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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 3 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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bellaramslover · 1 year

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Kryptonite(18+)

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: ellie hated everyone, except you. You go out to the bar one night and some guy bothers you, she punched his ass ofc. You get into a small fight but then you guys go back to her place and things get freaky;)

Cw: fighting, drinking, smut, strap-on sucking, strap-on sex, scissoring, rough sex, degrading, praising, spanking, the tiniest bit of overstimulation

A/n: ooh this is seriously dirtyyy! 😭 sorry if I missed any content warnings but I really think that's all. Also, I've been going back to my previous fics and rereading and I just now realize I misspell so much and like forget words, so I'm sorry for all my grammar fuck ups lmao

Ellie Williams was many things, but nice was not one of them. People usually tried to steer clear of her, knowing her mood was negative more often than not. But of course, there was the occasional time when somebody made the mistake of trying to be friendly with her. It typically ended with Ellie cursing them out, or insulting them somehow. And then you'd come around, always calming her down and putting a smile on her face.

Everybody found it odd, from the minute you'd been welcomed to Jackson, Ellie was always so sweet to you. It honestly had jaw dropping, everyone was shocked to say the least. On top of that, it made no sense. I mean, some random girl comes into town and she just happened to be Ellie Williams kryptonite? Absolutely zero sense.

Nobody dared to question it though, and anytime they did Ellie had a lot to say. The main point she'd give was that it was simply 'none of their fucking business', among other things. You, yourself, found it a bit odd. You'd heard stories about Ellie from various people around town, and it was hard to believe she could be so harsh and mean. Was she really as cruel as they'd said? You'd never know, because she was nothing but kind to you.

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After deciding to get ballsy on patrol, Ellie was sentenced to the unbearable punishment of laundry duty for a week. The only good part of it being that she got to see you, you had been a clothing designer before all this apocalypse shit happened so you knew a lot about clothing. This being the reason for your permanent work assignment staying laundry duty, you'd requested that it be permanent. Maria had no issue doing thst for you, and you were beyond thankful. You and no interest in getting yourself into any kind of danger, doing patrol or something else.

Currently, Ellie was trying to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do with the laundry detergent. She looked at the various bottles, grabbing then to read the instructions on the back. After a minute of trying to comprehend what she was meant to do, she let out a frustrated sigh before slamming the yellow bottle back in its place on the shelf.

"I could help you out, you know?" A brunette boy suggested with a sweet smile, he was younger and very clearly meant no harm.

"Fuck off" She scoffed harshly, "I don't need your help." Her tone was aggressive as she walked back over to the baskets of clothing.

She decided to sort them by color instead, that was something she was capable of. Five minutes or so passed and you came in, late. Very unusual for you, you were one of those people who was either early or on time. But late, you were never late. Ellie's face immediately lit up when she saw you, she smiled from ear to ear as she ran over to pull you in for a hug.

"Oh, hi" You laughed, wrapping your own arms around the girl, "somebody missed me." You joked.

"Shut up" She smirked at you, rolling her eyes, "why are you late? You're never late." She asked, a hint of worry in her tone.

"Um, I was just talking to Gavin, guess I got caught up." Your cheeks flushed red, Gavin was the guy you had a crush on for weeks now.

Ellie couldn't wrap her head around why, he was such a dick. Not that you'd be able to figure that out by the way he acted. He pretended to be a nice, caring guy. But he wasn't either of those things. And since he had you in a chokehold, for some unknown reason, you'd have to find that out the hard way. Ellie tried to tell you, relaying stories she'd heard from friends who'd been with him. But you were just lovesick.

"Oh, k." Her smile dropped now, and she spoke monotonly as she had no interest in why you were so busy talking with Gavin.

You furrowed your brows slightly at her sudden change in demeanor, but ultimately you ignored it. Smiling, you walked over to greet Samuel, the brunette boy who'd usually help you out with laundry.

"Good afternoon, Samuel! How are you today?" You asked, but he seemed kinda down.

He hadn't given you an answer, just shrugged, so you walked over to him and asked what was up. He motioned for you to lean in, so that he could whisper in your ear. Samuel told you about how Ellie had told him to 'fuck off.' And you let out a dramatic gasp.

"Ellie Williams! Did you tell my sweet bo Samuel to fuck off?" You asked sternly, hands on you hips as you made your way over to the girl.

She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed red as she knew she'd been caught.

"Maybe... I'm sorry!" She apologized with a frown, looking at you with pleading eyes.

"Do not talk to my sweet little helper that way, he's my friend." You scolded her just a bit more, and she nodded in understanding.

"Oh, hey could you help me with the detergent? I'm not really sure what to use." She asked you, pointing her thumb in the direction of the shelf filled with various laundry detergents.

"Yes, if you promise to be nicer to my dear friend Samuel." You raised your brows.

"Promise..." She smiled with a playful eye roll.

You proceeded to help her with the detergent, making sure she'd remember for next time. Ellie would continue her work duties, bored out of her mind as she prayed to be let back onto patrol early for good behavior. At a certain point in the day, she'd just be eyeing the clock, counting down the hours until she could finally be free from this torture. You, however, didn't mind the job one bit. It actually brought you joy, helped you to relax even. It reminded you of the days before.. everything.

Once it did fall time to clock out, Ellie was quick to rush out of the laundry area, waiting for you outside. You'd chuckle to yourself and shake your head, she was so dramatic. On your way out, you waved a goodbye to Samuel then smiled as you found Ellie leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

"Hey, wanna go to the bar?" She asked with a cheeky smile.

You sighed through your nose, hesitant as Ellie was a terrible drunk.

"Fine. But Ellie, please don't get too drunk." You asked, taking her hands in your own.

"Ok... come on." She smiled as she held your hand and walked the two of you to the bar.

Once you got there, you took seats at the bar and Ellie ordered for the both of you. Alcohol wasn't really your thing, but she seemed to know her way around it pretty well. And you trusted her, which was a good choice because when you took a sip of your drink it was absolutely delicious. After another drink and the passing of some time, Gavin had made an appearance.

You saw him and a smile spread across your face, your eyes lit up and your knees felt weak. Ellie took notice to your mood change, following your eyes to see the man himself. She rolled her eyes and let out a small groan as she rested her head in her hand. You turned back around, sipping from your drink and trying to act cool. Then, Gavin had come to sit beside you.

"Hey Y/n, how you doing?" He greeted, the sound of his voice had you giggling.

"Hi, I'm good. How are you?" You asked in return, playing with your hair a bit.

"Oh I'm doing just great. Who's your friend?" He asked, gesturing to Ellie who was now on her third drink.

You sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

"Oh, this is-" Ellie had cut you off.

"I'm Ellie." She answered him with a harsh tone.

"Well, nice to meet ya Ellie" Gavins voice trailed off as he looked at the door, "I've gotta go." He sent a little wave your way.

You waved back with furrowed brows, then frowned as he was meeting a girl who just walked in. She was pretty, long blonde hair and a striking figure. You sighed, dropping your head down on the bar with a groan. Ellie sighed.

"What's wrong?" She asked in a soft tone, bringing a hand to rub up and down your back soothingly.

"I'm a fucking idiot." Was all you muttered, not picking your head up until a minute later.

You turned around and honestly felt like you could cry when you saw the two of then dancing together, he had his hands on her waist and pulled her unbelievably closer. She laughed as her hands wrapped around the back of his neck. You turned back to look at Ellie, the pout on your face more evident than anything.

"Oh, come on, he's an asshole anyways" Ellie rolled her eyes, glancing over at the dancing pair, then she stood and reached out a hand, "come on baby, dance with me."

You smiled, placing your hand in hers and letting out a small laugh as she pulled you to stand with her. At first, you just held hands and bounced around to some faster songs. But then about two songs later, a slower song came on. Your cheeks flushed red and you took a step back, only for Ellie to snake a hand around your waist and pull you closer.

"Ellie.. what are you doing?" You whispered as she held your waist and pulled you in tight, so that you were practically hugging.

"Dancing." She whispered in return.

You giggled and brought your arms around her shoulders, leaning in so your head rested on one of them. Ellie smiled as her eyes fell shut, your perfume greeting her kindly. You sighed as you relaxed under her touch, nobody could make you feel the way she did. Her hands found their way to your lower back, rubbing small circles onto it. You'd nuzzle your face in her neck, smiling as you brought your hands to play with her hair.

"Fuck Y/n.." Ellie groaned under her breath.

You giggled, lifting your head to meet her eyes. She looked at you like you were the only girl in the world. You looked down at your feet, then back at her. Your breath hitched as your eyes couldn't seem to focus on hers anymore, but rather on her slightly chapped lips. She had to have noticed because a smirk slowly formed on her face. Before you'd do anything you would regret, you stepped back from her. The loss of her touch left you feeling empty, but you would ignore it and just smile as you excused yourself.

"I have to use the bathroom." You simply said, and she took a seat at the bar once again as you made your way to the restroom.

You didn't actually have to go, so instead you washed your hands underneath cold water. And you splashed some on your face for good measure, you'd been getting unbelievably hot during your dance with Ellie. Once you could no longer feel your heart beating in your ears, you left the bathroom to return to Ellie. Unfortunately, there had been someone waiting for you outside.

"Hey, you know you look really good tonight." Gavin spoke smugly as he leaned against the wall.

"Yeah? Thanks." You scoffed, "shouldn't you be getting back to your date?" You spoke matter of factly, trying to push past him.

Your efforts didn't get you much of anywhere, his hand now finding a tight grip on your forearm while the other went to hold your face. You rolled your eyes with a frustrated sigh.

"Ok, come on Gavin I'm really not in the mood." You spoke coldly, willing him to just take the hint and leave you alone.

He tsked, leaning down to whisper in your ear,

"Come on angel, just let me show you a good time." You shuddered at his words, disgusted.

That was your last straw and you found the energy to shove him off of you and into the wall with a hard thud. Then, you saw Ellie turning the corner, her fists balled at her sides as her brows knitted together with anger.

"The fucks going on here?" She asked gruffly.

"Ellie, it's nothing. I'm fine." You placed a hand on her chest, trying to convince her.

Of course it didn't work because the next thing you knew you were watching as she punched Gavin so hard he'd fallen over. Her knuckles were red, and his face began to bruise.

"Ellie!" You screamed as your hands went over your mouth in shock.

Before she could get any other hits in, you'd held her by her shoulders as you dragged her outside. She yelled at the poor guy the entire time. Sending a good amount of threats his way.

"What is wrong with you!" You shouted at the girl as the two of you now stood outside in the chilly night.

"Me? He deserved it and you know it!" She'd shouted back, gesturing with her hands, something she did often when she was angry.

"Yeah maybe, but still! You can't just go around punching every guy that bothers me, I can take care of myself you know?" Your hands were on your hips.

"Oh god, this again? I can't keep having this fucking conversation with you, Y/n!" She gritted her teeth.

"What conversation? The one where I have to constantly remind you that I'm a full grown adult, and I am entirely capable of taking care of and defening myself? I mean seriously Ellie, what's the problem? Do you think that I can't take care of myself?" You asked with a frustrated sigh.

"What, no! Of course I know you can, but I just- I care about you a lot and you shouldn't have to take care of yourself. It makes me feel good to defend you, I don't know why it just does. And I'm... sorry." Sge struggled to get the apology out.

"It's ok. Let's just go home, sleep it off." Your suggestion sounded good, but Ellie stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

"Wait." You looked at her with questioning eyes, wondering what else she had to say.

Turns out, she didn't have anything to say. Instead, she had brought one hand to your waist and the other to the back of your neck. She bit her lip, her eyes flickering between your own and your lips. After a minute or so had passed, she just couldn't resist. She pulled you in and connected her lips with yours, kissing you like it was the end of the world.

"Ellie~" You whined as you parted from the kiss for a moment, immediately diving back in.

This time, you pressed your tongue to her bottom lip. And she gladly let you in, opening her mouth wide so she could taste your tongue on hers. It was something from another world, you'd felt dizzy and giddy, and there was something else too. There was this heat between your legs, it almost hurt. You whimpered into her mouth at the unfamiliar feeling.

"What's wrong baby?" She asked, her forehead resting against yours.

"I don't know, 's all achy down there." You admitted, embarrassed as you'd only dare to stare down at her shoes.

Ellie let out a sinful chuckle,

"Well, I think I could help with that." She gave you one last kiss before taking you to her house.

You stood in her living room, your hand coming to scratch the back of your neck awkwardly as she rushed upstairs to grab 'a little something special' from her room. You'd wondered what she could be grabbing, but not for long as she returned swiftly without her bottoms now and a large black strap tightened around her hips. Your eyes widened at the sight of it, and you knew you wanted it inside of you. Your mouth watered at just the thought of her fucking your brains out.

She walked over to you with a smirk, pulling you in for yet another kiss. You smiled into it, letting out small moans here and there as the taste of her tongue felt so good against your own. You'd sighed as she pulled your top off, now placing kisses along your jaw and neck. It wasn't long before she was placing feather light kisses to the top of your boobs, then palming them roughly as she watched your face contort with pleasure.

"Get on your knees." She ordered after a minute, and you were quick to oblige.

Getting down on the floor, you looked up at Ellie with lustful eyes. She grabbed a fistful of your hair, taking a step closer to you as she held her strap in the other hand. You licked your lips before chewing slightly at your bottom one.

"Open that pretty little mouth of yours for me baby." She cooed, her hand tightening in your hair as you'd opened wide.

She chuckled as she pushed her cock into your mouth, watching with nothing but joy as she shoved it as far as it could go. You'd gagged, unable to help it, then you let out a small whimper which was muffled by her large cock. She groaned at this, tugging your hair a bit, which brought a lengthy moan from your lips.

"Fuck baby, look at you being a good little slut. Taking my cock down your throat so well. Good girl." The praise she'd given you had gotten you even wetter, if that was even possible.

Ellie would continue to move your head up and down for a bit longer until she was satisfied, carefully she removed her hand from your hair and let you pull back. Your lips left her cock with a satisfying pop sound and she smiled sinfully as she pulled you to stand. She brought a hand to your chin, wiping your saliva that had dripped down your chin while you were kept busy deep-throating her.

She'd snaked her hands around you now, gripping at your ass before giving it a harsh smack that made your body jolt with pleasure and excitement. Another kiss was brought to your lips by her, but not for long as you'd pulled away quickly.

"Ellie, please." You whimpered, she only let out a small chuckle.

"Please what? Use your words baby." She kept a finger under your chin.

"Please," another moan, "fuck me. Fuck me good and hard, please I need you." You were begging shamelessly now, and she loved it.

"Well, aren't you cute. Your wish is my command, princess." She smiled as she backed you up to the couch, lying down before pulling you on top of her.

You sat straddling her for a minute, she rubbed your thighs with her hands soothingly before ridding you of both your jeans and panties in just one motion. You bit your lip as she held your hips, lifting you so the head of her strap just grazed your dripping hole. She'd continue to tease you for what felt like ages, before you just couldn't take it anymore so you'd taken it upon yourself to lower down onto her cock. You threw your head back with a loud, pornagraphic moan as you felt the burning stretch inside of you.

Ellie scoffed,

"Did I say you could do that? Eager little slut, you're gonna regret that." She groaned as you continued making the sweetest sounds as she gripped your hips harder.

She'd waste no time, immediately thrusting into you roughly and at a fast pace that had your head spinning. Occasionally, she'd bring a hand up from your hip to place a firm smack against your ass, in the same spot every time. You were sure there'd be a mark, but you didn't care because it felt so fucking good. Then, she'd angled herself just ever so slightly differently and began to hit a spot that you didn't even know existed.

"Oh, oh god! Fuck yes, right there Ellie. Fuckk." You moaned as you called out her name, your hands finding their way to her chest as you began to grind your hips down against her.

"Oh yeah, you like that slut?" She asked, using the rather vulgar name that only got you hotter.

You nodded, feeling as if your vision went hot white at the pleasure you were feeling. It was so phenomenal, you almost thought you mightve been dreaming. But then, she stopped and held your hips tightly so you couldn't move an inch.

"Fucking answer me." She commanded.

"Yes yes. Yes I love it. Please keep going. Please." You whimpered, tears welling in your eyes.

"That's my girl." She smiled as she resumed her rough thrusts, loosening her grip on your hips so you could rut against her as well.

She bit back a moan as the strap had been hitting against her clit just right, that and the sight of you was more than enough to make her cum. The way your tits bounced underneath your scarlet red lace bra, and how beautiful your face looked as you moaned loudly. And oh the way you said her name was just so fucking sexy.

"Ellie- I'm gonna" your breath hitched with a gasp, "fuck 'm gonna cum." your moans got even louder somehow.

"Me too baby, come on cum with me. Come on baby." She'd finally let out a small moan and that sent you over the edge.

However you didn't just cum, you were gushing all over her beautifully long strap as well as her thighs. Ellie moaned louder at the sight of you squirting all over her cock, and then got her own release. She didn't stop pounding into you as she rode out her own high, and it didn't take long before you were feeling overstimulated. But you'd do anything to watch as her eyes squeezed shut with the pleasure of her orgasm.

"Mmn- fuck." She let out a small groan as she removed her cock from your hole, a small string of your slick connecting it still.

You let out a small sigh of exhaustion as you layed against her chest, smiling as her hands came to rub up and down your back. You lied there together for a minute or so before she finally spoke.

"Let's go to my room." She whispered, and you didn't say anything in return.

You'd just followed her upstairs and watched as she removed her strap, sitting on the bed and patting the spot next to her. You joined her and sat with your back against the headboard, leaning forward as she came to kiss you. You'd pulled at her shirt and giggled a bit as she ripped it off, revealing her black sports bra. Then, she'd used one hand to spread your legs before getting into position.

One of her legs straddled your hip, a hand on your shoulder and the other on your waist. Her eyes fell shut as she let out an airy moan when she'd ground her throbbing clit against your own, and you'd let out a similar sound.

"Fuck, baby. Your pussy feels so good against mine." She bit her lip, letting out more moans as she thrusted against you.

Sure, the way Ellie had pounded into you earlier was amazing and beyond pleasurable. But there was just something so euphoric about her sopping wet pussy gliding against your own. The feeling of your slicks mixing together just drove you insane. Apparently it had the same effect on Ellie because she was louder than ever, moaning and whimpering with great pleasure.

Your breath quickened as you felt yourself getting close again, and began to move your own hips against her as well. This made Ellie let out a guttural groan.

"Oh yeah, just like that baby." She said in an almost whisper, her eyes falling shut with pleasure.

And with a few more thrusts, the both of you reached yet another release. Now you weren't the only one making noise, Ellie was moaning while also letting out "thank you's and 'fuck's. After fully riding out your highs, Ellie lied down next to you. She brought a hand to wipe her forehead, it dribbled with sweat and her hair stuck to it a bit.

You felt your eyes vetting heavy, snuggling against Ellies side as you let them fall shut. She'd hold you for a minute before standing up.

"Don't fall asleep yet, baby. I wanna get you cleaned up first." She placed a kiss to your forehead, going to the bathroom then returning with a wet rag.

She wiped you down gently, placing soft kisses along your body on the way. Once she finished that, she'd given you a t-shirt of hers to wear to sleep. She climbed back into bed, pulling you to lay on her chest. You snuggled your head into the crook of her neck, bringing your hands to wrap around her shoulders.

"Goodnight Els." You said sleepily.

"Goodnight baby." She responded with a kiss on top of your head.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x you #ellie x you #ellie smut #ellie x fem reader

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refiwrites · 1 year

Text

Ceasefire

Pairing: Ao'nung x Sully! Fem! Reader

Requested?: Yes.

Summary: Your father had asked for Uturu from the Awa'atlu village, but it was far from feeling like a sanctuary when a certain Metkayina boy always seemed to be getting on your nerves, and you could tell he was enjoying it.

Word count: 3.6k

Warning/s: ATWOW spoilers, enemies to lovers? ao'nung being a bully, that one fight scene lmao, mentions of injury and wounds, ronal being scary

Note: shoutout to ao'nung for being the first avatar character i wrote for that surpassed two thousand words 🥴 i am not down bad. Anyways likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are most welcome and appreciated!

GIF is mine!

You stood along with your brothers as your father faced Tonowari and Ronal, the Olo’eyktan and the Tsahìk of the Awa’atlu village. All of you simultaneously signed your greetings.

“Why have you come to us, Jake Sully?” Tonowari asked, holding his staff firm.

“We seek Uturu.” Jake said.

“Uturu?” Ronal repeated, seemingly appalled. You and your siblings glanced at each other, unsure of what’s to come.

“A sanctuary, for my family.” He explained.

Tonowari almost fought back a chuckle, extending his arm out, as if to point towards you. “We are reef people. You are forest people; your skills will mean nothing here.”

You shifted in your place as Ronal walked along you, inspecting. “Well, we can learn your ways, alright?” Jake said, looking at his family. “Yes.” Your mother, Neytiri confirmed.

Ronal then turned to face Tuk, lifting her arm. “Their arms are too thin.” She comments, earning a small “Mom…” from Tuk herself.

“Their tails… are weak, you will be slow in the water.”

You flinched as you felt Ronal grab your tail, you frowned, moving her hand away from your tail. “Watch it..” You say under your breath, looking up, you made eye contact with that one boy earlier, who was making fun of Neteyam and Lo’ak’s tails.

He was smiling at you funny, as if mocking you. He shakes his head at you, chuckling before turning his head to whisper something to his friend, which sent them both laughing.

You furrowed your brows at him, rolling your eyes. You didn’t like him already.

After what felt like forever, Tonowari and Ronal finally agreed to let your family stay.

“Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us.” Tonowari announced amongst his clan, a breath you didn’t know you had been holding was exhaled.

“Treat them as our brothers and sisters— They do not know the sea; so, they will be like babies, taking their first breath.”

You kept your eyes fixated on the ground.

“Teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless.” Tonowari finished, and you can just about feel his gaze on all of you.

“Okay, what do we say?” Jake said, looking at all of you.

“Thank you.” Tuk was the first one, followed by you and Neteyam, then Lo’ak and Kiri.

“My son, Ao’nung and my daughter, Tsireya will show your children what to do.”

Your eyes looked up to see the same boy from earlier, making your eyes go wide. He was the chief’s son? That explains the attitude. You both made eye contact again before he steps up to appeal to his father.

“Father why would yo—” You heard him speak before he was cut off by his own.

“It is decided.”

“Come! I will show you our village.” His sister, Tsireya approached with a huge smile on her face, making your heart feel a little at ease. You were thankful somehow that his sister was kind.

After a few days of settling in, the lessons began.

You weren’t thrilled to see the chief’s son, to say the least, and you were pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

The first was when they (mostly Tsireya) encouraged you to swim together.

You stood as you watched the three dived into the ocean so easily.

“Come on, come on!” Neteyam urged you and Lo’ak, making a run for it before jumping off the edge. The two of you followed, yelling out before hitting the water.

Then you were swallowed by the ocean, you opened your eyes to see all kinds of fishes and reefs around you. You swam a bit further, watching the creatures around you swim so gracefully.

Then you saw Lo’ak pointing towards where Tsireya was and you and Neteyam followed, moving your arms to swim towards them.

You followed, but then the need to breathe got stronger as you faced your siblings. You pointed up and they were quick to understand.

Reaching the surface, you gasped for air, so did your brothers. You noticed the others didn’t follow, so you submerged your face back in the ocean to see Tsireya doing something with her hands which sent you confused. But Tsireya just motioned her hands in a ‘come here’ motion.

Taking another breath, the three of you dove back down again. You held onto a reef to stable yourself and you felt a pair of eyes looking at you. You shook it off as Neteyam signaled to go up again with the others.

Following, you reached the surface again.

“Are you alright?” Tsireya asked.

“You’re too fast! Wait for us.” Tuk complained. Tsireya offered her an apologetic smile. “Just breathe.” She spoke.

You did, but it was cut off when the chief’s son, Ao’nung suddenly popped up beside you. You moved away as you looked at him.

“You’re not good divers.” He said looking at you, then Neteyam and Lo’ak.

“Maybe good at swimming through trees but-“ He chuckled but Tsireya’s hand smacked him on the head, which sent you chuckling. He looked at you with a scowl. You just sent him a teasing smile.

“Come on, bro.” Lo’ak said.

“We don’t speak this… finger talk you guys.” Neteyam said, motioning with his fingers.

“Yeah, we don’t understand what you’re saying.” You said to them.

“I will teach you.” Replied Tsireya.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Days passed by and you were learning bit by bit.

Now you were standing in the ocean, watching as Ao’nung called for something. Then you saw them. They were almost as big as you, swimming around you gracefully.

Then Ao’nung faced you, with his hand raised. “If you want to live here, you have to ride… Shouldn’t be too hard for you.” Ao’nung said, although the last bit he looked at you.

You rolled your eyes.

Then it was time to ride the Ilus.

You smiled as you pet its head, it squawked happily at you, nudging its face onto your arm. “Look at you, you’re beautiful.” You speak.

“Are you planning to stand here and rave all day like a baby?” Ao’nung teased, still giving you that same smile from before. You glared at him, turning your face away from him as you made tsaheylu with the Ilu.

You took a deep breath before hopping on, you didn’t miss the way Ao’nung’s hand followed, almost to support you if you fall back into the ocean.

“Get your hand off me.” You hissed at him once you successfully rode your Ilu.

He raises both his arms in surrender, smirking at you, shaking his head.

“Alright, I was just trying to help—”

“Calling the Ilu was enough.” You spoke.

“I’m not so sure about that.” He replied, then he jerked his head towards the ocean. “If you’re so confident, then give it a go.”

You looked towards the ocean, your Ilu breathing steadily below you. You held onto the handle. “Okay...” You smacked yourself mentally for letting your voice falter.

Ao’nung didn’t miss it as he laughed. “What, not scared now, are you?”

“I’m not!” You growled. In a way to spite him, you tugged on your Ilu to go swim.

Your Ilu quickly dived, taking you aback as you tried to hold onto the handle for your life. Your legs wobbled as you tried to place them in between your Ilu.

But the speed was too much to bear as you were forced to let go, sending your body tumbling around in the ocean as you moved to upright yourself.

Ao’nung fully witnessed what happened underwater as he rose to the surface, laughing at you.

You rose to the surface as well, moving your hair away from your face. You could hear Ao’nung laughing behind you as your cheeks warmed in embarrassment.

“Told you so, maybe you should go back to the forest already.” He says to you.

“Shut up.” You said to him, then your Ilu appeared next to you, nudging your side as if to apologize. You moved your attention to the Ilu instead of Ao’nung.

He tilts his head, watching you interact with the creature, the corner of his lip almost twitching into a genuine smile.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Although within those weeks, Ao’nung was nowhere to be found. You took it that maybe he was busy with his hunter duties, that or just maybe he didn’t want to hang out with your kind.

Within the next few weeks, you had been trained by Tsireya and Rotxo to breathe and you could say you were already doing a decent job at it with the way you lasted minutes underwater. Often times all of you would ride on your Ilu’s, going on trips to wherever Tsireya or Rotxo had in mind.

You hated the way you found yourself thinking of where he could be whenever you were out with them. You also cursed yourself more often than not when you would see him passing by and you would be trying to avoid looking at him.

You hated him with every fiber of your being, so why on earth would you be missing him?

Emerging with your Ilu, you let out a deep breath along with your siblings.

“You are learning to breathe.” Tsireya says with a smile on her face.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Then a day came when you were all granted rest.

You chose to spend it with Kiri, your sister, by the ocean as you sat beside her in the water as she was laying stomach down, her head submerged under, looking at something in the sand.

Meanwhile you were sitting with your eyes closed, letting the warmth of the sun hit your skin as your hand swayed underwater, making little ripples.

Your ears perked as you heard sloshing behind you, then a voice followed.

“What are they doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“I would not be surprised if two of them were looking at the sand.”

Then a chorus of laughter.

That gathered you and Kiri’s attention as you turned your head to stand up, Kiri lifting her head with a dazed look on her face as she stood. “Huh?”

Your eyes immediately fell onto Ao’nung’s.

You knit your brows as your ears steered back.

“What did you say?” Kiri asked, you looked at her for a brief moment and you placed your hand out in front of her, to not let her get any closer to them.

“Are you guys… you know, freaks?” Ao’nung asks, his brows raised in amusement. You and Kiri looked at each other as you faced him again.

“Come on, he asked if you guys are freaks.” One of his friends repeated.

“No.” You sassed. “Let’s get out of here, Kiri.”

You began to walk away with Kiri, but they were still on your tail.

“Come on, are you sure? Don’t go already, we’re just asking a question.” His friend said.

You ignored them.

“Look, you’re not even real Na’vi!” Ao’nung says before his hand charged to grab at Kiri’s hand just in time for you to see.

You hissed loudly, dashing in front of Kiri to smack Ao’nung’s hand away from her. Ao’nung didn’t seem bothered, in fact, you thought it only motivated him more to see you that angry.

“Oh, oh.” His friends taunted, then Ao’nung successfully grabbed your wrist, his hold was unyielding as you tried to tug it away from him. “Let. Go. Of Me.” You said through gritted teeth, staring him down.

He looked entertained as he held your wrist up. “I don’t think so, four fingered f—"

“Hey! Back off fish lips!” You and Kiri’s head turn to see Lo’ak walaking towards you.

Ao’nung got distracted so you successfully tore your arm off his hold.

“Aw, another four fingered freak.” He now focused on Lo’ak.

“And look at his little tail!” The other said, tugging on Lo’ak’s tail, prompting Lo’ak to push the other Metkayina away. They began laughing “Look at that baby tail.”

You were not letting Lo’ak get into a fight again.

“Leave us alone!” You shout, trying to push Ao’nung off Lo’ak when Ao’nung turned to you, he acted like he was about to give you a shove when Neteyam suddenly appeared, him being the one to shove Ao’nung away from you.

“You heard what she said, leave them alone.” Neteyam’s voice threatened, pointing at Ao’nung’s chest.

“Back off. Now.” Neteyam warned, a slight hiss to his tone. Ao’nung did what he was told, holding his arms up as he walked back.

“Smart choice,” Said Neteyam before glancing at the rest of his friends “and from now on, I need you to respect my sisters.”

The other Metkayina hissed, while Kiri darted her tongue out at them, and you gave a teasing tight-lipped smile to Ao’nung.

“Let’s go.”

You all began to walk away when they snickered behind you. “Look at them, they’re all freaks, the whole family of ‘em.”

Seems like that was the last straw for Lo’ak as he turned back around on his heel again to approach the group, making you stop in your tracks.

“Lo’ak.” Neteyam called. He knew what his little brother was about to do.

“I got this, bro.”

You and Neteyam look at each other before looking back at Lo’ak.

“What is he doing…” You mumble to yourself.

“I know this hand is funny,” Lo’ak started showing his hand, especially his pinky finger. “Look, I’m a freak. Alien.”

At what Lo’ak said, they started laughing at him again, Ao’nung looked smug, which you just wanted to smack him in the face.

“But it can do something really cool,” Lo’ak continued. He balled his fist, “Watch, first I ball it up really tight like this… Kay? Then—“

You were taken aback as Lo’ak landed a punch on Ao’nung’s face, him being stunned for a second.

Lo’ak took the advantage, landing two more punches on him which sent him tumbling back on the sand.

“It’s called a punch, bitch!” Lo’ak growled. “Don’t ever touch my sisters again.”

The feeling of amusement quickly faded as Ao’nung’s group hissed at Lo’ak, then Ao’nung lunged at him, tackling him towards the ground.

“Ow! Ow!” Lo’ak screamed as he was pulled by his tail, he scurried to get up only to get slapped by the other boy with his tail on the cheek.

You and Kiri stood stunned.

Then Neteyam came forward. “Neteyam—” You called but he was already at the scene, delivering a knee to the gut to one of Ao’nung’s friends. Then they were both tackled to the ground. It was a blur of events.

“Stop!” You spoke. “So stupid!” Kiri added.

“Ow! My tail!” Lo’ak screamed as he was again pulled by his tail, but he retaliated by grabbing the opponent’s ear. “Ow, my ear! Let go!!”

As much as you hated seeing your brothers get beat up, it was an amazing sight to see. Especially you could see how beaten Ao’nung looked. Serves him right.

You and Kiri stifled your laughter at them.

By the looks of things, your two skxawng of a brother were winning.

But the fun had to end.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

You walked towards your Marui, followed by Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Jake.

“What was the one thing I asked?” Started Jake, looking at his sons. You stood to the side; your head bowed. “The one thing?”

“Stay out of trouble.” Lo’ak answered.

“Stay out of trouble.” Jake repeated.

Neteyam stepped up. “It was my fault.”

“I don’t think so- you gotta stop taking the heat for this knucklehead.” At the mention of ‘knucklehead’ Jake turns to look at Lo’ak.

Lo’ak looked at you before glancing back at his father. “Look, dad, Ao’nung was picking on (Y/N) and Kiri, called them freaks.”

With that, your head perked up as you feel your father’s eyes on you. “Is this true?”

You could only nod.

Jake gritted his teeth. “Go apologize to Ao’nung.”

“What?”

“He’s the chief’s son, do you understand?” Jake said. “I don’t care how you do it, just apologize.”

Lo’ak bit the inside of his cheek before he stormed off.

“For you, (Y/N). See if you can patch up the kid.”

“But wh—”

“Set things aside, you’re the best healer we’ve got. I’m sure the chief and the Tsahik would appreciate it. Just remember, if he tries anything funny, you’re out of there.”

You tried to hiss at your father for making him ask you to do that, but you just bit your tongue, scrambling to get your bowl and the materials needed, before grumbling your way out of the Marui.

Neteyam watched, as much as he wanted to stop you from going, he couldn’t speak up to his father. He then started to walk out of the tent, but his dad stopped him.

“Hey.” Neteyam turns around to meet his father. “So, what’d the other guys look like?”

“Worse.” Neteyam answered. “That’s good.”

With that, Neteyam’s energy picked up as he smiled proudly. “A lot worse.”

“Alright, get outta here.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

With every step you took felt like a death sentence.

You carried your bowl, already prepared with the paste you used to treat wounds back in the Omatikaya clan.

Soon enough, you approach the Marui of the chief.

With a deep breath, you slowly walked in.

It revealed Ao’nung sitting down while the Tsahik, Ronal seemed to be glaring at him as Tonowari stood tall, also carrying the glint of disappointment in his eye. But it was quick to disappear once he spots you.

“Jake Sully’s kid, (Y/N), what are you here for?”

“Olo’eyktan, Tsahik.” You greet with a bow. You could feel Ao’nung’s eyes on you.

With a deep breath, you tightened your grip on your bowl. “My father has asked for me to treat your son. I am most skilled in healing back in Omatikaya.” You held your words perfectly.

Ronal was looking at you now, you could feel your hair rising from the way she looked.

Tonowari seemed to appreciate the effort.

“That is a great gesture. But first I have to apologize in behalf of my son, I did not expect him to act this way.”

You felt somewhat relieved as you nod. “It is appreciated, Olo’eyktan.”

Tonowari turns toward Ronal. “Our son is in good care now, we must run through our duties for the day.”

He walks out and Ronal followed but stopped next to you.

You almost gulped as you turned to face her.

Ronal stared at you before she closed her eyes and nodded at you before leaving you with Ao’nung.

You were certainly terrified of the Tsahik.

But now you shifted your attention to the boy in front of you, he was still sat, looking at you.

“I don’t like this any more than you do. I’m only here because my father has asked me to, when you know very well I wouldn’t waste my time with you.” You firmly said, sitting on his side as you placed the bowl beside you.

Ao’nung, for the first time stayed silent.

You dipped your fingers in the paste, reaching up to his face but he tilted his head back.

Huffing in annoyance, you moved to sit up. “If you don’t want my help then I’ll just go back to my brothers. They need me more than you.”

“No.”

You furrowed your brows, sitting back down.

This time, he let you apply the paste to the arch of his brow, he hissed for a moment but breathed out instead.

He looked like he was searching for words to say.

“I’m sorry.”

You paused, your index and middle finger stuck on his brow.

“Again?” You said, looking at him.

He was about to reply with another sarcastic quip of his but he decided against it, wanting to really talk with you this time, seriously.

“I said I’m sorry.”

You were taken aback, but you nodded. “I thought I’d have to meet Eywa first before I can hear you say that.” You joked.

Ao’nung half-heartedly chuckled at your remark.

“But I do not know if you really mean that.” You say, now continuing to apply the paste to his injuries.

“I do mean it.” He says, staring at you.

You looked at him, this time you only realized how stunning he looked.

For Ao’nung, seeing your face this close sent his thoughts on a frenzy, were you really this breathtaking before?

“But that still doesn’t justify the way you treated us. Why must you hate us this much?” You say, removing eye contact with him to focus on his wounds.

“I do not- I do not hate you.” He said.

“Then why treat us like this? Calling us a freak. I know we’re different, laced with demon blood- but we’re still the same as you, we grew up here in Pandora, we eat the same, we work the same as you do. How are we any different as a Na’vi?”

Ao’nung was silent again. You were right. It was the first time someone talked to him like that and it stunned him.

“Forgive me. I do not know what else is out there, I’ve only been used to the ocean, with our people. Seeing you guys felt different.”

You understood his side. This time, you applied a cooling paste to his bruises to lessen the pain.

“So you don’t hate me?” You asked.

“No. But I understand if you hate me.” Ao’nung said.

You sigh. “I only acted like this because of how you did. But hey,” you offered your clean hand to him with a smile.

“Since we now understand where we came from, I hope this can give us a fresh start. Truce?”

Ao’nung looked at your hand before looking at you.

He shook your hand softly, squeezing. It sent some kind of electric shock into his veins straight to his heart. He liked the idea.

When you felt Ao’nung’s hand grip yours, you instantly felt relieved, a slight purple hue tinting your cheeks as he gave your hand a light squeeze.

“Truce.”

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southernbluebellereader · 5 months

Text

Being Chosen...By A Baby

Lt. Simon "Ghost" Riley x F! Single Mom (COD MW(2/3))

Warning: Fluffy stuff, Baby Fever, MAJOR BABY FEVER

Summary: Simon Riley isn't too particular about babies, until he meets yours.

Word Count: ~1,670 words

Master List | Tag List Request (Tag List At The Bottom)

A/N: I loved writing this, it's been on my mind for a while. I didn't like the ending because I didn't know how to end it lol

Edit: Pronouns and names were all over the place but it should be fixed lmao thanks for letting me know

Imagine being chosen by someone. Someone intentionally looking at you and thinking - contemplating, deciding - and choosing to pick you. It’s as simple as picking you to ask for directions, ordering a cup of coffee, and begging to touch your skin.

But it’s something special when someone as small as a little child is looking at you and choosing you. No one knows what goes on in their mind, behind those curious eyes, those rosy and chubby cheeks, that little button nose, that babbling little mouth with teeth fighting to make way. No one knows what those cute little chubby cherubs think when they decide to reach out to grab anything and everything in sight.

The grip of a child is mightier than anyone Lieutenant Simon Riley has ever seen.

Lieutenant Simon Riley - the infamous Ghost. He’s not supposed to exist. The enigma.

Yet… out of anyone who could have found him and had a mighty grip on his gray fleece jacket was your little chunky cherub made of a can of Pillsbury crescent rolls, looking at him with big curious eyes, absorbing information like a sponge. Your little infant son of nine months old, sitting comfortably in a little wrap carrier so that he can comfortably lay against your chest, he has seen Simon and reached out and grabbed a little handful of his gray fleece jacket with no intention of letting go.

It was a quick day for you so you didn’t need the baby carriage today, the wrap keeping your son against your chest would suffice, you liked having your baby against your chest anyways. In the city, it was easy to get around by walking and public transport, but you needed something in the next town over so you had to take the train. The platform for the train was nearly empty, you were early, so you had some time to yourself and your little boy giggling and babbling away, occasionally wiping his nose and talking to him about the plans for the day.

Slowly but surely, people started to pile in as the time went on, the train would be arriving soon.

Even a ghost needs a place to stay, right. On the occasion that he is home, he tends to stay out of his home, usually to replace food that had spoiled while he was gone. Simon arrived at the train station and waited on the platform. It wasn’t too cold, but chilly enough to wear his gray fleece jacket.

It was nice and quiet until more people started to pile up onto the train station. Usually he didn’t mind until people started to get into his personal space, which rarely happened anyways. Even in more civilian clothes, in a place where people barely recognize him, despite him living there, people tend to stay away from people who look mysterious.

As more people pile into the station, he slowly moves towards the center of the station. Huffing slightly to himself, he glances slightly at the giant clock. The train would be arriving soon. As he waited, he’d hear bits and pieces of conversations from people about their lives.

He didn’t mind it, he felt more human.

After a while, he heard something he didn’t hear often.

An animal?

No.

A baby.

The baby seemed to continue to babble, getting louder as he moved again. For some reason it made him curious. It’s not that he wasn’t fond of children, his childhood was pretty fucked up, but a child was an innocent being in this cruel world. Sometimes he wondered what he’d be like if he’d spent more time around children - or what things would be like if he had children.

But that’s just a random thought in his mind. A man like Lieutenant Simon Riley - with the sins and atrocities he’s been through and committed, he has no business having children. He is the one mothers tell their children to stay away from. He is the boogeyman underneath a child’s bed.

Hearing the babbling again, he instinctively turns his head and looks around for a moment, then looks down, seeing the source of this little creature.

An infant child, probably no more than 9 months old, a drool covered fist in his mouth, the other arm flailing in every direction. And you, holding your child wrapped in a long cloth and tied around your waist, Simon couldn’t figure out how you held the chunky child on your chest with just a scarf.

You were on the phone with someone talking about baby related things. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and your baby. Such a mundane sight. A mother and her child. He glanced at your hand caressing your child’s chubby and rosy cheeks. No ring. Single mom? No wait, that’s rude.

Cracking a small smile at the sight, he looked at the child for a moment, finding amusement in how you tried to sooth your child as you talked on the phone, swaying your hips slightly. You kept your eyes on your little cherub the entire time, playing with your son’s cheeks, making him giggle and smile, occasionally acknowledging him, calling him your honey bun.

Then you got caught up with your conversation and looked away. Your child looked around for a moment, content and happy. Simon didn’t know what he found so amusing and intriguing about this child. When he thought about children, he thought of crying little messes, unruly children, little rascals who were nothing but trouble.

This little dough-boy? He had an urge to just poke his little rosy cheeks. You were holding your son, Simon practically stood right next to you but he couldn’t tell you what you were talking about. Your little cherub had dampened his senses.

More people started to fill the train station. The train would soon arrive. Simon was practically next to you. At this point, he didn’t mind being next to you and your baby. As more people surrounded the three of you, you glanced up at Simon and smiled sheepishly and mouthed ‘Sorry’ in an attempt to apologize in case she’d bumped into him. Simon saw as you wrapped your free arm tighter around your baby that was tightly wrapped against your chest.

It’s ok. You’re fine. He didn’t even know you, but he didn’t want anything to happen to you or your baby.

He knew the train would be arriving soon so he looked up at the time and looked to see if the train would be coming soon. Staring was rude. He had manners.

Not even a moment passed after he looked away did he feel a slight tug on his arm. Suddenly aware of his surroundings he looked down again. Your little munchkin demanded attention from the behemoth of a man named Simon. You were still on the phone, looking away.

Simon smiled at the sight and sighed in relief. You little rascal. Their eyes met, for such a cute little thing, your son looked at Simon intently, studying him. Simon was wondering what he was thinking. The little hand that had such a strong grip on his fleece jacket tugged at him to come closer.

“Curious little thing, aren’t you?” Simon said, using his other hand to wave at your child, making him smile slightly and let out a gleeful sound.

You turned your head at the sound and laughed at the sound of your son laughing, then blushed when you realized he was pulling on Simon’s sleeve. She quickly said her good-bye on the phone and hung up, then looked up at Simon, smiling sheepishly.

“I-I’m sorry, sir-” You gently pulled on your baby’s arm to try and get him to let go of his arm.

Simon let out a small chuckle as he waited patiently, smiling at the sight, “It’s fine. He’s got a mighty grip, alright.”

You chuckled as your child started babbling at Simon, as if he could be understood, refusing to let go despite your attempt to make him unhand Simon, “Once they got you, they don’t want to let go.”

You glanced up at Simon, seeing a small smile on the man. He reached up also with his free hand and gently held the child’s wrist, “I ain’t going anywhere, you can let go of me now. I think we’re going on the same train.”

Your child finally let go but continued to try and reach out for Simon, instantly taking a liking to him. You sighed as you looked up at Simon, the train finally approaching, “I’m sorry again, sir-”

“It’s fine, really. You’ve got a cute one.” Simon smiled at you and your child, who was still mesmerized by him.

You smiled up at him in return, glancing down at your son, then back up at Simon, “Haha yeah, he is something.”

Once the train doors opened, people quickly exited the train as quickly as people entered.

“This is my train-” You looked up at him and then toward the train, then attempted to walk forward. But people rushed around them. You kept your arms around your child and Simon felt the need to stay close, this way people would actually walk around you as you and Simon stepped into the train.

Once inside, you found a seat and sighed as you sat down. The seats filled up quickly and Simon ended up sitting opposite of you and your baby.

Smiling awkwardly at each other, you apologized again for your son grabbing onto him.

“It’s fine, really. I like his determination.” Simon looked at him as you turned slightly so Simon could see her son’s face, who smiled when he saw Simon again. “What’s his name?”

“Joseph. But I think he likes being called Joey.” You said as she caressed little Joey’s cheek as he cooed at Simon.

Simon gave her and Joey a genuine smile this time. Joseph… Tommy’s son…

“I’m Simon, what’s your name?” He looked up at her.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

Tag List:

@ateliefloresdaprimavera @galagcica @sweetybuzz25 @wisedinosaurpolice @itsasecrets-things @ronbon @lieutenantlashfaz @piper570 @shuttlelauncher81 @thanksbutno98 @gabriellathegreat @kult6 @loadedberetta @sarahs-secrets2 @whore4dilfs @addy3114 @ollie71526483 @blueoorchid

#cod #call of duty #call of duty mw #call of duty mwii #call of duty mw2 #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod platonic #ghost x reader #fan fic #fan fiction #simon #riley #lieutenant simon riley #riley x reader

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lincolndjarin · 5 months

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty eight : a place for us

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ☆ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 8.4k

summary : the not so secret happily ever after.

warnings: language, fluff, mild angst, pregnancy, smut, din has a lot of insecurities, they're having a couple of problems but the biggest one is lack of communication, breeding kink, pregnancy sex, oral f!recieving, p in v sex, masturbation, creampie, come eating, din comes really fast but it's sweet, nongraphic childbirth, domestic bliss, ro making things up about star wars lore

a/n: this is it my loves, i truly hope that this is the ending people wanted. i'm extremely happy with it and i'm extremely emotional so im gonna go sit down lmao.

☆

You’d spent the better half of the day trying to get on top of him.

Every time you managed to get close he’d simply set you down on the nearest surface with a kiss on the cheek and go back to doing whatever he was working on.

You haven’t had sex.

Not since everything happened.

You’ve tried, a few times but it never seemed right, you always asked if you could stop, opting to just lay together instead. You were making yourself sick with worry that he was unsatisfied so you took a day off from the meetings and the royal duties to just stay in the cabin and watch him work.

You just want to do something nice for him.

He does everything.

He cooks your meals, he rubs your feet, he spends his entire day working, he’s nearly tripling the cabin in size, and he does it all on one leg.

Well, not technically on one leg, he has the prosthetic but still. He hobbles with no complaints around the house and all you do is sit all day in the castle, talking.

So you try. All day.

Until the two of you are getting ready for bed.

“Come on. Seriously, I'm fine.” You put your hands on his shoulders as he got into bed beside you.

“Stop trying to seduce me.” He kisses your temple, rolling you onto your side as he fills in the space behind you. “You don’t need to force it.” He lifts his bottom half onto the bed, carefully removing the steel leg, setting it onto the floor next to him. One of the only pieces of his Mandalorian days he chose to keep. He had all of his armor melted down, save for his helmet, some of it was forged into a new leg, but the majority was given to the foundlings.

“I’m serious! I’m in the mood.” You aren’t and he knows it, so any efforts to roll over and face him are stopped as he wraps his arms around you, one hand resting protectively over your stomach.

“You’re not.”

“I’m desperate for it.” You whine loudly but he only laughs, his nose bumping against the back of your neck.

“Go to sleep.” You can hear the grin in his voice.

You wait a moment in the silence.

“Are you sure?” You start trying to turn again.

“I swear to the Maker-”

“Okay! Sorry!”

Maybe it was hormones, or maybe it was just everything that had happened. But during your first trimester no matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t seem to find the energy to be physical with him. It was as if your libido vanished entirely. You tried several times but he always just kissed your forehead and told you to relax.

“You’ve given me everything I have ever wanted, I need nothing else from you.” He laughs against your spine as he kisses you there.

“You’re sure?”

“What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m fine?”

“Let me take care of you…” You whine, trying to push back against him as he holds you in place.

“Stop worrying about me.” He continues to chuckle, hot against your skin as he kisses your cheek before pulling the quilt up over you both, it only takes a few minutes for him to start snoring behind you.

☆

You want to completely disassemble the monarchy.

Din wants you to be as relaxed as possible during your pregnancy.

Neither one of you has been getting what you want. Turns out being queen doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want, there are limits, limits that have you arguing with your dearly departed husband's family most days.

You spend the better part of the next month in and out of the throne room, looking down at the table Kodo’s family set up below the throne. You argue over everything, you want to destroy everything that they stand for and obviously they don’t agree.

So you have to compromise.

At the end of the day it ends up being better than nothing.

The royal family no longer has any political power over Naboo citizens, but they get to keep their titles, including your own. They’re ceremonial now.

The royal family can no longer collect taxes from the people but they get to keep all their funds currently in the vaults.

The people get to vote in new leaders but the royal family gets to have automatic representation on the council.

It’s a give and take but when you finally get a chance to walk through the city with Din the people look happy and you can’t help but feel a rush of pride at the little changes. The little smiles you see every now and then, the way people stop to talk to each other, the way people look at you.

It’s different.

It’s happier, it feels safer.

It makes spending your first trimester with the Harand’s completely worth it.

And it’s a good thing you came to an agreement and got everything sorted out when you did because you don’t want to get out of bed most days during your second trimester.

You feel great, no more nausea and your energies even up.

You’re just so kriffing horny.

Morning, noon, and night.

Din’s finished the added rooms in the cabin so you’re both tasked with getting everything in order in your own room and in the nursery but you don’t let him get much done.

If you had any worries about leaving him unsatisfied those first few months they’re gone after the first week of your second trimester, you’re more than making up for it. You’re actually worried about him keeping up with you.

Of course having a bed you love helps. It was the first thing Din made when he started working on the cabin. A bed that wasn’t too big but fit you both perfectly, and you make sure to put it to good use.

It came on suddenly in the last week of your first trimester.

You had woken up early one morning craving something you hadn’t wanted in quite some time. So you rolled over, tracing a finger along his bare chest until his eyes fluttered open, his breath hitching as he gave you a sleepy smile.

“Morning.” His voice in the mornings always reminded you of how he used to sound through the modulator, low and raspy.

“Good morning.” You whispered back, letting your hand drag down his stomach until he stopped you, kissing your forehead, you shuffled towards him, feeling his cock hardening against your hip. You furrow your brow in confusion as he starts getting up. “Is something wrong?”

“You don’t need to force it for my sake.” You know he isn’t upset, he’s never voiced concerns about your sex life but he’s convinced himself that you just don’t have a sex drive right now. When in reality you’ve woken up almost painfully needy.

“Din-“ You start, reaching towards him.

“Sarad.” He took your hand in his as he situated his leg.

“Do you still want me?” You won’t be upset if he says no, after all you haven’t wanted him very much recently.

“Always. But I’m not gonna let you pretend for my sake. Your hormones are different now, maybe after the baby is born you’ll feel a little different, if not, I’ll still be sleeping here next to you every single night. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

“But-“

“I’m gonna take a shower.” He kissed your hand and left the room, leaving you hot between your thighs and suddenly worried that he’d never believe you were ready.

You had brushed him off and been clearly uncomfortable often enough now that he had resigned himself to making no more attempts.

He took a lot of showers.

And you could pretend you didn’t hear him groaning your name through the door but it still sent a pang of guilt through you that no amount of reassurance could change.

You hear the water turn on as you lay back in bed with a frustrated sigh.

You have the galaxy's most devoted husband, you could tell him you never wanted to touch him again and he’d never ask why. He’d simply love you from a little further away, and you love him with all of your heart for that but in that moment you just wanted to be fucked.

So you rolled over and stuck your hand in your nightstand drawer, searching for the cold metal of the vibrator you’d bought ages ago. When you finally found it you experimentally tested the buttons, grinning when you realized it still worked. You set up some pillows against the headboard to lean against them, bending your legs at the knee as you reach under your nightgown, finding your thighs sticky, your panties doing nothing to contain the arousal coursing through you.

For a second you’re worried you’ve forgotten how to do it but the moment you switch on the toy it’s like riding a bike. The motions, the patterns, all of it comes rushing back and in just a few shakey breathes you're already on edge.

You can hear him over the buzzing, you hear a few thuds, closing your eyes you imagine him on the other side of the wall.

Without his helmet.

You haven’t been able to think about him like that since he abandoned his creed, now it’s all you can think about.

His hand up against the tile, steadying him. The other wrapped around that pretty cock of his. You turn up the vibrator as you picture the water cascading down his skin, making his curls straighten out as he pulls back his foreskin, his pretty pink tip’s probably leaking down his shaft.

“Din-” You whisper to yourself, focusing on the grunt you can hear faintly followed by the strained sound of your name. Your stomach tightens. His eyes are probably squeezed tightly shut, creasing in the corners as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “Din, please.”

“Kriff.” He hisses out loud enough for you to hear clear as day.

You hear him stifle a moan, is he biting his own hand? You decide it’s for the best that you do that now as well, covering your mouth with your palm. You chase the tightening in your stomach, dipping the toy into the wetness pooling at your entrance and back up to your clit. You’re so focused on getting off that it barely even registers when the water turns off in the other room.

“Fuck-” You whine softly, turning it up one more setting.

You open your eyes when the door creaks open, Din stepping back into the bedroom with a towel held loosely around his waist. You squeeze your thighs together, your eyes watering as a gasp is forced out of your stomach, your body convulsing briefly.

Maker, you’re more pent up than you thought.

You wet your lips with your tongue as his grip on the towel tightens, his eyes go wider than you’ve ever seen them and he coughs.

“M’gonna go make breakfast.” He manages to mumble out as the tips of his ears burn up, he gets dressed rather hastily before rushing out of the room.

When you go to the dresser to find something to wear you pick something that rides up on your stomach. You don’t really have a bump yet, Din insists that he can tell, often kissing you just above your belly button when he does but you don’t really notice a difference.

You meander out into the kitchen, already having to yank down the front of your top.

Maker, maybe you are showing.

You innocently look through the conservator as he sets the table, frowning as he pouts himself a mug of caf. You’ve been wanting some for weeks but he won’t let you have so much as a sip.

��I think I’m gonna make some cinnamon rolls tonight.” You sit down at the table as he sets a plate of buttered bread with meat and eggs.

“That sounds lovely.” He kisses the top of your head, bringing you a glass of juice and a few vitamins before sitting beside you. “Do you need me to go into the city and get anything for you?”

“No, I think I’ve got everything I need. What are you doing today?”

“House work. I need to fix a few things and install the heaters, it’s gonna be cold when the baby gets here.” You’re rather excited for winter, you haven’t seen snow since you left Hoth. It’s already started to chill outside. Naboo has long autumns and you aren’t due until the winter.

“Do you need any help with that?” You ask as you take a bite of the rich dense bread, already knowing the answer.

“No, you just relax today.” Ever since you finished all your royal business Din hasn’t let you do any work around the house.

“I got that package from Elaine a few days ago, I could finally unpack everything.” You nod towards the crate in the living room and he’s already shaking his head.

“I can do that when I finish up the heat-“

“I can’t just sit around all day everyday.” You point your fork at him as he gives you an apologetic look.

“You could if you wanted to.” He says hopefully before you flick a piece of sausage at him. He easily catches it out of the air, popping it into his mouth.

“Oh and we should have sex tonight.” You try to say it as casually as possible but he immediately chokes on his food, coughing briefly before clearing his throat and taking a sip from his mug.

“Mesh’la, how many times do I have to tell you not to worry about that.”

“It’s not for your sake, it’s for mine.” You’re not even halfway done with your breakfast as he takes his last bite. Quickly standing and rushing his dishes to the sink.

“We’ll talk about it later, I gotta get started on some stuff.” He’s walking around you carefully, avoiding your angry glare as he makes a hasty escape towards the third bedroom.

“If you don’t listen to me I’m not letting you pick the middle name!” You yell after him but all you get in return is a muffled chuckle.

You finish your breakfast, taking your time as you chew, feeling rather frustrated despite the orgasm you already gave yourself less than an hour ago.

The third room is currently your makeshift laundry room, you keep anything that doesn’t have a proper place in there. Currently Din is fixing the window in there so you take it upon yourself to do a load of laundry. You empty the washer, filling it again as you turn on both machines.

“Mind if I watch you for a bit?” You smile at him as he nods, wiping a bead of sweat from his hairline. You take the opportunity to hop up on the dryer when he turns back to his work.

You close your eyes, letting your head roll to the side a bit as you lean forward. You smile to yourself, a wave of deja vu washes over you as you think of everytime you’ve teased him prior. You get lost in the memory of the two of you in the library, you briefly forget your goal entirely as you rock yourself back and forth, humming softly to yourself.

Your thoughts eventually drift to how he had touched you that night and when you finally come to your senses your face is hot as your fingers grip your thighs. When you look at din he’s staring at you slack jawed.

He clears his throat, his face going red as he quickly goes back to work, finishing up quickly before getting ready to leave.

“Help me down?” You hold your arms out to him and you swear he gulps as he steps over the laundry basket to grab you under your arms, setting you down.

“All good?” His voice is strained as he watches you nod.

“Perfect.”

Except it isn’t perfect.

The bastard remained unconvinced.

And you remain frustrated out of your mind.

He takes a break after installing the heating system, when he sits on the sofa, sipping a glass of water you take it upon yourself to finally go through the baby clothes Elaine sent you. The large crate is marked with a calligraphed L&E. You carefully break open the top, opening the envelope placed on top of the many fabrics. You can’t help but smile when you see who it’s addressed to.

Princess,

Is it still princess? ‘Queen’ seems like a bit much, although you should have seen the High Magistrates' face when we told him the Mandalorian married royalty.

He wants to visit when the little one is born but unfortunately we won’t be joining him. Elaine’s a bit sensitive to the cold but we’ll see you when it warms up. She’s terribly excited to be a godmother, even if she doesn’t show it. When Din told her the sex she started sewing immediately. Took two weeks for her to make all this, you can expect more soon. She can’t seem to help herself, our house is full of tiny socks and hats.

The shop’s doing well. Karga alone buys enough clothes to keep us in business but things are good. I still don’t know how Elaine sews as much as she does or as well as she does but she hasn’t slowed down since we moved.

She misses you, even if she acts all tough about it. I miss you too, we’ll visit as soon as it’s spring.

Send pictures of the nursery when it’s finished.

Love, Lysa

You look down at the contents and are taken aback at the sheer amount of baby clothes you’re faced with. You grab the first thing that catches your eye, little green overalls.

“Oh my gods.” You hold them up for him to see. Din’s gaze goes soft as he stares at the fabric. He slides off the sofa to sit on the floor beside you, taking them as you begin looking through the rest of the clothes.

“Are you sure he’s gonna fit in these? They look small.” He holds the overalls in front of his face as you fish out a handful of striped socks.

“That’s how big newborns are, my love. He’s gonna be small.” You unfold a large patchwork quilt, marveling at the craftsman ship as Din gives you a skeptical look.

“These are just so… tiny.” You laugh a bit at the sudden anxiety in his voice.

“I thought Grogu was a baby? You should know how small babies are, how old was he when you found him?”

“Fifty.” You shove his arm.

“Funny.” You stop laughing the second you find a little gray hat with black yarn patterns. “Maker, you’re gonna die when you see this.” You flip it around in your hands, showing him the mock design of his helmet, the thin cross of his visor.

“No kriffing way.” He takes it from you as you fight off a grin.

☆

When you’ve finished going through everything Din packs it all back up, taking it to the nursery as you bake, simultaneously trying to think of different ways to seduce your riduur.

You shoo him away when he tries to help, eventually he settles on sitting on the couch. Reading from where he can see you.

You’re strongly considering just getting “stuck” in the washer and calling him to help you, you’re pretty sure you saw that in a holo at one point.

By the time you finish baking you still have nothing, taking them out of the oven and icing them before placing one on a plate and making your way over to him. You pull yourself up into his lap, gently taking his book and setting it down beside you.

“Mesh’la.” He says in a stern tone, his voice wavers a bit as he struggles to keep his composure.

“I thought you like my baking?” You pout and somehow he falls for it.

Pregnancy has made him even more infatuated with you, if that’s even possible. He’s somehow more gentle with you than ever before.

“Of course I do.” He mumbles sweetly, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. You tear off a chunk of the pastry, something you’ve done before, and bring it to his lips.

“Open.” You say sternly and he immediately does, letting you feed him. If it’s possible for a man to be both extremely relaxed and extremely stressed out then that’s what Din currently is.

You stay in his lap.

Feeding him until the plate is empty, he even licks your fingers clean and you’re so mesmerized by the plush softness of his mouth that you can’t help yourself.

You fall forward into him, and he flinches.

He never flinches.

You immediately back up, crawling off his lap as you give him a look of concern, trying to figure out if you’ve hurt him.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” He swallows, avoiding eye contact.

“Don’t be sorry.” You whisper it, leaning forward, resting your head on his shoulder, he takes your hand in yours.

“I just- I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this for me.”

“Why are you so insistent that I don’t want you?” You finally just tear the band aid off.

Silence.

Briefly, you know he’s deciding if he should say it or not.

“You stopped wanting to have sex when I took the helmet off.” He blurts out and you nearly fall off the couch at the absurdity of his reasoning.

“Din that has noth-“

“And it’s fine. There’s no reason for you to pretend to be attracted to me just for the sake of my ego. You can love me without loving,” He gestures at himself. “this.”

It makes you want to cry.

To think that he thought you were withholding your affections because you didn’t like how he looked. It makes you even more upset to know that he was okay with that, he was willing to live a life believing that to be true and simply never touch you like that again.

“Look, I still have the helmet, we’re going to make this work.” He whispers. His leg bounces up and down until he suddenly stands. “Give me a minute?” He’s already headed for the door. You sit there, a little stunned.

You decide to give him space, you can talk when he comes to bed. You dress in a thin brown camisole and green panties, you try to make yourself look nice, hoping maybe he’ll relax at the sight of it but based on the look he gives you when he comes into the bedroom you’re a little worried it’s having the opposite effect.

“I love you and-” You start but he just collapses into bed next to you.

“Please- mesh’la I can’t, this torment is unbearable.” His hands clutch the fabric of your clothes, his fingers trembling. “You’re making this extremely difficult for me.” He’s downright flushed as he pleads with you.

“I won’t stop until you believe me.” You insist further as he sinks his eyes into you, his pupils swollen and frantically searching your face as he swallows loudly. “You couldn’t be more beautiful to me. It had nothing to do with you, I just- I needed a little time after everything.” You whisper sharply, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. “I’ve been waiting to wake up. I keep thinking you’re gonna disappear and I’m going to lose you all over again and none of that is your fault.” The room is quiet aside from your combined breathing.

“Are you sure? Really sure?” He’s speaking so quietly you barely hear him as his fingertips ghost the exposed skin under the bunched up fabric of your top.

“Look, I’m not going to force you to touch me, but I don’t know how else to get my point across and if you really want me to stop all of this then I will-“

“Don’t stop.” He whispers, barely audibly as his hands hold your face, lips pressed to yours. Your head falls back into the pillows as his mouth immediately makes a beeline south, kissing your sternum, you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him back up. “Please- I wanna taste-” He downright whines as you pull his bottom lip between your teeth.

“After.” You pant into his mouth. “I can’t wait, I need you.”

You do, terribly.

You guide his hand between your legs and his fingers push your panties to the side in an instant, his mouth falls open in a silent moan as he feels the wetness there. He eases a finger into you as you whine impatiently. “I don’t wanna wait-” You reach down to grab at his wrist but he just kisses you again to silence you.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” He mumbles, he listens to an extent, pushing in a second finger. The stretch is delicious. You feel like your skin is on fire as you try to push yourself further onto his hand.

“I don’t care, please Din I need you so bad. I need your cock.” Your brain is foggy, you're so turned on right now, you’d do anything to feel him inside you.

He nods, shoving his trousers down and pulling his shirt up over his head as you squirm out of your own clothing. Almost immediately he looks overwhelmed, his eyes don’t know where to settle as they make their way down your body. Finally he swallows, taking his cock in hand, tip pink and pretty as he strokes himself so you can see how he’s already leaking, just for you.

He eases himself into you, slow and steady as you try to stay still. It’s all too much, his thick length pressing deeper and deeper into you until you’re both gasping, forehead to forehead with him fully seated within your heat.

“Okay?” He manages to spit the words out despite the way his chest heaves as you nod.

“Din fuck me please I can take it.” You plead with him, he looks skeptical so you rock your own hips, it isn’t much but it’s enough to make your eyes roll back as you nudge him deeper.

“Look at me.” He whispers as you blink, trying to focus on the warmth in his eyes as he searches your expression for pain.

“You’re so pretty.” You mumble out. He looks a little surprised by the sentiment, his tongue poking out between his lips as he looks at you.

Has anyone ever told him that?

“Thank you.” Is the last thing he says before slamming his hips forwards, the head of his cock bumping against your cervix. His thrusts are erratic and needy as he watches your face intently. He’s so worked up and it’s been so long and the combination of it all has him practically whimpering against you within minutes.

“I can’t- I- It-” He begins to stammer, his lips are wet and swollen, his eyes fight to stay open, pupils darting everywhere like he’s trying to take in as much as he possibly can as his cock pulses inside you.

You want him to come. You want to watch him, watch his face, as he finishes. You want to see him hot and desperate just for you, you want to know that you made him feel this good after just a few minutes.

“I wanna see, please, please Din.” You lay back, gasping with every stutter of his hips, taking in the sight as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I- I- kriff, love you so much.” He hisses out as his hands fist the sheets. The veins in his neck stick out as his mouth falls open, an obscene moan is ripped from him as he rocks his hips forward one last time, you can see where the two of you are connected. His cum spilling out around his length, forced out by the sheer girth of him. His breathing is staggered as he slumps forward, kissing you with a fire that you didn’t realize you missed so much.

He doesn’t kiss you nearly as much as you want before his mouth is already moving down your body, any complaints you have never make it past your lips. It feels too good when he touches you like this.

He squishes the bridge of his nose into your stomach, just below your belly button as he kisses the soft skin there. His mouth hasn’t even made its way between your legs yet and he’s moaning into your flesh, his fingers kneading the meat of your hips.

He pushes your thighs wider apart and you swear you see him drool at the view he’s presented with.

He looks up at you, his eyes wide and needy, waiting for permission. You nod a little too quickly and he dives into you. His tongue immediately works its way into your still dripping hole, he’s everywhere, precise and deliberate as he pushes his own seed back into you.

“So- fucking- good-” He mumbles to himself as if you aren’t even there before flattening his tongue against your clit, it’s enough to have your thighs closing around his head, the cool metal of his hearing aids stings your flesh as you come undone. Your vision goes white as you whine, high pitched and breathy.

He doesn’t stop for a second, eating like you’re a goddamn buffet. When you catch a glimpse of his face his jaw is slick with a combination of the two of you. His eyes are dark as your head falls back, you want so desperately to watch but it’s too much, all you can do is whimper and grip his hair.

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves until you’re coming all over again. You collapse back into the pillows, already exhausted but smiling so hard your face hurts. He sits back on his ankles, lifting your legs as he kisses your calves.

He’s perfect like this.

Tan, scarred body on display to you in the warm lamp light. Skin covered in a thin layer of sweat that makes his hair curl and stick to his forehead. His eyes are dark as his tongue pokes out, swiping across his lips to taste the remnants of you, his cock stands proud against his stomach, already hard and aching for you once more.

“Don’t relax just yet, I’m not done with you.” He mumbles into your tender flesh, hands grabbing your ankles as he yanks you forward, slotting himself between your legs again.

It’s a good thing because you certainly aren’t done with him, you can’t get enough of him for the next six months.

Further into your second trimester nothing’s changed. If anything you’re even more insatiable. If it was possible to get pregnant twice you’d have done it by now.

You also make a point to kiss his face as much as humanly possible, you can’t help but wonder if anyone else ever has.

He likes it in a way you aren’t yet familiar with, he leans into your lips at every opportunity, eager to feel your mouth against the apples of his cheeks, the sensitive skin of his eyelids, the sharp angle of his nose, and the prickles of the stubble on his chin.

And you are more than happy to indulge him.

☆

The third trimester wasn’t much better but you managed to better manage your time. You went on walks, even if they were short, you’d insist on walking around the gardens or the markets whenever you could.

You didn’t think it was possible but somehow Din’s become even more protective. If he had things his way you’d sit in the cabin all day while he stared at you from a few inches to your left.

With that sharp protectiveness has come a silence, it takes a few days for you to notice but you realize just how quiet he’s been. It’s subtle but you know something's off. Word’s become soft arm touches, he holds you a little tighter at night and he never asks if you need help anymore, he just does everything before you can even get to it.

It’s seemingly a couple of things.

You know something is bothering him but he’s become sort of shy.

When you walk the markets he’s still viewed as a member of your staff but you don’t hide things anymore. You’ll feed him by hand if you buy a snack cake, you’ll hold his arm as you walk. He’ll even kiss your forehead if the opportunity arises.

But he’s timid.

And it isn’t until you’re visiting Vivian that you realize what it is. You had been telling her about how hard it’s been for you to decide on a shade of green for the nursery when he had hidden his face in your hair. You had entangled your fingers in his and thought of it as nothing more than an act of affection from him but it started happening more often.

And then it clicked.

He only ever did it after being directly addressed, when people were looking at him. You finally brought it up one night when you’d been trying to get comfortable on the couch, your protruding stomach making it exceedingly difficult.

You’ve got two talking points to cover, the sudden shyness, and getting to the bottom of his silence, although you’ve got a sneaking suspicion as to what it’s about.

You eventually settled with your head in his lap and your feet up on the arm rest, smiling up at him as he played with your hair.

“You know you can wear the helmet when we go out if you want.” You finally blurt out as he gives you a confused look.

“Why would I do that?”

“Well I know that you still have it and you just seem a little… uncomfortable sometimes without it.”

“I thought you liked my face?” He says it with a teasing tone but it has you sitting up out of the position you struggled to find for so long.

“I love your face. But I also want you to be comfortable.” You press a long kiss into the coarse facial hair of his jaw, he’s been so busy with house work and you it’s gotten longer than you’ve ever seen or felt it.

“I’m comfortable with you.” He turns his face, nudging his nose against your lips until you kiss him there as well.

“I just noticed that you’ve been a little tense, especially during outings.” You tilt your head, giving him a lopsided smile as he stands, leaning down to cradle your face in his hands.

“I’m just not used to it, cyare.” He stands, examining the space in the room. “I want to put a fireplace in before the baby comes.” He mumbles as he moves the loveseat, making space against the wall.

You seize the opportunity, might as well kill two birds with one stone.

“Speaking of when the baby comes, I thought we were going to visit your little one at some point?”

His shoulders stiffen up for just a moment before he shrugs.

“I guess I’ve just had other things on my mind, nerves about the baby.” He doesn’t look at you, instead he measures the space on the wall with his hands.

“I thought you were excited to be a dad?”

“I am a dad, and I am excited.” He’s mumbling, he hasn’t talked about Grogu in ages and it’s making you worry.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not with me.”

He turns and stares at you for a moment before clearing his throat.

“I’m scared.” He sits back down beside you and you wrap your arms around him as best you can with your bump in the way.

“Of what?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I’m scared that the baby won’t like me, or that I’ll mess them up, or something like that.” It is so much easier to tell when he’s lying, now that you can see his face. You never would have thought his cheeks would get so rosy.

He’s a natural with kids and he’s been more excited than you are for the baby, he even spends all his free time embroidering the baby’s name into their clothes.

“Din.” You say sternly, pulling back to look at him.

He chews the inside of his cheek a bit.

He whispers something but he’s so quiet you can’t hear him.

“Din, please.” You take his head in your hands and force him to look at you.

“I’m scared that if we go to get Grogu he won’t want to come home with us.”

A pang of sorrow hits your heart.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Maybe he’s happy there, maybe he’s forgotten all about me.” He looks hurt in a way you’ve never seen him before, if you weren’t days away from your due date you’d get on a ship and take him to his boy right now.

“He hasn’t forgotten about you.” You take his hand.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you. And I know that I’d never forget you.” He still looks unsure as you stare into those sad eyes of his. “We have to at least try, it would be better to know. This baby already loves you, that’s enough of an indicator to me that Grogu feels the same.”

“You have no proof that this baby already loves me.” He finally cracks a smile at what you’re implying.

“Come here.” You lay your head back down in his lap, making a second desperate attempt to get comfortable. You grab his hand, lifting the fabric of your top until your stomach is exposed, placing his large palm over the swell of your belly. “Talk to him.”

“What am I supposed to say?” He’s looking at you like you’re insane but you just shrug.

“You talk to him all the time.”

“Yeah but you never put me on the spot like this.” With his freehand he rubs the back of his neck.

“Just do it.” He takes a deep breath, his thumb rubbing small circles into your skin.

“Hello ik’aad.” He says softly, looking up at you for approval as you nod. “I’m excited to meet you soon, little one.” You watch as the taut skin moves ever so slightly, a little kick against Din’s fingers. His eyes go wide as he sits there a little stunned, you put your hand over his.

“He does this most of the time when you talk to him. He likes your voice.”

“What else should I tell him about?”

“Anything.”

He smiles at you, the corners of his eyes crinkle before he smiles at your bump.

“We painted your crib today, we decided to leave the walls alone but we wanted something to be green.” He carries on excitedly as you continue to feel the little flutters within you. “And- and someday you’re going to share a room with your brother.” You smile as your little one reacts to his fathers voice, you sit up, facing him.

“No more worrying. And if you’re going to worry then I want you to tell me.” You kiss as much of his face as you can. “Okay? Do this for me, please?”

“Okay.” He nods as you give him one last kiss on the lips.

You move to sit between his legs like you used to in the nook, you find yourself a book as he puts his hands back on your bump while you read.

He spends the rest of the night talking to your stomach.

☆

Arin Kuiil Djarin (Harand) was born with a full head of hair. Dark, messy curls that you could make out even through your tears when he came into this world.

The future monarch. (A ceremonial position.)

A screaming ball of tears in your arms, crowned king from birth. A boy everyone knew as the only son of the recently departed Kodo Harand.

Your “royal advisor and personal guard” was beside you the entire time. Holding your hand and kissing your sweat slicked forehead as he whispered to you, telling you just how strong you were. It was one hell of a night but when the morning came suddenly you were parents to a strong, loud little boy.

Din held him first, after he cut the umbilical cord the doctor handed him to him. You watched as he cradled the tiny crying baby in his arms, shushing him softly as he rocked him. It took only a few whispers from his father before Arin calmed down, gasping faintly as Din slid into the bed next to you. You laid your head against his arm, unable to tear your eyes off of the tiny miracle.

“Do you wanna hold him?” Din’s voice cracks as he continues to stare at him.

You nod, a little scared about how small he is but you hold your hands out regardless as he carefully transfers him into the crook of your arm. You’re holding your breath as you look down at him.

When he’s safe in your arms he finally opens his eyes.

He is just a little copy of your riduur.

Dark curious eyes scanning your face as you burst into another wave of tears.

“He’s perfect.”

You both whisper at the same time, laughing softly. You hold him tightly, Din’s arms wrapped protectively around both of you.

Your entire universe in one little medcenter bed.

☆

You go on a lot of walks.

It helps you get out of the house and people love to see Arin. Din wears a baby carrier Elaine made with the little one strapped to his chest while you hold his hand. Everyone loves to see the little king, telling you that he’s such a good baby.

People often say he looks just like his father, you always laugh and smile at your brown haired boy.

He really does.

He acts just like his father too. Even as a baby you can see his personality shining through. He likes to fight you on a lot of things, mostly vegetables and wearing his socks, but he loves you endlessly, your little mama’s boy. You never thought you’d see the adoration from Din’s eyes in someone else's but here he is, smiling up at you like you’re the sun, just like Din.

Your son was one year old when you met your second son. (Technically your eldest.)

You had urged Din to go to him sooner but he always found excuses, finally he told you he wanted to wait until Arin was a little older. On his first birthday you finally convinced him, and your family took a trip to a planet called Ossus.

And you met a little boy who you loved as a son from the moment you met him.

He certainly wasn’t what you were expecting but the moment he saw Din you recognized the look in his eyes as the same look Arin gives him first thing in the morning. And from that moment on you knew he was yours.

You couldn’t ask for sweeter boys in your life.

You finally found your peace.

Your freedom.

Things are a little different now but you never find a reason to be upset about it. You just learn to live with it.

Sometimes Din has to cut up any fruits or vegetables you’re preparing for dinner because the wet slicing sound makes your heart race.

You sleep with a lamp on because Din trembles when a room goes completely dark, when he asks why you don’t turn it off you tell him you just like having it on because you know he’ll never tell you just how afraid he was when he was trapped beneath the stone and earth.

You wrap him in blankets when winter comes and cradle his head against your chest, desperate to keep him warm. You see the vacant look in his eyes when a chill settles in his bones. The moment you see him shiver you bundle him up and drag him to bed, warming him with gentle and precise kisses until his eyes soften up again.

Din always wakes you up if he’s leaving the room after you’ve fallen asleep. It doesn’t matter if he’s going to the fresher or if he’s going to grab the baby and come right back. Because he knows that if he isn’t there when you wake up, you will freeze up in terror and cry softly to yourself until he returns.

On stormy nights, when the wind blows a certain way that resembles a low wailing, Din will always find an excuse to send Lysa a transmission, asking how Elaine is doing.

You learn to live with the little thing’s because sometimes you can’t heal completely, but you live regardless. You have reasons to endure.

You endure for Din.

You endure for Grogu.

And you endure for Arin.

Din always says he was born to love you.

You agree but that wasn’t all he was born for, he was born to be a father.

Arin and Grogu taught you to be a mother, but Din was made for fatherhood.

That’s what you think about, as you sit in the loveseat by the fire, book in hand. You aren’t actually reading it, you’re too busy watching the scene on the floor in front of you. Your sons peek out of the pillow fort they’ve built against the sofa, Arin covering his mouth as he holds in a giggle, staring at you with his wide brown eyes. You give him a small wave, watching as he darts back inside.

“Are you staring at your mother, young man? Staring is very rude.” You hear Din’s voice from inside the fort, a large bump in the blanket roof where he sits. More giggles follow as he crawls back to the small entryway, you watch as he shrieks when Din drags him back into the fort, taking his place and mimicking the little boy as he stares at you.

He looks at you with a devotion that never wavers.

“You’re my creed. Everything I have, everything I am, it’s all for you. For both of you.”

He still tells you that often. Except now he says for all of you.

He crawls out of the fort, his face red from exertion as he makes his way over to your chair, like he’s under some sort of spell that pulls him towards you.

“How are my girls, buir sarad?” Din’s out of breath as he grabs the armrests of the chair, caging you in as he kisses you.

“Tired.” You grin at him as he kneels down in front of you, resting his forehead on the bump you’re cradling with your freehand. You set your book down on the end table next to you, content to watch as he knocks his nose against the strained fabric of your dress.

“Sarad’ika.” He smiles, kissing the top of your stomach, you don’t mind losing your nickname to someone it suits more. “Let me put them to bed, I’ll be right back.” His lips turn up as he stands, looking down at the two boys with drooping eyes and mouths open in yawns.

“Go with your buir now my loves, I’ll come tuck you in in a minute.” You groan as you stand, Din scooping up both babies with ease.

“Haav ca’nara.” Bed time. He whispers, carrying them towards the fresher, you hear the water run as he washes their little faces and brushes their teeth.

You tidy up, folding blankets and rearranging pillows as you hear water splashing from the other room followed by a loud sigh. You stifle a laugh as you watch your boys running from the fresher down the hall towards their room, a soaking wet Din soon follows. You continue to clean, waiting until it gets quiet before making your way out of the room. You walk past the nursery, empty and waiting for its next occupant, towards the door with the faint glow of a night light. Peering in from the doorway you see all your boys in one room.

Grogu and Arin lay in their respective beds, each is far too big for the small boys but they’ll grow into them. Grogu’s already asleep as Din kneels beside Arin’s bed, brushing a curl out of the little one's eyes.

“Goodnight, ik’aad.” He leans down, kissing his son's face, earning a sleepy smile from the boy.

“Night, buir.” He mumbles out, he doesn’t speak often, quiet like his father, but when he does it’s always clear.

Din smiles, standing, kissing your cheek as he passes you, going out into the main room to lock up as you make your way to Grogu’s bedside, watching his eyes flutter as you press a kiss into his wrinkly green forehead.

“Goodnight, my love.” You mumble before turning to Arin’s bed, sitting beside him as you watch him fight sleep, trying to keep his eyes open. “Sleep now my little love.” You murmur to him, kissing your fingertips before bringing them to his forehead.

“Goodnight mama.” He yawns out as you watch him finally succumb to sleep.

You leave the door open a crack, letting out another groan as you rub your stomach, Din waits for you in the dimly lit hall, holding out a hand which you happily take, letting him pull you into an embrace.

“No more babies after this one, my back is killing me.” You give him a stern look as he brings both hands to your bump.

“You have given me everything, I wouldn’t possibly ask for more.” He whispers. “Although I do think we could handle one more.” He raises his eyebrows at you and you can’t help but laugh.

“Fine, you carry the next one then.” You reach behind him, pushing open the door as you grab the collar of his tunic, pulling him into a kiss while you laugh against each other.

“I love you.” He mumbles.

“I love you too.” There is no hesitation. There hasn’t been for a long time.

And you go to bed.

In your perfectly sized bedroom.

On your perfectly sized mattress.

With your Din.

☆

a/n : this is technically the last chapter of bks <3 :,) epilouge in one week. q&a tomorrow so send your asks with questions. all my love to everyone whos read this far.

i no longer have a tag list !! follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates !!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #pedro pascal #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you

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gojo-enthusiast · 2 months

Text

One Week Away

Series — My Husband Toji Zenin

Mature Content— 18+

*I’ve been detoxing life lmao— also I have a girlfriend now yay hehe.*

Toji had a work trip that was mandatory, he had tried to convince you to go with him, but when you weighed out all the options, and knew you would spend 99% of the time there alone, it just was something you weren’t up for. So you took this time out to invite your sister to stay the week with you. Maybe you wouldn’t miss your darling husband too much then.

It has officially been 6 days into your husband being gone, your sister is now on her way back home, and you are officially home alone.

“I miss Toji. I wonder if he would pick up my call? Is he busy?” You think to yourself. Taking the chance to call him.

As the phone rings, you go to press the end call button after three rings, figuring he was too busy to talk on the phone, but then hearing a woman voice answering, “Hello?” She says confused. “Um… Who is this?” You question, “Uh, that should be my line. Who are you?” She said snarky. At this rate, within a couple of seconds your head is fuming, and your heart feels like it had just been stomped on. “Was all that marriage counseling for nothing?” You think to yourself. Then you hear your husband. “Where the fuck is my phone?” You begin to hear other people in the back, one of them being Satoru. “You lost it old man?” He chuckles. “Shut the fuck up, and help me find my phone, I haven’t talked to my wife today.” He says in an agitated tone. “Wait why do you have my phone?” He questions, getting closer to what you think is the woman who answered the phone. “What?” She says, your heart is beating out of your chest. “Thats my phone, who are you talking to on my phone?” He says in an almost growl. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Toji, I thought this was my phone.” She nervously laughs, handing the phone to him. As soon as his phones are placed in his hands, he sees your name and photo. “Fuck. Baby?” He says into the phone. You had already started crying, because of course you assumed the worst, you couldn’t help it. “H-hey T-toji.” You stutter, feeling the tears rolling down. “Fuck, baby… are you crying?” He groans, you hear him walking away from the crowd, hearing Satoru in the background say. “Fuck, what did you say when you answered that phone?”

“I’m fine Toji, h-hows your trip?” You try to brush off like everything is fine. “Baby, she is just a fellow colleague. She grabbed my phone by accident. Are you okay?” He questions concerning. “I-I’m fine. I-I was just a little surprised.” You said with a shaky voice. You knew your husband wasn’t cheating on you, but what can you expect? It wasn’t always easy, especially with being apart. “I-I don’t want to be at home alone anymore. I sh-should have g-gone with yo-you.” You burst into tears, realizing how much you miss your husband. “Doll, I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon. ‘Aight?” He reassures you on the phone.

You both stayed on the phone for a few minutes, before he had to go back to his company dinner, and you fell asleep snuggled up to one of his hoodies. “I miss you.” You whisper into his hoodie, smelling his cologne, and his overall scent. It had been 6PM, and you drifted to sleep.

Toji became distressed with the thought of you being alone, he was ready to see his wife, to remind her that she was his, and he was yours. He had said his goodbyes, and grabbed his bag from the upstairs hotel. The drive was 6 hours, yet he made it back home in 5. Checking his watch, it was 12:36AM. Toji knew you would have been sound asleep, which was perfect for him, he knew how much you loved waking up to his head in between your legs, reminding you how much he loves and adores you. You also knew how much he worshipped your cunt, it had him making laps until your orgasms were almost painful. Toji loosened his tie, flinging across the room, seeing you in your little laced blue panties, and his hoodie, it only made his cock throb with just the mere sight of seeing you laid like that, he always loved how your ass was thick that your panties would almost get swallowed by them, there was so many times, he wanted to beg you to let him fuck your little ass, yet he knew how hard that would be, especially since it was hard to even take him vaginally, but he sure did fantasize about it. Toji took his belt off, unbuttoning his pants, letting them drop to the floor, popping the buttons off of his shirt, throwing it to the corner of the room. He had become a hungry tiger, wanting to devour you, until you shuttered at his touch. Toji was a kind and gentle man to you, but sexually, he could be ruthless, he loved to watch your pretty big eyes cry, whining for him to keep going, then to stop.

Toji crawled into bed, and gently turned you from your side, to your back, and slowly spread your legs apart. You were a bit of a deep sleeper, especially after you had cried. He saw the way your eyes were puffy, he placed a kiss on your eyelids, moving down to your lips, then licking you down your neck, lifting up the hoodie, he lightly sucked on your nipples, light enough to not wake you up, but enough for your nipples to harden. He traced his tongue down your stomach, then to your heat, pulling your panties down swiftly. He eyed your pussy, spreading your labia apart, lapping his tongue, sucking on your clit immediately. He knew your body more than you did, he sucked and licked, feeling your arousal start to come out, and his tongue got the first taste. He dipped his index finger inside of you, feeling your walls. Your moans started to fill the room, while you were slowly waking up. He kept lapping his tongue in your cunt, switching from your hole, to your clit, tasting you inside out. You woke up, wide eyed, seeing your husbands straight black hair between your legs. “T-Toji?” You croak out then moan. “Hmm?” He hum’s, as he continues to suck on your clit. “Ah- w-what are you do-doing h-here? Ah- T-TTojiiii?” You moan loudly. “Hmm you taste so good.” he slurps. He then inserted two fingers, beginning to pump in and out of you slow and agonizing, pulling moan and whimper out of you.

"To-Toji, please.." You whimpered, tears welling up in your eyes, your body feeling overstimulated. "You're so tight doll." He groans, feeling his throbbing cock leak pre-cum. "I need you." You cry silently, tears flowing out of your sweet eyes. "Do you love me?" You question, feeling a sense of insecurity. "Hmm?" He half questions, but he heard you plain and clear. "D-do y-you lo-love me?" You whimper as he continues to pump into you, but his dark eyes were peering into yours as he leaned up and his face was right in front of yours, "Do I love you?" He questions back to you. Your blood turning cold, and goosebumps covering your skin, "Is that what you're asking me? You're asking me if I love you?" He questions you again. "Y-yeah." You stutter, pulling at your bottom lip, biting it. "What makes you think I don't?" He whispers into your ear, curling his fingers inside your squelching cunt. "Ugh- I-I just w-want to h-hear y-you say you l-lo-love me." You whimper out, feeling an orgasm approach. "Hmm? Is that so?" He groans in your ear, his groin dry humping the air, his body was twitching at the sight of your thick tears. "Fuck, I could just fuck that pretty little face of yours, see those tears soak my cock." He groans, pushing you over the edge, you spasming and creaming all around his fingers.

"Toji!" You moan loudly, cumming all over his fingers, feeling that high he had brought you too. Toji removed his fingers, drinking in your arousal, licking his fingers clean. "I love you." He says to you, as he pecks your lips lightly. Tears welling up in your eyes again, pulling your husband into your embrace. "You only love me, right?" You question, pulling down his boxers, watching his throbbing cock slap his stomach. "I want you inside of me." You whimper, touching the tip of his throbbing cock with the pads of your index and middle finger. "F-Fuck. Doll. Wait-" He pushes your hand away. "I do love you, only you." He coos, lifting your chin to look at him, then crashing his lips onto yours, pulling you into his embrace. You felt him wrap his hand around the swollen member, and felt him glide it up your sopping core, slightly pushing it in. The slow stretch, Toji had prepped you as much as he could, he was on the verge of snapping. "Take a deep breath for me doll." He groans, you do as he instructs, taking that deep breath, and you feel him push himself into you, causing your breath to get caught in your throat. No matter how many years you two had been married, you still could never get used to his size. Tears slipped from your eyes, and you felt his tongue lick them up. Thrusting in and out, already pulling an early orgasm. “Toji, s-stop.” You moan. "Can't. You're gon' have to take it." He grunts. Thrusting into you in a Godlike pace, crushing you underneath him. You felt his strong arms pull your legs to wrap around his waist, and him push even deeper into you. "Do you feel how we are connected?" He groaned. Toji lifting your head, sitting up, he had you looking at the way you two were connected, you saw the way he pushed into you, and the way your arousal was mixing with his, foaming at the base of his cock. "Watch how I fill you." He growls into your ear, "Watch how my love spills into you." He adds, "After I'm done with you, you'll never ask if I love you again." He grunts into your ear. He had completley pulled you on top of him, gripping your hips, lifting you up and down, bouncing you on his twitching cock. He thrusted up into you, chasing your release, and his too. Toji pulls you to his chest, your head thrown back, he nussled his head on your shoulder blade, pounding you from underneath. "Fuck- Gon' cum." He grunts into your ear, then putting his hand on the back of your head, pushing your head to his, smashing his lips on yours. He fought for dominance, his tongue exploring your mouth. He quickly detached, sucking on your neck, leaving love bites. "I'm gon' cum, you're gonna have t' take it." He growls into your ear. After a couple sloppy fast strokes, his hot cum shot deep inside of you, slowing his pace, he still continued to pump into you until every last drop had entered into you. "We just created a love child, doll." He groaned in your ear, slipping you off of him, and pulling you into his embrace. "Oh-" You moaned as he slipped out of you. "Let me take you once more." He said into your ear, spreading your legs, and pushing his once again hard member back into you, stroking in you slow and steady.

"Tojiiii- I can't anymore." You moaned, your legs spasming in overstimulation, and your toes curled. "Just a little bit more, let me fill you up, I need you to give me a baby." He groaned, throwing his head back. His cock was twitching already, so senstive from just finishing, he did not want to stop, he wanted to keep feeling this ecstacy that your cunt offered him. Within a couple of minuets, he came again, finally pulling you to lay on your side, and he stayed inside of you. "Toji, take it out." You groan, feeling your womahood tender and swollen.

"Mm Mm, I have to make sure you give me a child." He says with a smirk, nuzzling down to the crook of your neck, leaving pecks.

Eventually you had fallen asleep, and your husband, pulled out of you, going and grabbing a warm wet towel, cleaning you up. He bent down to your stomach and whispered, "This was it, I know it." He smiles, kissing your stomach while you're sound asleep.

#anime fanfic #toji fushiguro #dilf toji #fanfiction #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji fushiguro smut #toji smut

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gojossocks · 6 months

Text

Gossips and Convenience Stores

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Summary: just some jjk first years gossiping lmao. Implied that Geto didn’t turn batshit crazy and killed a lot of people.

a/n: this is probably an epilogue to a series I’ve been wanting to write for a while. lmk if you guys liked it ! <33

“I wonder when Gojo-sensei will ask Y/N-sensei out.” Nobara asks, before taking a bite of her onigiri.

Nobara, Yuuji, and Megumi were all sitting together in an empty parking lot outside a convenience store, something that has become a routine after a tiring mission.

It’s midnight. Most of the diners are closed and the only store open was the 7/11, just a few blocks away from Jujutsu High.

“It’s kinda annoying,” She continued. “Every time I see that damned teacher around her, he gets more annoying. That’s a given since he’s more annoying than when he’s with Geto-sensei. If that’s his way of flirting then I don’t think he could ever pull her.”

Megumi snorts at Nobara’s keen observation. “I’m surprised you noticed that.”

She rolls her eyes before glaring at Megumi, “How could I not? Even our principal notices it. Hell, even Yuuji knows it. Right?!” She turned to look at Yuuji, who shrugged mindlessly while eating his noodles.

“I don’t know, he does talk about her all the time. Whenever I ask what’s their history or whatever, he says they were long time friends.”

Megumi snorted at the statement, earning a look from his classmates.

“What’s that look you got, Fushiguro?” Nobara accuses him. He replies with a hum.

Nobara sighs before clicking her tongue. “Anyway, I know you know a lot about those two because Maki-san told me you basically grew up with having them around. Besides, he always asks you to bring pizza for Y/N-sensei. I think it was an unrequited thing, don’t you think? I mean she’s way out of his league if you ask me.” She says confidently.

Megumi knew that this was bound to happen but he never thought that he would have to explain the situation this early. He really hates it when people gossip about his life— and that extends to Y/N. He met Satoru and Y/N when he was 6 years old. Most of his childhood, he and Tsumiki stayed with the Gojos.

“They used to be together.” Megumi mumbles, looking down at his shoes. He then looks up at his friends when the both of them yell ‘HUH?!’ in unison. He couldn’t blame them though. Satoru and Y/N’s acting skills as if they were never together in the first place really fooled a lot of people, especially the people who don’t know anything about them.

“Yeah,” He says, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. Megumi takes a sip from his pepsi, in hopes to escape Nobara and Yuji’s interested gaze. “They’re marrie— could you both shut up for a bit?” He grumbles in annoyance.

Nobara scooches closer to Megumi. “Oh my god, tell me everything.”

He rolled his eyes but continued anyway. “They were in an arranged marriage as far as I know. They were together for 8 years. I think they’ve known each other for much longer, though.”

“Oh he definitely fumbled the bag.”

Yuji stares at him with his mouth agape. His eyes suddenly widened as he dramatically gasped, “Is that why you accidentally called Y/N sensei ‘mom’ ?!”

Megumi feels blood rising from his cheeks. He quickly looks down at his shoes once more to prevent Nobara and Yuji from seeing him embarrassed. Both of them started giggling.

“So that means you call Gojo-sensei ‘daddy’ huh?” Nobara smirked at the onyx haired boy. Megumi chokes on his drink before muttering a ‘shut up, I don’t.’

“So why did they break up?” Yuuji asks.

“I’m not really sure. They try to keep us out of their problems. Y/N just packed up one day and that was it. We kept in touch but she made me promise not to tell Gojo anything. Anyway, that’s it, stop questioning me.”

Nobara points a finger accusingly at the empty parking lot, “I bet he has commitment issues. Yeah, just by looking at him, he’s definitely the type to have one.”

“They have been together, for 8 years.” Megumi deadpans.

“Damn, adults are complicated.” Yuuji whines. “They’d look great together though.”

“He still fumbled! I bet my new perfume on that. To be honest, I don’t really see Y/N sensei with him. He seems chaotic enough as he is.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“Well, she tolerates us,” Yuji adds, “Besides I don’t think Gojo-sensei will ask her out. Earlier, I saw Y/N-sensei on a date. I just forgot to tell you guys.”

Even Megumi doesn’t know that.

“What?!” Nobara exclaims, standing up. “C’mon, it’s 2 am. I need to get my beauty rest. I’ll get the Y/N and Gojo lore this week. I can’t wait to interview Geto-sensei!”

“That’s invading their privacy.” Megumi sighs.

Nobara and Yuuji kept asking Megumi questions, theorizing and pestering each other. The three of them talked (read: argue) on the way home, too engrossed in the mystery of Gojo and Y/N’s relationship.

Meanwhile they fail to notice their teacher casually leaning on the wall beside the convenience store, chuckling at his students’ curiosity.

Gojo shakes his head before heading off to god knows where.

gojo u naughty boi why are u out at 2 am wanna read more?

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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angelicsoka · 2 months

Text

BLIND DATE, j. drysdale

word count | 758 words

pairings | jamie drysdale x single mother!hughes!reader

summary | you were never one for dating, especially when trevor is the one setting them up. but one date can’t hurt, right?

warnings | talk of pregnancy and terrible ex boyfriends. not proofread. one use of “y/n”. lowercase intended. this is a work of fiction, i am by no means saying this is how they act in real life.

a/n | thank you for 200 followers! i can't believe people actually enjoy my writing but here we are lmao. i’ve had this idea sitting in my drafts for a while but i finally decided to sit down and write it. its pretty short but i’m not against writing a part two :) anyway, enjoy!!

dating was never really your thing, at least not since your last boyfriend left you pregnant and alone in a city you were unfamiliar with. your ex had convinced you to move from michigan to california, something your family tried to warn you against, but you were stubborn. finding out you were pregnant was an accident, a routine checkup. what was supposed to be a wonderful thing turned terrible quick. your ex was angry, he wanted nothing to do with a kid. he gave you an ultimatum: get an abortion or we are over. but, as stated before, you were stubborn and had already to start to fall in love with the idea of being a mom. so, he left and you chose to stay in anaheim, a difficult decision but your ego was already hurt and proving your parents right was not what you wanted to do.

so, here you were, the mother of a two year old little girl who was your whole world. she was your moon and stars, the light of your life. it was you and her against the world, and you were content with that. that was until trevor zegras decided to intervene. “one date.” he begged, “he's a good guy, you’ll like him!” you had simply rolled your eyes, but after he offered to babysit for you whenever you wanted, you faltered, agreeing to the date.

now, you were sat in a fancy restaurant awaiting the arrival of trevor’s friend. she felt out of place, her dress not nearly as elegant as the women that surrounded her. she checked her phone once more, ready to leave when a man in a suit rushed over, a hurried look on his face. “sorry, i’m sorry! trevor wouldn't stop yapping.” you stood up, smoothing out your dress before offering him your hand to shake.

“it's all good, you must be jamie?” he nodded, shaking your hand. his smile made your heart flutter slightly, bringing a smile to grace your own lips. “y/n, it's a pleasure.” the anxious pit in your stomach began to settle as you sat, feeling comfortable in the presence of jamie.

“trevor didn’t tell me much about you.” jamie smiled sheepishly.

“guess we’re in the same boat then.” you smiled, taking a sip from your water. “tell me, jamie, how is it that a handsome guy like you is resorting to blind dates to find a girl?” you questioned, a teasing look in your eye. jamie blushed, ducking his head slightly.

“well, hockey takes up most of my time and trevor takes up the rest of it.” you laughed at that, “it's like wrangling around a small child.”

“oh, i know that feeling all to well. my daughter is great at matching his energy.” jamie did well in hiding his shock, masking it with confusion, but you had learned to pick up on the small cues. “he didn’t tell you?”

“no, uh, he wasn’t very forthcoming with information.” you nodded, unlocking your phone and pulling up a picture of your daughter.

“this is my daughter, isla. she has enough energy to outdo trevor, but she’s my world and i wouldn’t change a thing about her.” jamie smiled at the photo of isla who was wearing an elsa dress, her mouth covered in chocolate.

“she is very cute.” jamie looked to you, “just like her mom.” you blushed, laughing slightly. “how old is she?”

“just turned two, here’s her with my brothers at her frozen themed party.” you swiped to the photo of isla opening her presents with the help of your brothers.

“is that jack wearing a… tiara?” jamie questioned, pointing to jack who had a crown, which was too small, on his head.

you giggled, swiping to another photo, “yeah well, quinn and luke were wearing tutus but they attacked me when i tried to take a picture, but isla has them wrapped around her finger.” you showed jamie the photo of your daughter in her elsa dress, quinn and luke wearing matching tutus. “they don’t know i have this photo.” jamie laughed, a sound you were already growing to love. you closed your phone, setting it beside you.

“anyway, tell me about you.” and he did, and you listened intently, never once losing interest. what you thought would be a boring date, had turned into one of the best dates you had ever been on. you exchanged numbers before you went your separate ways, another date already in the works.

who knew trevor would make a decent matchmaker?

#angelicsoka #nhl imagine #trevor zegras #jamie drysdale x hughes!sister #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader

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kissitbttr · 10 months

Note

you think miguel would have a positive reaction when he finds out you like him?

i’d like to think he’d be sooo awkward about it lmao. also not knowing how to react (+doesn’t even believe it)

he’s never had any real relationships before (unless with one many years ago) , maybe few flings here and there but it was never that serious. talking to people has never been his forte, that man is too fucking stoic that others would basically mistaken him as a rock. he holds too much of serious conversations and never know how to let things go, so to some, that could be an ultimate deal breaker.

there had been times where he got hit on multiple times, and he always brushed them off by saying ‘beat it’

he’s never willing to try again. not like he needed to anyway. his mind is already occupied with work.

but then came along you.

you with your pretty eyes,pretty hair, cute bubbly personality and flirty persona that got everyone hooked. he’s seen how you interact with others and he hates it. because you’re so distracting that it would make the others lose focus and he doesn’t appreciate that. he hates it.

or maybe the reason he hates it so much it’s the fact that you always flirt with Ben and call him ‘puddin.’ always running up to him and give him a hug—sometimes he’d see you wrap your legs around him too.

why would you do that? don’t you know that he fucking. hates it?

why would you ever create a nickname only for Ben? what about the others? why not him? why not Miguel?

do you like Ben?

Miguel doesn’t even know why it bothers him, but it does keep him up at night. he doesn’t like you, does he? you two barely talked and even when you do talk it’s mainly work matters. he refuses to like you.

“you’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?”

Lyla’s playful voice snaps him out of his train of thoughts as he quickly remains his posture,

Miguel clears his throat. “don’t know what you’re talking about.” his brows furrowing as his eyes remain focus on his computer screen,

“oh come on, you’re not fooling anybody. i can see the way you look at her when she’s talking or laughing. you’ve got heart eyes, my man.” Lyla teases, smirking lightly. “and i also remember correctly how you almost smash a laptop towards Ben when you saw him with her at the cafeteria and you gave him a ‘pep talk’?”

“because it wasn’t professional. this is not a place where two coworkers can flirt with each other as they please.” he responds lamely, knowing that is not a good enough excuse for Lyla to believe. she’s smarter than that.

“one. i didn’t say anything about them flirting. two. Ben came out of your office shaking and refused to talk to anyone for days! you’re crazy you know that?”

Miguel rolls his eyes, waving his hand over. “get back to work Lyla.”

“you like her.”

“no i don’t” he lies, gulping slightly. see that’s the thing about him. when he lies, he gets nervous. and Lyla can see that crystal clear.

“oh my god you totally do! i knew my instincts never wrong. Jess thought the same too”

“what the—“

“you know, usually? when a guy likes someone he’d ask the girl out. Not being a creep about it and threaten almost everyone at work to stay away from her.”

“i do not. like her” he emphasizes quite heavily, pinching between his forehead with his finger and thumb. “this is not important Lyla, we’ve got better things to do.”

as she about to say what a bad liar he is, she sees a silhouette of a woman walking into the office. you’re entering the room with a smile on your face and give Lyla a small wave as she returns one,

“speak of the angel herself. gotta go!” Lyla cheery voice causing him to whip his head. “Good luck!”

“wait what?! Lyla! Don’t—“ his voice gets cut off once the hologram disappears, groaning afterwards.

he hears your footsteps getting closer but he tries to keep his composure and not acknowledge you. perhaps he’s being an asshole but hey, what else is new?

“ouch. never met someone who’s very unhappy to see me. you’re definitely the first.” you pout pretending to be hurt, taking few steps closer to where he’s at,

he ignores your comment as he keeps his eyes fixated on the screen. “I’m working. what do you need?”

“just stopping by. it’s getting pretty boring out there you know? Miles is nowhere to be seen, Peter is busy with Mayday, Gwen is catching up with Jess and Hobie— i don’t even want to begin. Thought I’d come and see you.”

his heart definitely isn’t beating hard. definitely not.

“aren’t you usually with Ben? i see the two of you always talking in the hallways. why not go to him?”

you groan, throwing your head back as you start walking around. “ugh! all he talks about is muscles and protein sources! not to mention he never skips flexing. he’s got penis for brain, i don’t why you hired that guy. such a Ken doll.”

Miguel is glad that you aren’t facing him. because you manage to bring a small smile to his face with that comment. you’d never gonna let that one go if you see him smiling.

“well he’s good. he’s a great partner. better than Peter, I’d say. no reason to kick him off.”

“oh I’ll kick him alright” you roll your eyes as if it’s the obvious thing and you miss how miguel tries to hold back his laughter. he likes how feisty you get sometimes,

“have you—eaten already?” miguel awkwardly tries to start a conversation once he realizes the two of you sit there in silence for fifteen minutes. he must’ve think that you’re waiting for him to say something,

your lips curve into a small smirk as you watch how adorable he gets when he’s nervous. scratching the back of his head and trying his best to avoid an eye contact. it’s easy to tell how you make him shrink like a little kid crushing on his classmate.

yeah, Jess and Lyla told you everything. so this would be fun

“nope” you shake your head, rolling the chair closer in front of him as you slightly move forward. you admire the way his eyes stare intently into something, how his lower lip poke out in concentration and the way his thick brows knitted together making it impossible for you to stay sane.

does he know he’s handsome as fuck? and sexy too? his rough image and demeanor maybe look a bit intimidating to some but to you?

biggest turn on.

“why, you wanna take me out to lunch or something?”

he chokes at that, eyes finally looking up to you as he sees the playful smile on your face and the way your head tilt to the side. as if you’re teasing him,

“no. it was just a simple question.” he replies boringly. “why haven’t you eaten yet? it’s almost three. quieres enfermarte?”

“well” you start, moving slowly towards his side with him watching you like a hawk, eyeing every move. “i’m actually waiting for you to buy me lunch. there’s a new Asian cuisine in the cafeteria called beef rendang… i think? and boy it smells so good! why don’t we go together? plus you need a fucking break, man. you’ve been at this shit for hours.”

miguel is both surprised and confused. why the sudden invitation? why are you even talking to him? he lightly scoffs at how bold you are but he will never admit how much he likes it,

“why are you suddenly taken an interest in talking to me?”

“what are you talking about?” you ask playing dumb, looping a finger around the belt hole of your flared jeans. “I’ve always been interested.”

his heart skips at that. and he has no idea if you meant it or actually joking.

he says nothing only a hum. you assume that he’s disappointed with your answer because it isn’t specific. so you decide to continue,

leaning your body forward, you’re close enough to invade his personal space as you pretend to whisper a dark secret. “because i like you. like—like you like you. isn’t it obvious?”the answer is simple. pretty straightforward and you guess that he doesn’t get that often because of how he reacts.

he halts. beautiful eyes widen in surprise as he slowly turns to you who wears the opposite expression. a wide smile painted on your glossed lips, legs swinging back and forth—he admits that you look cute doing that—blinking your eyes rapidly in flirty manner.

you’re the only person who can make him weak on his knees. everyone can see that.

“what?”

“what you just said.” he points, now his work left abandoned. deciding to focus on you. “did you mean it?”

“every word.”

“are you sure?”

“why is it so hard for you to believe me?” you ask out of curiosity. brows furrowed as your arms crossed,

“nothing it’s just—“he scratches his head, looking down because he’s afraid if he looks into your eyes he’d form into a puddle. “you were never—you never said anything, carińo. i didn’t even think you like me.”

you nod, crossing your legs. “I’m just gonna ignore how you call me that unless you want me to get down on my knees and give you the best fucking head you will ever have.”

for what it’s like a hundredth time, he blushes at your choice of words. God, you have no filter at all.

“how could i say something when all you do is talk serious shit all the time? can’t even joke with you Miguel. people are basically scared of you. hell! even I’m terrified of you.” you confess,

“is that why you never—call me names?”

“what, a dick? or an ass?”

“no!” he exclaims, sounding offended. wondering if that what you must have thought of him back then. “i mean—you never give me a nickname—only with Ben” he mutters, feeling embarrassed of having to admit that out loud,

you scrunch your nose. “puddin? why is that even—ohhh” a sudden realization hit you and that’s where you laugh, throwing your head back and Miguel looks irritated at the fact you’re laughing,

“something funny?”

you nod your head vigorously, still laughing a bit as you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye. “Jess and Lyla are sooo right. you’re jealous.”

“i’m not!”

“hmm yes you are.” you giggle, seeing how his lips form into a pout and the skin between his eyebrows wrinkled. “that’s cute though. i promise not to tell anyone.”

he huffs, but internally relieved that you’re keeping your mouth shut. he will never hear the end of it by anyone if that one gets out.

“so..” he trails, releasing a small sigh. “you.. like me..?”

once again you nod, “i do.”

“g-good cause uh—i kinda like you too.”

“kinda?” you pretend to get hurt, hand over your heart. “is that all?! I’m quite offended! i poured my heart out to you!”

“ay, bueno listo! a lot! i like you—a lot.” he finally confesses, leg bouncing up and down due to nerves. “i just don’t how to say it or at least—act like it.”

“i can see that. you’re horrible at showing emotions except for anger, Miguel.” you reply, standing from your seat as you extend your hand to him. "but don't worry. i'll show you how to love. now come on."

he quirks an eyebrow, giving you an questioning look. "what are you doing?"

"uhm, getting some food? i'm starved. and you're coming with me. you have to eat something" a smile reaches your lips as he begins to mirror your expression while placing his hand on yours before standing up as well. you like how he towers over you. he’s a freakishly large man

“okay. i’d like that actually, querida.”

you give him a toothy grin. both of your hands are intertwined as the two of you walk towards the exist. you sense Miguel feeling awkward about the hand holding thing so you decide to ease his nerves by rubbing your thumb slightly against his skin.

“oh and also. you shall worry not a single thing about the whole nickname thing. you can choose what you like to be called by me and it’s all yours.”

a/n: this turned into a long ass fic im sorry lol

also does this one make sense? i feel like it’s rushed:// nevertheless hope you enjoy!

[i would let this man tear my pu—*phone drops*]

#miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara blurbs

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theemporium · 9 months

Note

Thank youuuuu for going with my request, loved it soooo much.

Could you maybe do a Daniel x Sunshine set amid Scotty and Chloe’s wedding, and when Chloe throws the bouquet, sunshine catches it, and the entire room looks at Daniel while he blushes.

I saw a reel like this, and i can totally imagine Scotty running up to Daniel and saying “you’re next” lmao😭

So much love~💚

thank you!! and thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

You had never been to Venice before you joined Daniel as his date to his best friend’s wedding.

It was a beautiful city, one that you had seen countless times in videos and pictures and movies. You always imagined it would disappoint if you ever saw it in real life, maybe that was a reason you always held back from visiting in the free time you had between each half of the seasons.

But when Daniel asked you to join him for Scotty’s wedding—someone who you had become close to as well—you had no reason to deny the invitation. And you were glad you did because it was even better than any screen or camera could ever capture.

CLICK!

You turned your head, finding your boyfriend grinning behind his camera as he clicked another picture of your expression before setting it down on the table. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together before pressing a kiss to the back.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Daniel asked, his thumb smoothing over the back of your hand.

“Just thinking,” you murmured with a smile.

He raised his brows. “Oh, that can’t be good.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “It’s just…so romantic here,” you said to him with a shrug. “Like, I know people always go on about Paris but this…this is something else entirely.”

He had a deeply contemplative look on his face. “Would you wanna get married here?”

You blinked, almost like you weren’t expecting the question. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Where would you wanna get married?” Daniel asked before he flashed you a sheepish smile. “Hypothetically.”

“Jumping the gun a bit there, Ricciardo,” you mused but there was a smile on your face too.

He just shrugged. “I like envisioning our future. I just wanna know what your version looks like.”

“And it’s a wedding?” you asked.

“Our dream wedding,” he corrected as he placed another kiss along your knuckles. “It’s gonna be everything we want and more.”

“And more?” you teased. “You’re making big promises here.”

“And I intend to fulfil them all,” he retorted playfully, his eyes glancing down to your lips. You had forbidden him from kissing you before pictures in case it ruined your makeup. But those were over now and there was no reason he couldn’t—

“BOUQUET TOSS! C’MON UP, LADIES!”

You barely got a chance to say anything as you felt hands pull you off your seat, only having enough time to give your boyfriend an apologetic smile before you were tugged into the crowd of women in the middle of the dance floor.

You stayed back, happy to just observe as Chloe moved to the front, looking like a goddamn Disney princess as she grinned at the crowd before turning her back to everyone and tossing the bouquet of flowers over her head.

You were surprised when you found them heading straight towards you.

You could hear the cheers of the other wedding guests, clapping and laughing as you glanced down at the flowers in your hands, and then almost instantly your eyes went to Daniel.

He was already staring at you, a wide grin spread across his face. He wiggled his brows playfully which only made you laugh with him, despite the heated flush covering your body at all the attention.

Daniel couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as Scotty made his way towards him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and giving him a playful shove.

“Guess it’s you next, mate, eh?” Scotty teased.

Though it seems impossible, his grin widened. “Hopefully.”

#daniel ricciardo #formula one #f1 #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x y/n #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one oneshot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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secret-sturniolo · 6 months

Text

stay - chris sturniolo

summary - based on the prompt "stay with me tonight, please." where chris comforts y/n after she gets hate

warnings - hate comments, lil angsty

a/n - this one is kinda short but i like it so hopefully you guys do too

why is y/n here again?

i get the feeling y/n is using the triplets for clout

i thought we made it clear nobody likes y/n

lmao y/n really thinks she has a chance with chris who's gonna tell her

The comments came flooding in on the new car video the triplets posted, where I joined them as a special guest. It wasn't the first time I had gotten hate for being friends with them, but usually I was able to ignore it as there wasn't very much of it. But this time, I couldn't just ignore it when the majority of the comments were mean ones about me. Overwhelmed with sadness and anxiety, I stood up from the couch as I announced that I was going to head back to my place.

"Are you sure? Is everything okay?" Nick asked me.

"Yeah, I just don't feel good all of a sudden." I replied.

Nick and Chris shared a glance before looking back at me.

"I can get Matt to drive you home if you want?" Chris asked me.

"No, no, don't worry about it. I'll text you guys later, okay?"

I made my way out the door and into my car. I waited until I had pulled out of the driveway, but then the tears started rolling down my cheeks. Am I really that bad? I thought. It was only about a five minute drive back to my apartment thankfully. Ignoring the smeared makeup I could see in the mirror, I went straight to my bedroom and laid down, staring at the ceiling. I tried not to, but I picked up my phone and started reading more of the hateful comments directed at me. My promise to text the boys when I had gotten home was long forgotten as the sadness took hold of me, and I fell asleep, tired from crying.

Chris's POV

I thought it was strange how y/n suddenly decided to leave. It was very unlike her, and she didn't even give a good reason, simply saying she didn't feel good. I tried not to worry about her too much, but as time went on I just couldn't shake the feeling.

Our new video had been up for a while now, so Matt, Nick and I decided to check YouTube to see how it was doing and if people liked it. Right off the bat, we could see that it already had more views than we normally get, which at first glance seemed like a good thing. I watched as Nick's eyes widened at the computer screen, mouth hanging open. I grabbed the laptop to see for myself what made him so shocked. Scrolling through the comments, almost every one was about y/n. My expression quickly changed to match Nick's as I read through them.

"Dude, do you see these? They're all about y/n, and they're terrible!" I said, showing Matt the screen.

it's so obvious that she likes chris. im embarrassed for her

do people actually like y/n?

why would they hang out with a girl like y/n? shes not even that pretty

My heart dropped as I finally realized why y/n "wasn't feeling good".

"Matt, you have to drive me to y/n's place, right now." I said urgently.

Matt seemed to understand instantly. "Okay, I'll go start the car."

When we got to her apartment, I told Matt he could go back home and I would call him if I needed a ride. I grabbed the spare key from my pocket as I unlocked her door. There was no sign of y/n in the kitchen or living room, so I made my way to her bedroom. I softly knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so I slowly opened it. My heart broke when I saw her curled up on top of her covers, dried mascara on her white pillows. Without even thinking, I moved to her bed, and gently laid down next to her, pulling her into my chest.

Y/n's POV

I felt someone wrap their arms around me, and for a moment it startled me as I opened my eyes, but when I realized who it was, I snuggled deeper into his chest as I began crying again.

"Shh, it's okay. I got you." he said gently.

We just laid like that, with my head in his chest until finally he spoke again.

"I'm so sorry I didn't realize sooner."

"Am I really that bad, Chris?" I asked, sniffling.

"Absolutely not, y/n. Those people are just morons who aren't happy with themselves so they like to pick on other people. I know they upset you, but that's exactly what they wanted to happen. You can't give them what they want."

I let his words sink in for a moment. "So you read the comments?"

"Yeah, and they're wrong by the way, about everything." he said, looking into my eyes.

I realized what he was saying, but I was too tired to bring it up right now.

"Stay with me tonight, please?" I asked him.

"Of course. Let's get you under the blankets though, it's getting cold."

I giggled as he lifted me up to pull the blankets out from under me. I rolled over, and he pulled my back into his chest, as we matched each other's breathing. I sighed contently as he gently played with my hair sending tingles down my spine.

Just as I was falling asleep, I felt his breath as he whispered against my neck.

"I love you, y/n"

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #fluff #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #fanfic #angst #imagine #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #y/n

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underoossss · 10 months

Text

What If’s -Miguel O’Hara

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader

warnings: spoilers for across the spiderverse!!!! a couple of vampire jokes here and there. kissing, yearning, idk if those are warnings.

an: there’s no better character than miguel to write a wholesome hurt/comfort friends to lovers fic. this is my first time writing for him and I hope I did a good job lmao. let me know how I did!

★★★★

“I know I said I don’t mind your company.” Miguel’s voice reaches you from the platform he’s perched on in the middle of his lab. “But do you have to turn the volume up so loud?”

Your laugh echoes the room as you press a button twice to decrease the volume for a moment. “It helps me focus. Some of us have jobs aside from being a superhero you know.”

“Oh is saving the world not enough of a job for you?” Miguel’s eye-roll is clear in his tone and it makes you smile. “Perhaps you don’t know it but here we’re trying—”

“I know, I know, Twilight.” You wave him off over your shoulder. “What I mean is I like having a job, and I’m super smart so they let me work remotely.”

“All spider people are ‘super smart’ as you put it.” Miguel says, from somewhere behind you as you tap away on your laptop.

“Huh,” You fake surprise, then speak through a grin. “Here I thought I was the only one, good to know you’ve got a brain behind your broody eyes.”

Miguel’s breathy chuckle makes your heart jump, and you turn on your seat to catch the corner of his mouth lift in a half smile. Going back to the report you have to finish for your regular job, you turn the music up again and rest your feet on the desk in front of you. “I can feel you judging me, Twilight.”

“I am.” Miguel calls back to you and you smile.

There’s nothing that makes your body fill with warmth like Miguel. From being his most annoying spider recruit since the day you met —you saw he had fangs, and he never lived the vampire jokes down— your relationship has blossomed into a beautiful friendship over time. The kind of friendship where everything is easy around each other, where you anticipate the other’s needs, and the kind that started with sharing trauma. Both of you’ve lost many people, and it’s probably the reason why you cling to the other as much as you do. You’re a stubborn tangle in his hair and he's as present in your life as the breeze that hits your face when you’re swinging through the city. You bring out the best in each other —regardless of you annoying him every single day— and this deep connection you seem to have is most likely the one responsible for the lines between friendship and love to be so blurred between you. You’ve fought by his side multiple times, and you love it, but there’s nothing you love more than these quiet moments with him, where you just exist near each other, and everything feels right. Though you love seeing him in action, more often than not getting distracted by his ruthlessness, strength, and skill, you love doing simple things with him too. Miguel showing up to your place when you’re cooking dinner and refusing to dance along with you; Miguel getting coffee with you after much insistence to leave his desk; Miguel sighing at your bad jokes which only makes you laugh more; Miguel staying over at your place, his presence a warm reassurance that you’re safe.

Insistent pinging takes your mind away from its memories, and you’re quick to set your work aside and swing to the platform to see what’s going on. Lila has appeared over Miguel’s shoulder and is gesturing at the many alarms popping up on the yellow screens. A canonic event has been interrupted, a black hole has opened under the city of Mumbattan on earth 50101, Miles Morales —the Spider-Man Miguel’s been keeping tabs on for a while— is in that dimension for some reason, and there’s a multiverse-jumping anomaly on the loose.

Miguel’s face darkens, a mix of worry, fury, and tiredness forcing his features down into a deep frown. He pinches the bridge of his nose before talking to Lyla as he flips through the screens. “Tell Jessica to go to Earth 50101 and bring backup with her. We need to contain that black hole.”

“On it.” Lyla disappears for a moment before she’s back by Miguel’s side. “What else?”

“Bring Miles Morales to me.” He says, setting his hands on the table in front of him and looking at the screen that show’s Miles stopping the canonic event. “It’s time we stop this mess at its source.”

“Miguel?” Your eyebrows shoot up at his words, worry settling on your chest. “What do you mean?”

Lyla disappears a moment later as Miguel’s monitors keep flipping through the events in Mumbattan. Alchemax blowing up as a result of the anomaly calling itself the Spot turning on the supercollider. The building collapsing on itself.

“You know what I mean.” The man in front of you furrows his brows in anger. “He’s become a threat since the moment he was bitten. It was never even supposed to happen, you can’t expect me to let him go on like this. To keep disregarding canon as much as he pleases.”

“You know I’ve always supported you, Miguel.” You take his hand in both of yours and squeeze it tightly. “I’m the one backing you up, winning everyone over when they get mad at you… But this is wrong.”

“It’s not.” He says, taking his hand back from you and clicking away on his computer. A moment later, moments in Miles Morales’ life float in the screens around you. “We have to stop him. He’s going to undo everything we do if not.”

“Miguel,” You furrow your brows at his words, then gesture towards him with your arms. “Listen to yourself, who’s more out of canon here, him or us? We weren’t bitten, that’s strike one; we can’t stick to walls, strike two; you don’t shoot webs and my senses aren’t heightened like everyone else’s. That’s strike three.”

It’s something that’s always intrigued you, but it’s never made you think of yourself or Miguel as less of a Spiderman than everyone else. That’s not what wearing the mask means; it means protecting those who can’t protect themselves. To be selfless and kind and self-sacrificing for the world, even if no one says thank you. If Miguel and yourself haven’t broken the multiverse just by existing, then why would Miles. If his world hasn’t collapsed then there’s nothing wrong with him being the superhero that he is.

Miguel ponders your words but shakes his head, still adamant to see things your way in this matter. “The kid–”

You take a step closer to him and cut him off before he can continue. “The kid was bitten, regardless of it being supposed to happen or not! He has lost someone dear already and has basically followed every other spiderman rule, Miguel. I don’t think he’s the reason this is happening.”

Your friend, the object of your affections, turns his back towards you, going back to his screens. They show the events of Mumbattan now, the way Miles saved the captain and the little girl from being crushed by falling debris. There’s also the black hole in the city, threatening the people they tried so hard to save. The hole is so similar to the Spot’s that you’re sure an analysis would prove it right. But Miguel isn’t seeing reason. “He is.”

“It’s the Spot’s fault!” You raise your voice, frustration getting the best of you more a moment before you take a deep breath. Trying to see things from his perspective, you place a hand on his upper arm, your voice falling down to a reassuring whisper. “I know you’re scared of the world collapsing again, but it won’t.”

Your heart falls when he shrugs your hand off and turns to look at you. The many screens around you dance across his features, and after inhaling deeply Miguel speaks again. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” You smile sadly, hoping that your confidence in him will let him see what’s right under his nose. “I know it because this time you’re here, Miguel, guiding us and making sure it doesn’t happen again. You just need to see that Miles isn’t the problem.”

“Everything started with him.” Miguel argues, his voice emphasizing the word everything, definite on his theory. His eyes are full of resentment, not towards you, but towards the situation. Days and nights of working himself thin in this office, weighing on his broad shoulders.

Your squeeze your eyes shut before you look at him again. He’s so blinded by his own past mistakes; he thinks Miles will repeat them. When you speak again your voice is soft despite your irritation. “Miguel, you know in your heart it didn’t, and I know that because we’re the same.”

He exhales and looks into your eyes; they soften only slightly as they lock with yours. You try to urge him once again to forget this theory for a moment and see things differently if only for a second. He needs to know you don’t think it has to come to this –an attack towards the young spiderman– and that you won’t be a part of it if it does.

“If I feel it, then you must feel it too.” Though you’re talking about his plans for the young spiderman, the underlying topic of your feelings for him are clear as day in the way you look at him. You let your guard down, and say barely above a whisper, “Please. You know I can’t follow you, not this time.”

His eyes look aways from you as his shoulders tense, a clear sign of all the walls you’d crumbled building back up. “You want me to risk everything, including you, over a what-if?”

“Everything’s a what-if, Miguel.” You smile sadly at him, then set your shoulders straight as you step away from the platform and from him. “But I guess that settles that.”

Miguel takes two steps and catches up to you before he reaches for your hand. There’s a tightness around his brown eyes from the way you’re looking at him tearfully. They shift to confusion a moment later, when his hand moves upwards towards your wrist and you grin. Taking another step back, you hold your watch on your opposite hand, showing him that you knew he’d try to take it from you. You know him better than he gives you credit for.

“I’ll see you when you’ve changed your mind, Twilight.” You fiddle with your watch until a portal opens and when it does, you throw the device back at him. Though your throat is tight, emotion concentrating there as tears sting your eyes, you keep yourself from crying. “Otherwise… I guess this is goodbye.”

Not bearing to look into the new despair in his eyes, you turn around and walk into your dimension without looking back. When the portal closes behind you, you’re back in your apartment, the room dark around you safe for the lamp you forgot to turn off in the morning. Every corner you look at you see Miguel’s lingering shadow; the wall he always leaned against when you talked in the kitchen, the couch where the two of you always hung out –your legs over his lap and your laptop over yours as he waited for you to finish working. You wrap your arms around yourself, hoping for some comfort to come from it.

Hoping this mess can be fixed.

It is only a day later when the first step towards it being resolved, happens. You’ve been swinging through the city, patrolling different neighborhoods and keeping an eye out for any anomalies. Without your watch you’ve been disconnected from the Spider Society. Most importantly from Miguel, and although you try to, you can’t help but wonder what’s happening back in the HQ. You've barely been to your apartment since your fight with Miguel, your heart feels like a fading bruise –not quite broken but yearning painfully– and the last thing you want to do is spend time somewhere that will bring his memory back to you. So quick stops to shower, work, and eat, in between patrols are all you’ve allowed yourself. You’re swinging to one of these stops, when you spot a lonely figure standing in your balcony.

Even from afar you know its him, no one else has his shoulder-to-waist ratio, and no one else makes your heart skip quite like he does. Despite being vexed from your last conversation, you feel his heart call out to yours, and the way his eyes rise to see you swing towards the balcony are all the confirmation that you need that your assumptions were right. He would come around eventually, you knew it, you never thought it would be this fast though. What have you done now, Miguel?

You land on the balcony next to him, nod towards your door so he can follow you inside. Once the door closes behind you, you take your mask off and Miguel’s vanishes too. There’s no awkwardness as you stand in front of each other in the middle of the living room, only silence in an otherwise joyful room. The lights are still off in your apartment but you don’t move to turn them on, instead you shrug and motion towards the balcony.

“Nice timing.” You say, trying to keep your voice light. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you’d see me when I changed my mind.” His voice is low, like he’s worried the moment will shatter if he speaks any louder.

“You did?” Your question is followed by a step closer to him, but a frown appears on your face. “What changed it?”

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.” He whispers, brows furrowed together creating a deep crease between them. His eyes won’t meet yours but from the city lights outside your apartment, and the glow from his suit, you can see the deep regret in them, and the embarrassment from admitting his wrongs. “Then made a mess out of everything.”

“Miguel–”

“You can say I told you so, because you were right.” He turns to you, bringing his hand to hold your cheek briefly before he sighs and walks away, closer to the balcony’s window.

“What happened?” You follow him, standing next to him. Part of you is afraid he’s going to leave the same way he arrived, and panic settles on your chest. You urge him to keep talking though, you won’t give him a chance to shut down this time. “What happened with Miles?”

“The Spot’s stronger than before and going to Miles’ dimension to destroy it and then possibly many others.” Miguel clenches his hands into fists, the muscles around his neck tensing, the stress and worry in them is clear for you to see. “But he’s not there, because of me.”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, a mannerism you’ve gotten from the man next to you. Of course he scared the kid off; you love this man more than anything, but he really needs to work on his first impressions. “Where is he? How can we find him?”

“I have an idea; I think his friends do too.” Miguel starts, then shakes his head, some strands of hair falling over his forehead. “Maybe the dimension of the spider that bit him is a good place to start.”

“Then we find him, Miguel.” You move to stand in front of him, your back to the window and the city, all your focus on him. “We find him, we bring him home, and we defeat the Spot.”

He nods almost imperceptibly his gaze in the distant glimmering buildings, his handsome yet tired features washed in light blue and purple light. You know he can feel your gaze on him, burning a hole on his face but his eyes won’t look away from the window. When he doesn’t give in a moment later, you bring both of your hands to his face. Half expecting him to move away, you’re surprised when he lets you, and a small breath escapes him at the contact.

“Why won’t you look at me?” You whisper, your thumbs moving softly over his cheekbones. “Everything will be alright; we can fix it.”

“I almost lost everything by trying to prevent it from happening again.” He confesses, eyes full of torment when they finally meet yours. They glisten in the light, worry and despair making his icy layers melt for you too see him clearly. It’s enough to make you tear up. When you try to say something, he cuts you off as if knowing what you’re about to say. “I almost lost you.”

You shake your head fervently. “You were never going to lose me, we’re best friends I don’t think we’re capable of losing each other.”

“We’re more than that.” He says, voice gentle as he takes your hands from his face and holds them in his, they dwarf yours in size. “I feel it too and I’m sorry if it’s too late.” His words echo back to your last conversation, and it makes your stomach flip. Finally, after so much time, your feelings are bare in front of each other. Precious jewels you would never trust to anyone else, both broken, both put back together, and perfect for the other.

“It’s not.” You shake your head and let go of his hands, moving them instead to rest on his shoulders. A smile makes its way to your face, and the way Miguel��s lips move to mirror it makes your heart soar.

A moment later his head is tipping downwards as you step on the tip of your toes to kiss him. It’s an electric moment, a canonic event itself with the way all the pieces seem to fall into place. You move your arms around Miguel’s shoulders and hitch yourself higher to wrap your legs around his waist. His approval is hummed into your mouth as his lips move ardently against yours. One of his arms goes around your waist while the other moves up your back to bury his hand in your hair, tipping your face in the perfect angle to kiss you into a blissful state. Your sighs are unstoppable and he’s more than happy to catch them with his lips as your hands move to his hair. This is all you’ve wanted, to have him completely, for the two of you to accept the feelings that have always been there.

Eventually your passionate kiss simmers down to something slower, calmer. Miguel’s lips brush yours softly; barely-there kisses that move to the corner of your mouth, your cheek and along your jaw. His voice is rough when he whispers against your lips in a gentleness he rarely shows, “I love you, I always have.”

“I love you, you broody, cheap Twilight vampire wannabe.” You murmur, brushing your nose against his as he chuckles under his breath, before he sets you down. “We should go.”

“Only if you want to.” Miguel tells you, holding out your watch on the palm of his hand.

You take it from him and put it on with a smile. “Please, you’d be lost without me.”

His hand cups your cheek for a moment, a soft smile just for you on his face as he says, voice low. “Right again.”

In front of you a new portal appears, back to Miguel’s office to round everybody up. The future might still be up in the air, and there might be many battles ahead before this multiversal conflict is solved. But one thing you know for sure is that with the right team, the impossible can happen. You’re sure Miles’ team has his back, but a little backup wouldn’t hurt them, would it?

You take Miguel’s hand and squeeze it in yours before walking backwards to the portal. “Come on Twilight, let’s help the kids save the world.”

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