive it. We always do.” You reassured him. You were completely oblivious to the reason behind Jisungs sudden change in mood, and it was making him feel worse. He hiccuped and a drop of water fell onto the back of your hand, followed by another, and you felt your heart crack.

Jisung was crying.

“Sungie, what’s wrong?” You asked him again, instinctively pulling him into a hug. His arms snaked around your waist without hesitation and he buried his face into your neck. You could feel his tears soaking your skin and you found yourself holding back a sob of your own as your hands ran slowly up and down his back.

“Please don’t leave me. Please, Bubs. I need you. I need you here with me. Please stay.” he cried. He hated groveling, hated being weak like this, but he had to find a way to stop you from leaving with a man who didn’t love you the way he did. He’d do anything.

“Ji.” you whispered as you pulled back to look at him, brushing stray hairs out of his eyes as you wiped at his tears. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Jisung shook his head and let out another choked sob before he swallowed and did the last thing you ever expected him to do. He quickly brought his hands up to cup your cheeks and pressed his lips against yours roughly, pouring every ounce of love and adoration he had for you into the kiss he’d been waiting years for.

His lips were warm, soft, and felt like heaven against yours, but the shock of his actions caused you to pull away from him in total confusion.

“Sungie, what the hell are you doing?” you asked, unsure how to process what had just happened. Jisungs hands stayed glued to your cheeks as he pleaded.

“Please, don’t go. Not with him.”

You froze at his words. Dread and confusion turned your stomach to mush and you felt like you were going to throw up as Jisung continued to speak.

“Seojun's an asshole. He’s not good for you. I don’t want you to go with him. None of us want you to go with him.”

You pulled your face out of Jisungs hold and leaned away from him, a look of betrayal and shock clear across your features.

“I’m sorry?” There’s no way you had heard him right. “What do you mean none of you want me to go with him?”

Jisung wiped at his face, trying to dry the tears that continued to pour out at your silent rejection.

“The only one who likes him is you, Bubs. The only reason we even tolerate him is because Jo asked us to.”

You blinked at his statement, feeling another wave of confusion wash over you, followed by irritation and then downright annoyance. Your brain was honestly still trying to process the kiss you two shared, but your mouth was five steps ahead.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Do you love him?” Jisung abruptly asked.

“Jesus Jisung. I don’t know! We haven’t even been dating for a whole week, you idiot!”

“So you don’t love him?”

He knew he was being an idiot now, sputtering out any type of bullshit he could to try and save this. He knew it was useless, but he always told himself he wouldn’t go down without a fight, and a fight is what he got.

“What the fuck, dude?” You threw your hands up in exasperation, growling at his stupid inquiries. Jisung winced at your change in tone.

“I’m sorry Bubs. I don’t like him. He’s not good for you! You and I both know the only reason you’re with him is because he got you published.”

That was a low blow, he knew it. But the connection from his brain to his mouth had been severed and all he could do was ramble, letting his emotions take control.

“Are you-? Are you saying the only reason I was invited to go on this tour is because of him? As if I couldn’t have done any of this myself?” you spat, feeling your anger boil. Jisungs eyes widened as you misunderstood what he was trying to say.

“Jesus, Bubs, no, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just-” he paused and ran a hand through his hair, pulling on it roughly in frustration before letting everything out, rendering you speechless.

“I am so fucking head over heels in love with you, y/n. Can’t you see that? I’ve been in love with you since before debut. I have spent years trying to get your attention. And suddenly, this asshole shows up out of nowhere and kicks me to the curb? I should be the one going on this tour with you, travelling with you, making memories with you, not him. I should be the one beside you, holding you while you live out your biggest dreams. It’s always been you and me.”

At Jisungs sudden confession, a new wave of emotion overcame you. The anger, the annoyance, the irritation all drained from your body and you were left with nothing but tears suddenly pouring out of your eyes the same way they were pouring out of Jisungs.

You had waited for so long to hear those words come from his mouth. You had dreamed of him confessing to you and kissing you the way he had so many times, in so many different ways, so why was your heart breaking impossibly more instead of soaring the way you always imagined it would?

Why was he doing this?

Why now?

You let the tears fall down your face freely, not bothering to wipe them away while Jisung sat on the stool, staring at you with so much conviction in his big, beautiful eyes. Anger, sadness, adoration and love, regret, hurt. All of those emotions shone back at you and you felt every single one of them as if they were your own.

“Why are you bringing this up now, Sungie?” you whispered, desperately searching for reason. “When I’m less than twenty-four hours away from going on the biggest adventure of my life. Why?”

Jisung’s face softened as he reached forward and grabbed your hand. He watched you hiccup and sniffle while he rubbed his thumb over yours in an attempt to help you calm down.

“Because I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered.

If his confession didn’t throw you for a loop, this last sentence definitely did, and you found yourself jumping out of your seat, the bubble of anger suddenly returning.

“That’s bullshit Jisung! Are you fucking kidding me right now?" you spat out in disbelief. "I have known you and the guys for almost six years. I have done nothing but support you and cheer for you from the sidelines while you’ve been living out your biggest dreams on stage, becoming the superstar you always said you were born to be. I have stayed up with you for nights on end, helping you make your mark in this industry, watching you create and produce beautiful music. I have stayed behind while all ten of you guys go on tour without me and I haven’t complained once because it’s been your dream, and now that I’m about to go live out mine, you’re telling me you don’t want me to go? Do you know how fucking selfish that it?”

You began pacing around the room, searching for something to punch while simultaneously trying to resist the urge to break anything you could find. Jisung sat planted on his stool, staring at you.

“I’m sorry.” he spoke low enough that you almost didn’t hear him. You did though, and his words caused you to whirl around on him once more, your face now covered in mascara-stained tears while every emotion you were feeling brought an unruly red to your face.

“No, you’re not! If you were really sorry, Jisung, you wouldn’t have even brought this up in the first place! So why are you? Why now? If you’ve felt this way about me for as long as you’ve said, why now? Why not a month ago? Two months ago? A year ago? Three years ago? If you’ve felt this way about me since debut, why haven’t you told me?”

Jisung’s face scrunched up into an expressionless laugh as he crossed his arms and gave you a sceptical look.

“Do you honestly believe if I had told you how I felt all those years ago, you would’ve had an ounce of feelings for me in return?” Jisungs face was quizzical and sour, his voice dripping with a sudden poison as he glowered at you.

He was oh-so impossibly wrong.

It was your turn to let out a humorless laugh.

“Contrary to popular belief Jisung, yeah actually, I would’ve. I did.” you answered. In a split second, Jisungs demeanor flickered, his eyebrows softening at your words and a puzzled expression found its way to his face.

“Wait, you what?” he asked in surprise. You hesitated for a moment before spilling out your own confession to him. You two were already this deep into the fight, there was no point in holding back now.

“Jisung, I have loved you since the moment I first met you. I fell in love with you after watching you work your ass off every damn day, doing everything you possibly could do to make sure you’d survive another week on the show. The hours upon hours of dedication and hardwork you put into being the best version of yourself possible. Being the most vulnerable, unapologetically, truest version of yourself. I watched you fall and fail, and I watched you fail better. I watched you grow from this small, innocent little dickwad of a teenager to this confident and cocky grown ass man who oozes charisma and charm and happiness everywhere you go. I have loved you since day one, so don’t tell me I wouldn’t have.”

Jisungs eyes widened at your confession, his eyebrows disappearing behind the hair that hung across his forehead. He choked out a breath, shaking his head at you incredulously.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

You swallowed roughly around the lump that sat idly in your throat, willing your tears to stop.

“Maybe because I had to watch you stumble back into the dorms with a different chick on your arm every Friday night for four and a half fucking years! Yes, watching the one person I loved more than anything else in this world hook up with some random bitch who didn’t know the first thing about him really instilled a lot of confidence in me.”

You saw the way Jisungs eyes fell at your use of words, and you had to force yourself to look away from his face before you changed your mind.

“Wait, loved? As in-”

“Past. Tense.” You lied, glaring at the Han Quokka plush that sat on his dresser. Another one sat directly beside it, wearing a pink shirt and a tu-tu, meant to represent you. Quokka Prince and his Quokka Princess.

“Fuck.” Jisung spat, bringing your attention back to him as he removed himself from the stool and rushed towards you. You glanced at his face and regretted it upon seeing a new wave of waterworks streaming down his puffy cheeks.

“No, no, no, no.” he begged quietly, his hands coming up to cup your face once more. “Please, Bubs, I’m so sorry. I’m so incredibly sorry. For everything.” He planted a soft kiss to your forehead and you restrained yourself some melting into the feeling. “Please, stay with me tonight, yeah? I can fix this. We can fix this. We can talk about this and figure it out. Please.”

You hated the way butterflies tore through your stomach as soon as his hands rested on your cheeks, his big brown eyes staring into yours in a way you always wanted them to. You hated the way your head tilted up towards his automatically, silently screaming at him to just kiss you again. You absolutely despised the way you trembled under his touch as the pads of his thumbs wiped at your wet cheeks.

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You would not let yourself do that to Seojun, and you sure as hell weren’t about to pass up the opportunity of a lifetime that waited for you, no matter how much he begged. You couldn’t. You weren’t going to throw away your dreams for him.

But with the way Jisung was holding you, it was nearly impossible for you to say no. Which is why you pulled your head out of his grasp once again and furrowed your brows together.

“You’re not listening to me, Jisung.” you whispered, your head now falling forward as you forced yourself to break your best friend's heart the way you always promised him you wouldn’t. “I don’t love you. Not like that. Not anymore.”

It was the biggest, filthiest lie that ever left your mouth, and for once, Jisung didn’t catch onto it. He didn’t hear the tremble that caused you to stutter over the words ‘I don’t’, and he sure as hell didn’t hear your heart shattering into a million tiny pieces as you spoke.

You stepped away from him and turned to leave. You needed to get out of this room, this house, before your emotions got the better of you and made you stay. You had an adventure waiting for you, you had fans to meet and books to sign and conventions to attend and memories to make, and you knew that if you stayed for even a minute longer, your resolve would break and you’d never leave Jisung or his room ever again.

“Where are you going?” Jisungs broken and defeated voice was small, but you stopped in your tracks as if he’d yelled.

“I’m going home to pack my suitcase and then I’m leaving for my tour. If this is still something you want to talk about when I get back, fine, but you’re not ruining this chance or this relationship for me. I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.”

You took another step towards the door when Jisungs next words cut through you like a knife. His voice was hard, sharp and clipped.

“No, you won’t.” You knew if you turned back around, Jisungs face would be that of a total stranger. Stoic, numb, emotionless. His words forced a sob out of your throat at his abruptness, but you didn’t dare turn around

“I’m sorry y/n.” your name already sounded so foreign coming from his mouth, and it was then that you knew nothing between the two of you would ever be the same again. Chan always said the infamous Han Jisung loved hard and hated harder, and boy was he right. You could practically feel the daggers he was shooting into the back of your skull.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t say goodbye and let you run off with someone who doesn’t love you the way I do. I can’t let you run off and make the biggest mistake of your life. I won’t.”

You bit your tongue and swallowed hard, forcing tears back as your blurry vision found the polaroid picture of the two of you Jisung had sticking out from his lightswitch cover.

It was a candid photo Hyunjin had taken of you guys at the beach nearly three years ago. The two of you had your hands interlocked and you were dancing and laughing along the shore of the beach, the sun setting beautifully in the background. Neither one of you even realized Hyunjin took the photo until two months later when he gave it to Jisung as a birthday present.

It was your favorite photo.

The lump in your throat grew bigger as you ripped your eyes away from the memory, knowing you’d never get that feeling of happiness with Jisung again. Not after this.

“Fine,” you sniffled one last time at his harsh and hurtful words. “I guess I’ll see you next June.”

And with that, you left.

Here we are, back at part one again!!!

Hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did!

As always, feedback & interactions are always welcome and greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

Hannji Asks: what was your favorite part from Part One?

lmk in the replies or with an ask!

See you soon for Part Two!!

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Taglist: @sungshineworld @collisvng @ihrtlix

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#Like A Volcano #Like A Volcano Mini Series #Hannji's Mini Series #han jisung mini series #han jisung x reader #best friend skz #stray kids #han jisung fic #skz han #bff skz #LAV by Hannji

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senorabond · 4 months

Text

Rumor Has It: Chapter 7 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 7 Summary: The case is progressing more quickly than expected, presenting the first opportunity to set the bait for the narcos. When plans for the undercover operation go awry, you have to think and act fast. Meanwhile, whatever is going on between you and Javi gets kicked into high gear.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), boss!Marcus, slowburn, workplace romance, ohh the yearning, fake relationship, protective!Javi, Dom/sub dynamic, precisely (1) spank, almost caught, please just fuck already

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 8k

Author’s Note: I am SO happy to finally post this! I’ve been sick with back-to-back viruses ever since November, so I’ve been slowly chipping away at this chapter. It’s super plotty and a lil smutty, but I had to kick Javi and Reader in the ass to move this shit along somehow. I have so many thots and ideas for these two, especially when we get to see more of Marcus. As always, a HUGE thank you to my dear, sweet, lovely beta @kilamonster, who lets me torture her endlessly with all the dirty things that come to mind and for correcting my atrocious Spanish. 💋💜

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

The Next Morning Washington, D.C.

There’s a knock at Marcus’ office door and a grinning man pokes his head inside. He’s got a slight build, and sandy hair that falls across his forehead in natural waves. You had always told Marcus this agent reminded you of that weaselly guy in Dirty Dancing, Neil, and he can certainly see it now. Though the resemblance was probably more down to personality than looks.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" The man asks, waiting for permission to enter.

"Yeah, Wilkins, come in – and shut the door.” Wilkins has to halt midway to turn around and close the door and is looking a bit less confident now as he sits down in the chair across from Pike.

Pike fixes the smaller man with a neutral expression. He'll give Wilkins a chance to be honest and forthright, but he’s not going to beat around the bush.

"Did you receive a call from a DEA agent about helping them with a potential art money laundering case?"

Wilkins' eyes grow wide for a second, and he stumbles a bit over his next words. "Uh, I'm not sure, maybe?"

"Maybe?" The fewer words Marcus gives Wilkins to work with, the more he'll have to come up with himself, and the less he’ll be able to turn Marcus’ words back around on him – a common interrogation technique.

"I remember a call from somebody at the DEA, but I don't think I recall the specifics." Wilkins fidgets with his tie.

Marcus keeps his face neutral, but laces his fingers together on his desk and leans forward, closing the space between them. "What do you recall?"

"He might have mentioned some drug dealers." Wilkins, a man with an ego the size of Nationals Park, has already been reduced to a little boy getting in trouble at school.

"Being that he's DEA, that would make sense." Pike says blandly, waiting for Wilkins to continue.

"Yeah. And... there might have been some talk about art." Wilkins’ voice is small, tentative. He knows he’s been caught out, and it’s no small matter.

"That's interesting. And why do you think this DEA agent called us – the FBI art squad – about art?"

Wilkins doesn't say anything in response. He knows there's nothing else he could say in his defense at this point.

"Do you know who that DEA agent was, Wilkins?"

Wilkins juts his chin out defiantly. "No, Sir."

"You might, if you'd bothered to get his name." Wilkins has grown sullen, already tired of the tongue lashing.

Pike has no patience for this guy’s attitude. Normally, Marcus wouldn’t draw out disciplinary issues like this, on the rare occasions he has them with his crew. But this guy has pissed him off too many times.

"That was Special Agent Javier Peña. You might have heard of him, made the news awhile back." Marcus leans back in his chair, watches Wilkins’ petulant shrug.

"He put away Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel, remember them?" Wilkins doesn’t respond, but there’s recognition in his eyes. "So when Javier fucking Peña calls to ask for help, that's probably when you should tell your superior.”

Marcus pauses, waiting for Wilkins to say something, anything, but he just sits there.

“Do you agree?" Marcus prompts, each word punctuated.

"Yes, Sir." The man replies, his tone clipped.

"Glad to hear it."

"Is that all?" Wilkins stands, and Marcus fights the urge to stand as well. But there’s power in showing you’re confident enough to not rely on being physically overbearing.

"No, I'll tell you when that's all. There have been some rumors floating around the office for a while now.” Finally, what Marcus has wanted to confront Wilkins about for months.

“I tried to ignore them, thinking it was just some office gossip, but then one of our best liaisons at Customs fast-tracked a transfer.” Marcus has to take a breath, the lead ball in his stomach growing heavy. “Some of that office gossip was about her. Know anything about that, Wilkins?"

"No, Sir." Wilkins shifts from foot to foot, glancing around the office nervously. Marcus lets him squirm for a bit longer.

"That's good. Because if you did know something about who was spreading those harmful rumors – rumors that affect the lives and careers of federal agents who outperform you on any given day – we’d be having a very different conversation."

Wilkins stands rigid, eyes wide.

"That's all." Marcus turns back to his computer and without giving Wilkins another glance.

______________________________________________________________

That Afternoon Texas

The briefing went off without a hitch. You could feel Javier's smile on you from the other side of the briefing room while you talked through each of the slides. Your stomach was in your throat, but Javier's presence gave you the bit of confidence you needed every time you glanced his way.

The other agents ask questions you and Javi had anticipated and discussed thoroughly the day before, and even a few you didn’t prepare for. Once you answer their questions flawlessly, Javier dismisses the group to their respective assignments. Several of them shake your hand on their way out.

Javi stands back and watches the crowd file out, then saunters over to you. You’re beaming a smile at him and fight the urge to throw your arms around him in a grateful embrace.

“That was…” You shake your head in disbelief, eyes as wide as your smile.

“‘Amazing.’ You can say it.” He’s smiling in return and leans a slim hip against the table, crossing his arms.

“It was amazing! God, that felt good.” Adrenaline pumps through your limbs in a rush.

“You did a great job today.”

“Thanks, I had a lot of help.” You start to gather the briefing materials and Javi jumps in, working his way around the opposite side of the table. You meet on the other side, where he adds the stack from your hands to his own.

“Not as much as you think.” Javier tucks the stack of briefings under his arm and gives you a friendly wink. Friendly, yet it still manages to set those butterflies flitting again. You haven’t felt this moony over a guy in…well, awhile.

The rest of the day goes by like a blur. Javier introduces you to the two agents he’s assigning to report directly to you for the duration of the case – Diaz and Tran – and the three of you get to work immediately. The first thing you do is get in touch with the closest ports of entry to see what high-priced artwork may have crossed in or out of the country within the past few months.

You lose yourself in piles of customs reports, flagging anything that catches your eye, and before you know it, Javier appears at your desk, knocking on the wall of your cubicle. Blinking, you’re surprised to see that the office has emptied out.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you see that it’s past seven o’clock on your computer screen. “Jesus, no wonder I was starting to go cross-eyed.”

You start putting the reports away in your bag, intending to look at them some more at home. The excitement and buzz of the day is fading, and the fatigue finally starts setting in.

"Want to grab a drink?" Javier has his jacket over his arm, a hand casually in his pocket.

"Can I take a rain check?" You feel bad saying no, because you actually would like to have a drink with Javi.

“Are you going to keep working at home?”

“That was the plan,” you admit sheepishly.

“Then, no.”

“‘No,’ what?”

“No rain check. Let’s go – there will be plenty more to do tomorrow. I had to learn that the hard way.” Javier reaches over and takes your bag.

You let out a long-suffering sigh for dramatic effect and shut down your computer. As you join Javier, he splays a broad hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you to the elevator. You barely have a chance to register the warmth of his hand before it drops, leaving pleasant tingles in its wake.

The silence between you is born from that day’s weariness, yet it feels comfortable. Javi takes you to the same bar as before, and you grab the same table in the back while he orders you each a beer. A server brings a couple of glasses of water over as well, which you find a sensible choice, given how tired you feel already.

Javier settles back in his chair with a groan and starts taking off his tie. As he stretches his long neck, you try not to stare, but those freckles and prominent veins hold your gaze. He takes a long pull from his bottle of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

Tearing your eyes away, you focus on the rings of condensation your beer bottles have left on the table and try to think of anything to talk about. Before you can think of something, Javier speaks up.

“I got a call today.” He’s fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, peeling it back. His knee bounces under the table, jiggling close enough that you can feel the edge of his pant leg against yours.

When he doesn’t continue, you prompt him with a soft, “Oh?” and take a swig of your beer.

“It was the FBI art squad getting back to me.”

You pause before swallowing, determined to play this cool. “About time.”

“Yeah, the guy was really apologetic. He said they could assign a couple of people to help us with whatever we need.” Javier finishes pulling the label off his bottle, all in one piece.

“That’s great!” You hope Javi can hear the genuine enthusiasm you feel in your voice. “My contact said they’d help, but wasn’t sure what they could do.”

“I spoke to the agent in charge, Pike. Do you know him?” He keeps his large, brown eyes on you as he takes another sip of beer.

Schooling your features, you dare yourself to meet his gaze. “I do, yeah.”

“Have you worked with him before?” Javier tilts his head a fraction, watching you.

“That case I finished before transferring, he and I worked on that together.”

“Closely?”

“What are you trying to get at?” You counter, putting your beer down harder than you intended, your hackles starting to rise.

“Nothing.” Javier shakes his head and looks down at his beer, but you can see a hint of a smirk appearing under his mustache.

Huffing, you slouch and take a sip of your beer, then cross your arms, feeling a little like a child. “Yes.”

“Hmm?” Javi looks up at you through his lashes. Those damned eyes of his. He could bring entire cartels to their knees with those eyes.

“Yes, he’s the person I had a… thing with.” You cross one leg over the other, bouncing it peevishly.

“Sounds complicated,” Javier remarks, not unkindly.

You shrug, as though to say it was nothing. As though the time you spent with Marcus didn’t mean anything to you, and wasn’t the healthiest relationship you’d ever been in, even if it didn’t have the label society demanded. You’re embarrassed to feel the sting of tears in your eyes and turn your face away from Javi before he can see.

“I understand complicated,” Javi says, his soft words a balm to soothe your injured heart.

The beers are finished in contemplative silence. Both of you take plaintive sips of water, mindful of the drives ahead and the weariness you’re each already fighting.

Neither of you seem to mind that the space between you is shrinking, or that your legs rest gently against each other’s under the table. Neither of you flinch or pull away when the backs of your hands wrapped around your water glasses touch. When Javi’s thumb grazes your knuckles, you only look at him, but his face stays turned down determinedly.

You move your thumb against his in a soothing repetition. Slowly, but without hesitation, Javi takes your hand in his, linking your fingers, and you give a gentle squeeze. Your breath slows, the noise of the bar fades, and the tension in your muscles unwinds as you inhale and exhale in time with Javi.

Without a word, without a glance, Javi pulls you to your feet and begins to lead you out of the bar.

It’s completely dark now, but the goosebumps erupting across your arms aren’t from any chill in the air. Holding tight to Javi’s hand, you follow swiftly behind him. He lengthens his stride, shoulders back and jaw set.

About half a block from your office building, Javier pulls you around a corner and onto a darkened side street. You let him lead you without thinking, completely trusting him. But before you can blink, he’s got you pressed up against the wall of a building, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other around your waist. Instinctively, your hands grip onto the lapels of his jacket to not lose your balance.

Everything Javier does is purposeful, focused, intentional – he is not a man to lose complete control of himself, especially when he feels out of control. With his face mere inches from yours, and the faint scent of beer on his breath, he speaks.

“Tell me to stop.”

Javi’s tongue pokes out and licks his plump bottom lip. The cool stone of the building at your back is a welcome relief from the heat pooling in your lower belly.

“W-what?” A glance at his eyes, black from the shadows around you, makes your knees shake.

“If you don’t want this, tell me now.” The hand on the back of your head gently eases down to cup your face, and Javi caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Please,” he pleads in a whisper, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own. “Before I do something I’ll regret.”

“Don’t…” Your breath shakes.

A sigh from Javi’s lips is warm on your face. Almost imperceptibly, Javi nods and begins pulling away. You tighten your grip on his jacket, holding him in place.

“I mean - don’t stop.”

Javi’s smile changes his entire face, and the tension in his shoulders eases.

“Cariño,” he murmurs, resting your foreheads together and nudging your nose with the tip of his.

Before Javi can do more than brush his lips against yours, a small group of people pass by on the sidewalk a few feet away. This close to the office, it’s very possible they work in the same building – might have even come from the same bar. Fortunately, Javier reacts quickly. He shifts your bodies and tucks your head into his chest, blocking the light from the nearby street lamp – and their view of you – entirely.

Their chattering ceases abruptly as they spot your forms in the shadows, one letting out a quiet, “Whoops,” under his breath. Another sniggers, and they continue on their way. You think you hear one of them whisper Peña a bit too loudly and get shushed by their companions.

Javier holds you there a few more moments, your bodies molded to one another in the dark. Stilling your pounding heart, you breathe in his scent and run your hands around his back, underneath his suit jacket. The muscles of his back are firm under your hands. He presses his face to the top of your head and wraps his arms around you in return. For a while, you stay there together, breathing in sync and savoring this stolen moment.

Eventually, Javier starts to pull away, and you reluctantly let go. He leans in, and tenderly places a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and your ear. Softly, he says, “Come on, cariño, I’ll walk you back to your car.”

Holding hands again, your pace is much slower this time. There seems to be an understanding that what you just experienced was too close a call. Still, neither of you are in any hurry for this to end, whatever it is.

At your car, Javier stands back with his hands in his pockets while you open the door and toss your bag inside.

“Get home safe, cariño.”

“You too, Javi.”

In your mirror, you see him give a small wave as you drive away.

~*~*~*~

It was stupid to ask you to grab a drink after work. Javier doesn't really understand what motivated him to ask you in the first place.

That’s a lie – he knows exactly why he asked you, why he asked you about Pike, why he dragged you out of that bar. You're on his mind all the time now, to the point of distraction. Javier sees you when he closes his eyes, pictures you lying next to him when he’s going to sleep, tries to imagine the feel of your skin, soft on his fingertips. The only relief he feels is when he's with you in the flesh.

It’s selfish of him, he realizes, to want these things from you. You haven’t said much about what happened in D.C., but it was enough for him to understand that he can’t put you in that position again. People are cruel, especially to women.

With a heaving sigh, Javier rolls over in bed. Even if he can’t allow himself to act on his desires, he can let go a little in his mind. For a moment, he lets himself indulge in the fantasy of having you, fueled by the memories of your fingers laced with his, the heat from your back where he placed a gently guiding hand, the scent of your shampoo when he kissed your face.

Javier imagines what it would feel like, being able to touch and feel you in those natural ways people together do: your arms wrapped around his chest and kissing the back of his neck and shoulders, the weight of you seated on his lap, caressing all of your lines and curves. All the things he could do with you, just because you’re his.

______________________________________________________________

Five Days Later Texas

You’ve never seen a case get off the ground and progress so quickly. In the last few days, the DEA managed to bring in the art gallery couple suspected of planning a money laundering deal with the narcos under investigation. Not only did the couple admit to their plan, but they agreed to cooperate with the investigation in exchange for immunity.

The gallery was hosting a special exhibit opening that night, and the narcos – Castano and Lopez – were confirmed guests. The timing was perfect to introduce Peña and another agent, Bateman, who would be posing undercover as business partners in competition with the art gallery owners. But that meant their task force had to act fast to get everything organized and ready in time.

Surveillance had been placed on Castano and Lopez, and the agents tailing them were sending in frequent reports on the men’s movements. They had already arranged transportation to get them to the gallery event after dining at an expensive restaurant nearby. Their dirty money certainly didn’t stop them from enjoying a lavish lifestyle.

You check over the information on the tablet in your hands. Posing as an event coordinator gave you access to all areas of the gallery, service entrances, back rooms, the whole shebang. It also gave you the ability to watch a live video feed of all the cameras placed around the gallery, right from your tablet, and listen in on the audio through the wires Peña and Bateman would be wearing.

A few other agents were staged as caterers, wait staff, and private security detail for the special event, but this evening would only have one mission: get the narcos interested in finding out what Peña and his “business partner” could offer. He and Bateman were already out on the gallery floor, mingling with the crowd, and looking at the art.

Javi was wearing a dark blue suit, fitting snugly to his broad shoulders and tapering in at his slim waist. He’d obviously taken extra time grooming himself that evening, because he had some kind of pomade in his hair that added a sleek wave, and his mustache was neatly trimmed. It was criminal how fucking good he looked.

Surveillance checks in to report an ETA of approximately 10 minutes. Letting out a deep breath, you tap out a message on your tablet with the ETA and send it to Javi’s phone. Through your earpiece, you hear Javi’s phone ding, a pause, and then his voice mutters, “Copy.”

Things between you and Javier that week had been a bit tense, to say the least. The two of you orbited each other, coming close yet never touching before being slingshot back out in opposite directions.

The memory of his arms around you and his lips ghosting across your mouth kept you warm each night. You continuously waffled back and forth between reprimanding yourself for even thinking about indulging in another workplace fling, and craving him like a drug. It was maddening.

Diaz’s voice in your ear says, “Targets have arrived, entering now.” You message Javi, and he confirms he has eyes on them. He and Bateman continue circulating a bit, keeping an eye on Castano and Lopez, but blending with the crowd for now. Things are right on track.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep breath and lean against a wall in the back corridor. The coolness of the wall reminds you of the cool stone against your skin in that alleyway. You let the radio chatter in your earpiece fade as you remember the heat from Javi’s hands, the strength of his arms and chest, the smile on his lips when you told him ‘don’t stop.’ Heat pools in your lower belly, imagining what could have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You hear Javi’s voice in your ear and your eyes fly open. A few taps on your tablet and you’re watching video from a nearby camera. Bateman is gripping his abdomen and grimacing in pain.

“Yeah, just this stomach ache. I’ve had it for days.” Bateman gestures to his lower right side. Something tells you that’s no mere stomach ache.

Quickly, yet calmly, you bustle over to their location and assume your best event coordinator voice. “Sir, is everything alright? Can I get you some water?”

Bateman tries to wave you off, but is interrupted as another wave of pain hits him and he doubles over. Javi watches his partner and concern knits his brow.

“Boss, the targets are headed in your direction, I think they’re trying to check out what’s going on,” Tran’s falsetto says over the radio.

You lay a hand on Bateman’s shoulder, lowering your voice to say, “We need to get him out of here.”

You put your arm around Bateman’s hunched shoulders and say loudly enough for some of the looky-loos to hear you, “Everything’s alright, Sir. Please come with me.” You give a meaningful look to Javi and gesture for him to come with you.

The gallery owners have a small office in the back that’s part of a larger storage area with a loading dock for larger works of art. You take Bateman and Javi back to the office, passing through the swarm of catering staff, who have been using the storage room as their staging area. Pulling out one of the office chairs, you guide Bateman to sit. Diaz bursts into the small room, dressed in the typical black attire of private security, worry etched across his face.

“Nick? Talk to me – what’s happening?” Diaz’s voice is a bit tremulous, but he takes charge and gets on the radio to report an agent down. You’ve seen how close Diaz and Bateman are at the office and wonder if there’s something more between them than friendship.

Javi catches your eye and nods his head to the side, indicating for you to both exit the office. Following him a bit down the hallway, you step close to his side to escape the bustle of caterers with trays of hors d'oeuvres.

“What’s happening?” Javi wipes a hand over his mustache and flicks a finger at your tablet.

He leans over to look at your screen and you swipe through several views until you spot Castano sipping on champagne and Lopez looking bored. The latter was the one, if memory serves, who made the comment about modern art being just a bunch of splattered paint.

The scent of Javi’s cologne and his closeness make your hands tremble. You haven’t been this close to him since he almost kissed you. In fact, his face was near enough to your own that you could easily turn your head and place your lips to the side of his neck or shoulder. Your head swims at the thought.

Hazarding a glance up, you see out of the corner of your eye that Javi isn’t looking at your tablet anymore either. His chest rises and falls, brushing your arm with every inhale. Those dark chocolate eyes are nearly black, his pupils wide and intense. Seconds tick by that could be minutes, both of your bodies frozen in place.

Movement on the screen in your hands catches your attention and breaks the reverie. You can’t let yourself be distracted by whatever is happening between you and Javi. Not now, on this big of a case – your first opportunity to really prove that you’re capable on your own, and not someone who fucks their way up the ranks.

Javi takes half a step back, and you clamp your teeth down on your lower lip to stifle a sigh at your loss. How the hell are you supposed to focus with all of these feelings and urges flying through your body?

Clearing his throat, Javi rasps, “I better get back out there.”

You nod your head in agreement. “Yeah. That’s good, I’ll - uh, check on Bateman.” Javi moves to leave but pauses.

“You’re doing great,” he whispers next to your ear, his touch on your lower back light as a feather before slipping off back into the crowded gallery. You fight the urge to run after him and shift your focus back to Bateman. Stepping back into the office, Diaz is already on the radio, arranging transportation for the two of them to the hospital.

“I think it’s his appendix,” Diaz says to you quietly when you walk over.

You grimace. Shit.

Bateman was chosen to be Javi’s partner in this operation because he could carry a conversation about art and make it convincing. Javi – to use his own words again – doesn’t know shit about art.

Looking down at your tablet, you tap through the various video feeds and see that the narcos are in the same section of the gallery as Javier. Switching the channel on your earpiece, you listen in on the audio feed coming from his wire.

You’re not sure if Javi is genuinely distressed over Bateman’s condition, or if he’s acting it up to try and draw the attention of the narcos, but you can hear his labored breathing from his wire. Could he be nervous? You select the video feed with the best vantage and see Javi rubbing the back of his neck and fiddling with his tie.

With Javi’s breathing in your ear, you make up your mind. You can’t let him finish this alone.

“Diaz, you got this?”

“Yes, ma’am. Transport will be here in less than five minutes.”

You’re already setting down your tablet and removing the curlicue wire from behind your ear.

“Good. Report in once you get him seen to.” Diaz nods, but watches you curiously.

Next goes your blazer and the clip holding your hair back. You grab your purse and find the red lipstick, quickly applying a fresh coat to your lips.

“Well, how do I look? Can I pass as a shady art dealer’s girlfriend?” You step back and smooth down the dress you were wearing under the blazer.

You don’t have many occasions to wear the black cocktail dress, but for tonight you needed something more stylish than your regular work clothes. Its V-neckline is relatively modest, but the smooth material clings to your curves in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Diaz gives you a once over and says, “With all due respect, Boss…you look hot.”

“Thanks,” you fluff your hair a bit, using your reflection in the office’s window. “Bateman, take it easy. We’ve got this.” Bateman groans in response and you rush out the door.

You’re flying blind now – no eyes or ears on anything but what’s in front of you. Tran spots you and cocks her head quizzically, but otherwise doesn’t break her cover as she approaches you with a tray of champagne flutes.

Grabbing a glass, you mutter, “Bateman is down, I had to do something.” She nods and quirks an amused lip.

“I like your dress,” she mutters back. You toss back the rest of the champagne in your glass for courage, and Tran hands you another to take its place.

“Thanks, so does Diaz.” Tran snorts and pivots to offer champagne to a cluster of guests nearby.

The three of you gelled almost immediately, and you felt immensely grateful. Their support on the case made you feel at ease with being in charge of a team. You wonder if Javi assigned Diaz and Tran on purpose, thinking you’d all suit one another.

Javier, Castano, and Lopez are still in the same gallery space, admiring adjacent pieces. Well, Lopez is digging a finger into his ear, but at least Castano seems genuinely interested.

Seemingly more relaxed now, Javi stands with his back slightly to you, leaving his body language open to the targets. But you already know him better than the casual observer. The veins in Javi’s neck are more prominent, and you tamp down the urge to lick them. He’s practically vibrating like a plucked wire, but his shoulders are relaxed, one hand casually in his pocket. Fuck, he looks good in that suit.

Taking a deep breath, you decide you’ll just have to go for it. It’s just for tonight, after all.

“Babe!” A few people turn their heads to look at you, including the three men you needed to take notice.

You shuffle over on your tiptoes to not break an ankle in your heels, and Javi – to his credit – doesn’t react beyond a shift in his eyes and a twitch of his jaw.

“Oh, my god! I’ve been looking for you everywhere, babe.” You practically throw yourself at Javi and cling to his side. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other hand coming out of his pocket to lightly grasp your bare arm.

“I saw poor Nicky – he didn’t look so good,” you say, placing your free hand on Javi’s chest and adding a touch of real concern to your voice.

Javier’s entire demeanor shifts with you in his arms, his body relaxes, immediately falling into lockstep with you. You’re impressed at how quickly he responds to this curveball. Neither of you could have prepared for something like this.

“Yeah, he decided to head home, probably just ate something bad.” Javi took everything in stride. “You’re feeling okay, right?” He pulls back a bit to take you in, like he’s checking you over for bumps and bruises.

“Yeah, baby, I’m okay. But…” you drop your voice to a stage whisper, aware that at least Lopez is paying attention to this little charade. “What about the you-know-what?”

Javi glances around like he’s worried somebody might hear you. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. He wasn’t moving it until next week anyway.” Javi kisses your temple. You nod, seemingly pacified, and offer your glass to him.

He smirks, and instead of taking it from your hand, he leans down and places his lips to the rim. You let out a little giggle and tilt the glass for him. A little dribbles over the side of his mouth, dripping off his mustache. Letting out a mock tutting sound, you wipe it away with your thumb and lick the remnants from your skin.

Your eyes meet, and you melt a bit, seeing that Javi’s pupils are completely blown.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” you tease, managing to regain composure.

“I know exactly where you can take me,” he fires back, and – to your utter shock and private enjoyment – squeezes your ass.

“Babe!” You gasp, and hit him playfully on the arm. Looking around nervously, you notice Lopez staring lasciviously at this public display, and you still, clearing your throat. Javi notices, and follows your gaze to Lopez, who is now adjusting his pants by his gaudy belt buckle.

“Hey - qué pasa contigo?” Javi’s face morphs into something serious and intimidating.

The two men exchange some words in rapid Spanish, and Castano gets involved. You’re genuinely flummoxed, not understanding what the men are saying, but it’s clear Castano is trying to apologize for Lopez’s rudeness and making amends.

You tug at Javi’s arm to pull him back to you, running a soothing hand over his chest. “Come on, baby. It’s fine.”

“I want an apology,” Javi says, stubbornly.

“Lo siento, Señor,” Lopez mutters, and Javi shakes his head.

“An apology to her,” he clarifies, his eyes boring holes into Lopez’s forehead.

Lopez repeats himself, but can’t meet your eyes. Castano steps forward and reaches out a hand. Without thinking, you place your hand in his, and he holds it between his own. You know what this man before you is capable of, what he’s suspected and guilty of, and you fight the urge to shudder.

“Miss, I am so sorry for my associate’s bad manners,” Castano begins in lightly accented English. “When a woman as beautiful as you is nearby, any man would take notice.”

Pretending to be flattered and appeased, you dip your head. Castano – a slim man of equal height – bends at the waist formally and brushes dry lips to your knuckles. You turn a disgusted curl of your lip into a demure smile.

“Thank you,” you simper.

Javi says something to Castano in Spanish, and the two begin to converse, their tone much more pleasant now with formalities out of the way. He drops his arm from your waist and joins Castano at the painting he’d been admiring.

You catch Lopez’s eye and let the corner of your mouth tilt up as you take a sip of your champagne, now warm and flat. The man – squat, with a thick unibrow under a greasy forehead – is the kind of fish you want to keep on the hook for a while. It lets them think they’re winning.

“Cariño,” Javi says and beckons you to join the men.

Sauntering over, you let the high heels do their job and smile sweetly up at him. The conforming dress rises up your thighs a bit higher than you’d be comfortable with in real life, but you decide to leave the hem where it rests when you see Javi’s eyes rake over your exposed skin. The hair on your arms stands up, and the heat in your core begins to rise.

“Señor Castano has a question about this piece, and I told him you were the brains between us,” he winks, and your breath hitches.

Over the next ten minutes, you speak knowledgeably about the art on exhibit in the gallery. You’d never felt more grateful for the times Marcus would get excited about a case or piece of evidence and animatedly answer your questions while sharing takeout from one of your regular haunts. There’s a sudden pang in your chest.

Just as suddenly, Javi is right behind you, stroking the backs of his fingers up and down a bare arm. His left hand is on your hip, caressing his thumb over the thin fabric of your dress. You relax into his touch, melting back into him until you feel the swell of your ass meet the front of his pants.

Javi sucks in a sharp breath, and his fingers on your hip tighten their grip. You’re trying to focus on Castano’s words, but you feel Javi’s breath shudder a bit as he makes the smallest of movements with his hips, pressing himself into your ass.

“...and that’s why we’re here tonight, drinking champagne, admiring the works of art on display… and speaking with beautiful women,” Castano finishes. The smile on his face would be genuinely charming if you didn’t already know what a deplorable human being he is.

“Mi amor loves talking about art, I only wish I knew more. She and my partner could talk all night about our latest deals–” Javi stops himself short, pretending that he’s let something slip.

Castano’s eyes go sharp, but his smile barely changes. Showing a bit of intelligence, even Lopez perks up at this false faux pas. You’re surprised he was even listening, he’s been so busy shoveling canapes into his mouth and ogling the other women nearby.

“Ah, so you are art dealers then!” Castano exclaims. “Little wonder Señorita is so knowledgeable.”

You move your left hand to caress Javi’s on your hip. Not sure if Castano thinks you and Javi are married, or he’s just being polite, you’d rather play it safe and leave your ring fingers out of his sight until you and Javi can speak privately.

“My partner is really the art dealer, it’s a shame you couldn’t meet him tonight. I’m just another man of business.”

“And what line of business are you in, Señor?” Castano asks.

“Please, call me Javi,” he says with a casual wave of his free hand. “And I’m in whatever line of business is good – I’ve done a bit of this, a bit of that. Here, have my card.”

Javi fishes out the prop business card from the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I represent my client’s business interests, whatever they may be.”

Castano takes the card and glances it over, then hands it to Lopez to hold. “And your clients are interested in art?”

“Some are. That’s how I met mi alma. She was working at the private gallery my new partner owns.” Javi stands next to you, keeping his fingers locked with yours on your hip, and smiles down at you.

You have to remind yourself that none of this is real, it’s all for the cover – and a last-minute cover, at that. None of this was supposed to happen. But standing there, basking in the warmth of Javi’s affection, your heart races a bit and you give him a genuine smile in return.

“And the rest is history,” you finish with a small shrug of your shoulder, then rest your head on Javi’s shoulder for a second. Lopez’s phone rings and he turns away to answer it quietly, then taps Castano on the shoulder deferentially.

“Well, Javi, Señorita,” Castano nods at each of you in turn. “I would love to treat you to dinner soon. I have a new case of vintage bordeaux and a new painting I’m looking for any excuse to show off. I’ll have my associate call to make the arrangements. Please, bring your business partner.”

Javi nods and shakes Castano’s hand. The two men leave, and you see Lopez stuff a napkin full of food into his suit pocket. Castano rolls his eyes in exasperation and glides away to the front exit.

Javi gives your waist a squeeze, and you turn to face him, smiles on both of your faces. You hover for a minute, just in case the men return, but then Tran comes by with another tray of champagne.

“May I take your glass, ma’am?” Javi takes the glass from your hand and sets it gently on the tray. He busies himself by taking another so Tran can murmur, “They’re off the premises, tracking in place.”

Javi nods and sips the champagne. Tran moves away once more. A couple beats pass, and Javi sets the champagne down on a nearby cocktail table, grips your hand tightly, and starts pulling you in the direction of the back office.

This time you struggle more to keep up with him, not in your usual office attire. Javi is pulling at his tie and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. In the back storage area, Javi drops your hand and makes a beeline into the small office.

You slow almost to a stop, a bit winded from practically jogging in heels. Javi turns and meets your eye. Seeing the intensity in his face, you pause before the threshold and worry flits across your mind.

Maybe Javi’s actually upset with you for going rogue, for jumping in and messing with the plan. Maybe he’s just really good undercover, and you projected your own desires onto his smiles and touches. He silently crooks two fingers, bidding you to join him in the office.

Steeling your spine, preparing for a fight, you pull your shoulders back and strut into the office. Closing the door behind you, you take a breath, ready to go toe-to-toe with Javi if that’s what it takes to prove you were in the right.

You made an executive decision in what could have been a crisis, and you’ll stand by that judgment call. You did what a good leader is supposed to do when plans go south. Everything worked out with the narcos, and even if they don’t take the bait and call, you still have tracking and surveillance on them.

Javi remains silent, finishes unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his freckled skin underneath. He removes the wire taped to his chest, then sets it down on the desk and switches off the receiver. You open your mouth, prepared to state your defense.

In two strides, Javi closes the distance between you and takes your mouth in a crushing kiss. You throw your arms around his neck and his hands grip the backs of your bare thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you onto the desk.

Deepening the kiss, Javi’s tongue plunders your mouth and he lets out a strangled grunt when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush against your panty-clad pussy. Groaning, you feel his cock quickly getting hard and you soon realize you were already wet before he even started kissing you.

Javi kisses a searing trail across your jaw, the hairs of his mustache tickling the tender flesh under your ear as he nips at the lobe. You gasp and rut against the front of his pants.

“You are – fucking – incredible,” Javi growls in your ear, grinding his straining cock against the damp spot on your panties for emphasis. Your breathing is shallow, and you cling to his broad back as he continues his way down your neck.

“You’re amazing,” he adds, then gently sinks his teeth into the flesh between your neck and shoulder, eliciting a small whimper from your lips.

Letting your head loll to the side, willing him to take whatever he desires, you whisper, “Javi, please…”

You can feel his mustache turn up as he smiles, his path across your clavicle interrupted.

“‘Please’, what, cariño?” His wide hands roam up the expanse of your back, then down to massage the meat of your hips and ass. You rock yourself against his cock again, but he holds your hips still and pulls back to look into your wrecked face, lifting an eyebrow in question.

“Fuck, Javi–” You rebel against the grip of his hands, trying to feel that pressure from his hard cock again, but he stops you. He mimics your tut-tut from earlier out in the gallery, and pulls his hips away from yours. You lock your ankles behind him, trying in vain to keep him in place.

Javi smacks a hand against the flesh of your ass that’s still covered by your dress, which luckily muffles the sound. Your mouth pops open in surprise, and you look at him. The intensity in his face has returned, but there’s no malice in his eyes, just hunger. Without a word exchanged, you unhook your ankles from behind his waist and let your legs spread open.

Javi lets out a satisfied moan from deep in his chest. “Mm, somebody trained you well, cariño.”

You let out a shuddering breath and Javi leans in to capture your bottom lip between his, sucking it between his teeth before letting it go with a soft pop. You nod, just barely, and wait for him to continue.

“I bet I can guess who it was,” he teases, then his tone changes. “Stand up and turn around. Palms on the desk.”

Javi pulls away and walks the two steps to the door, never looking away as he watches you follow his command. Your dress is now hitched up onto your hips, your ass presented to him.

Before he can lock the door, a tentative knock on the other side makes both of you jump. You immediately straighten up and pull your dress down, while Javi checks through the blinds in the door’s window.

“Tran,” he mouths.

You try to smooth your hair down and Javi opens the door and quickly turns away, busying himself with the wire and receiver on the desk, as though he’d just turned it off.

Clearing her throat, Tran stands in the doorway, not meeting your eye and says, “Boss, Diaz just reported in. Bateman is getting an emergency appendectomy, but he should be fine. They got him to the ER before it got too bad.”

Both you and Javi let out sighs of relief. “Thanks, Tran. We’ll debrief in the morning.”

Tran glances between you and Javi, and gives you a sly smile. “Sure thing, Boss. Have a good night.” She winks and closes the office door behind her. You’ll have to deal with that later.

“Fuck me,” you sigh and sink down in the office chair. All the adrenaline of the evening was starting to make your legs shaky. Javi sits a hip on the corner of the desk in a way that reminds you of Pike.

“That’s kind of what I was trying to do,” he tosses his head at the door. “Before we got interrupted.”

“It was very rude,” you agree, both of you sharing a smirk before going quiet.

“Listen,” Javi swipes a thumb at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know if this is a good idea–” You put a hand on his knee to stop him.

“But it’s what I want. And you obviously want it too,” you look pointedly at his crotch, where his aroused state is still quite evident, despite the interruption.

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he states emphatically. “It’s just…” He sighs and places his hand over yours. “I recognize what a huge deal this case is for you, for professional and personal reasons.”

Javi pulls you to stand and cups your face. “I couldn’t live with myself if I fucked that up for you.”

You sigh, and think for a moment.

“Javi, no offense, but that’s bullshit.”

“What?” He pulls back in surprise.

“First, you’re giving yourself way too much credit,” you chuckle to break the tension, then grow serious. “Secondly, I’m a grown ass woman who can make her own choices. If anything gets fucked up, it’s because I made a decision, so I’ll deal with the consequences.”

Javi takes a deep breath, evaluating your words. You can see that he doesn’t like the idea of what those consequences may be, nor the thought of you being the one to deal with them.

He swears under his breath in Spanish, looking to the heavens for help, then leans in and kisses you. Gently at first, then more persistently, holding your face until you’re both breathing heavily through your noses. He breaks the kiss and you both take a deep breath.

“Okay, ‘grown ass woman,’” he says, and you let out a small laugh. “I’ve got a choice for you to make.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“Your place or mine?”

Chapter 8 - Coming Soon!

Additional Author’s Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the lovely comments and reblogs! I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

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