#and I apparently do that with other words as well lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ivymarquis · 11 months

Note

I would go nuts if you do something for Ghost! Make it filthy ? based on your f list , how about a combo of : chubby with size difference, breath play, breeding, light bondage, orgasm control and heavy aftercare? Or make it light , how about a combo of : chubby with size difference, oral , begging, slow burn, multiple orgasms and ofc heavy aftercare?

I really hope I didn’t go too far with this lmao

Hit all the notes except the slow burn, dealer’s choice on if this is a “no pregnancy, only breed” situation for kink purposes, or if Simon fully intends on following through with getting the reader pregnant 😇

Spoiled

Pairing| Ghost x F!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 3.5k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Breeding kink, orgasm control, breath play, squirting, overstimulation, acknowledgement of (but no use of) safewords, size difference, bondage, oral (f!receiving) possessive/simp!Simon, plus size!Reader, multiple orgasms, Simon is a touch mean at times but it’s all above board, and aftercare (or at least the plans of what the aftercare will be lol). I think that covers everything!

You’re wearing his favorite dress and Ghost is ready to climb out of his own skin.

Any other situation would have him pinning you on your back, the skirt of your dress pulled up while he pounds you into the nearest surface he can lay you out across.

However you work underneath Laswell which means he gets to watch the hem of your skirt dance across the skin of your thighs during a meeting he is rapidly losing all interest in.

He’s also not the only one looking which raises his hackles. The rest of the 141 are minding their business, eyes on Laswell up front. They know who you belong to, and have the self control to not slobber all over themselves like rabid dogs at the sight of a pretty girl.

It’s the other men in the room.

He can’t blame them; You’re bright eyed and sweet, pretty face with a plush body that Ghost loves tying up in whatever position he can think to put you in. And the fucking dress doesn’t help.

It is work appropriate. There’s a part of him that is willing to acknowledge that. It just flatters you perfectly. And the hem bounces enough to give a mouth watering peek at the insides of your thighs when you’re walking away from him.

Whether you’re oblivious to the eyes on you or you simply don’t care enough to acknowledge them, every time Ghost’s gaze settles on you your attention is fixated on him when not pointed at Laswell.

He’s suddenly seized by the thought that the ring on your finger clearly isn’t enough of a deterrent for unwanted gazes. You’re baiting him, heedless of the others drawn to you.

Sure she’s married but is she satisfied? He knows damn good and well some of the men- some of the specific ones in this room- are dogs. He can hear the question as they pace and look for a weak spot to dig under the proverbial fence.

He needs to make sure everyone knows you’re his. Clearly it’s not enough to show you’re taken.

His mind wanders, thoughts of filling you with him until you’re swollen with child. The evidence readily apparent to everyone that you’re kept satisfied by your husband.

The only thing that keeps his mind from spiraling completely is a well timed prompt from Price, forcing Ghost out of his head and back to the meeting he wants over and done with already.

Once home, Simon is able to drop the mantle of Ghost- at least for the time being- and turn his attention to you.

It really is his favorite dress on you, but it looks substantially better on the floor.

He’s got you laid across your bed, hands cuffed short to the headboard.

You always were handsy in bed. Wanting to pet and stroke and touch- it’s cute how you squirm for him once he deprives you.

“Si- Simon!” His name is a plea as his tongue goes to work between your legs.

He should be used to the sight and sounds that accompany having you bare before him. God knows the two of you have been together long enough for that- and yet every time he gets you to drop your panties his blood sings in his veins like the first time.

He’s fucking enthralled with you. Your smile, your laugh, how quick you are with a witty retort- always the smart ass until he reminds you there’s a better use for that pretty mouth. How easy it was to manhandle you in bed (how you fucking love it).

He adores how soft you are. Lush thighs spread over either shoulder as he goes down on you like a man who’s been stranded in the desert. One hand digging into the flesh of your hip, the other banded across your belly to keep you still as you buck in his hold.

He’s being a mean bastard, he knows. The pair of you have your little arrangement.

“Simon- please!” Your body strains against the cuffs uselessly. If your hands were free you’d be scrambling for purchase where you could find it- burying in his hair, fisting the sheets beneath you. Flicking his gaze up to your bound hands, he grins seeing how your fingers open and close in fists- needing to hold and touch and not being able to.

“Gotta wait for me, love,” he reminds you.

Simon controls your orgasms. Where you cum, when you cum, how you cum and most importantly if you cum.

Usually he’s magnanimous about it. Arguably he still is. If he really wanted to be an asshole about it, he’d be stuffing you with two of his fingers- the width of three of your own- and stroking that spot that had your body burning, eyes rolling into the back of your head while you cried and made a mess for him. Forcing you to fight yourself, to show a little impulse control, reveling in how you squeal and buck against him in protest.

Those soft thighs are trembling like leaves atop either one of his shoulders, splayed open enticingly.

“Pleasepleaseplease.”

He struggles to pull himself away, reveling in how tightly you’re wound. Simon could easily spend hours between your legs.

When initially cuffing you to the bed, his plan was to not let you finish until after he’d cum in you. Wanted to be mean about it, could hear you crying for him to finish you off. No point in getting you off, love, until I’ve filled that pretty little cunt to the brim. Whole lot of effort for nothing if I do it before, isn’t that right?

Simon spoils you rotten though and only has himself to blame for it at this point. Any time he manages to get you laid out before him it is a guarantee he’ll finish you off at least twice.

Hell it’s practically a necessity, the only thing stopping him from proceeding with his initial plan. Your body would choke down on him, usually needing to be fucked open with his mouth and fingers before being able to take the length of him without protest.

You’re squirming again. The break from his tongue lashing against your clit allows you to regain some composure but still twitching in anticipation.

Not that your respite lasts for long. Simon trails one of his fingers across the seam of your lower lips, watching how your legs jerk on impulse as his touch ghosts across your swollen clit.

“So sensitive,” he teases as you let out a plaintive whine at the contact.

His middle finger slips past your folds, sliding easily all the way to the 3rd knuckle. Giving a few slow thrusts, his ring finger soon joins.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your breaths and how absolutely wet you are. It’s filthy how his fingers squelch inside your cunt. Your moans pick up as he deliberately drags the pads of his fingers across that spongy spot inside of you.

Your brain seems to only be able to remember two words- “Simon” and “please”, chanting them as he works you closer to the edge.

“Be a good girl for me,” he answers cryptically, biting back a laugh at the tortured look on your face. Be a good girl and cum? Or be a good girl and don’t cum?

The hand not buried in your cunt trails up your body- amusement flickering across his face as you jolt from ticklish spots, his hand roaming up your belly, between your breasts and taking its place wrapped around your throat.

Your brain remembers three more words, the alternating chants broken by your accusatory “You’re being mean,”

He is. He’s done worse to you for sure, but he knows the accusation is also another plea. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back please let me cum and call me a good girl- I want to be good.

“You ever consider you’re a spoiled little princess?” He muses to you, lips hovering over your own as he awaits the smart assed retort he just knows-

“It’s your fault I’m like this,” there it is. He grins, giving a chaste peck that is wildly juxtaposed to the sinful things he’s doing to you.

The hand wrapped around your throat tightens. Not enough to damage your delicate wind pipe but enough to put the pressure on the blood vessels in your neck. He adjusts his other hand ever so slightly so his thumb can press against your clit, circling in firm movements in time as his ring and middle fingers work that one spot inside of you.

He gets the desired result- you clenching on his fingers, bucking and squirming uselessly.

“Sorry, what was that?” He asks with a falsely sweet tone, grinning as you hiss.

All the pressure from his hand is placed on the sides of your neck, your pleas and protests turning into mindless babbling.

Simon isn’t entirely without mercy, he just enjoys pushing you as close to the brink as he can.

“Come on then, love- cum for me.” He finally allows, watching with rapt attention as your eyes damn near cross.

His wrist and forearm are wet as you gush around his hand, grinning as your mess is timed with each thrust of his fingers. He doesn’t withdraw until he’s certain he’s wrung every last drop from you, although you’re not left unattended for long.

His grip on your neck lets up, doubly to let you recover from your orgasm as you gasp like a stranded fish as much as it is to have both hands free to position you how he wants.

Mindful that there’s not much slack to pull you down with, Simon holds you steady while he moves to place himself between your legs.

Your flesh is hot, swollen and needy as he lines himself up, one hand on your hip and the other grasping his length. Pliant as you are from your orgasm, it still takes a few thrusts to work you open enough to take the full length of him.

Simon is more than willing to feed you inch by inch of his cock, relishing in the wet suction of your body as you cling and clench around him.

“That feel good, pretty?” He poses the question to you as his hips clap against yours once you’re warmed up and taking him all the way to the base.

“Yes! Simon- yes!”

And what a fucking sight you make. Laid on your back, arms stretching over your head towards the headboard. Those pretty, plush thighs spread wide to accommodate him, giving Simon quite the show- watching as he buries himself in you to the hilt over and over and over again.

He damn near wants to drool watching how your body bounces from the recoil of each snap of his hips. Makes his mouth water- makes him want to turn you into a fucking chew toy, the need to bury his teeth in your soft flesh. His eyes will flick from one part of you to the next, reveling in the soft bounce of your thighs, your belly, your breasts- he couldn’t pry his gaze away, enraptured with the doe eyed, fucked-dumb look on your face when his eyes drift up high enough.

“Whose cunt is this?”

The answer to the question is obvious, and one you know well. It’s not even really the actual question he has- more the lead up than anything else.

“Yours!” He shifts himself slightly, the change in angle working for you based on how you bark out “Oh! Right there!”

Simon grinned, knowing full well what he's doing as he moves to his original position. “You gonna prove it, love?”

Your head must be swimming from the delayed response- frustrated at him for deliberately ignoring your plea and changing the rhythm on purpose.

“Prove it?” Those glassy eyes focus on him, the words sounded out slowly by your cock drunk brain.

“Prove this cunt’s mine,” a sharp thrust elicits a yelp that’s just shy of, but nearing the border of too much. “Oughta fuck a baby into you. Show everyone you belong to me.”

The way you clench down on him draws a grunt deep from his chest, telling him just what you think of that idea.

“Everyone’ll know what a good fucking girl you are,” he’s working himself up, winding tighter and tighter as his mind runs away from him entirely. “Lifting your” he staggers as your clench is timed perfectly with his thrust “-fucking skirt for me,” a few more quick thrusts, “spreading those gorgeous thighs,” his hands are gripping your waist like a lifeline- “letting me have my way with you and not- wasting- a- fucking- drop.” his last words punctuated with strong snaps of his hips.

He’s babbling now, face buried in the crook of your neck as each thrust draws staccato cries from you. “Gonna look so fucking pretty- not gonna be able to take my damn hands off of you,” which was saying something given the current rate he was either bending you over or tying you up.

You clenching around him like a vice wasn’t helping matters either. “Simon please- I want it. Baby I want it. Please cum in me-“ and how was he ever going to ignore a request like that? With you asking so nicely while your cunt works its magic on his cock.

His body dwarfs yours, all broad shoulders and delicious muscling from years of training and physical work that comes with the job. You’re caged under him as he raises his head from your neck and his mouth crashes into yours.

“Mine,” he groans out between kisses. There’s going to be bruises across your body as his grip tightens on you- one hand still fisting the flesh of your hip, the other hooking underneath one of your knees and spreading that leg out to the side, fingers digging into the skin of your thigh as you both grunt at the change in angle.

The noises the two of you are making are absolutely obscene; the slap of his heavy balls against your ass, the wet sound of your cunt taking every last inch of him. Simon’s damn near on the verge of hyperventilating, keyed up as he is between you being as receptive as you’ve been to his dirty talk, reciprocating by pleading him to cum in you. How your thighs are trembling, muscles wound tight as you strain against your binds.

He prides himself on not being a selfish lover. Even as worked up as he is, the forefront thought in his mind chasing his own pleasure so he can be a good husband and fill you up like you’re pleading for so so prettily- there’s still that one part that keys into your reactions. Making sure you’re loving every stroke he gives as he chases his own high, that those yelps don’t take a turn for too much instead of please god don’t stop don’t stop don-

His vision whites out for a second as his orgasm hits him like a bus. The coil that had been twisting tighter and tighter springs free as he buries himself in you one last time with a groan befitting a wounded animal.

The urge to collapse settles on him, but Ghost pushes it aside. You’re tied to the bed, entirely unable to take the brunt of his weight like that and wouldn’t be able to wiggle out from under him with your hands bound.

He grounds himself as he comes down by peppering you in kisses, hands roaming your body. Your face, your neck- anywhere he can reach until he feels his legs are steady enough to comply with what he asks of them.

You’re still keyed up, having been worked close to a second orgasm but not quite getting to cross the threshold before Simon. He can hear you distantly, mewling and pleading for him to finish you off and has every intention of following through.

Moving back down between your legs, a shiver runs up his spine as his over sensitive cock drags across the sheets. Settling with his face between your legs he takes a moment to observe his handwork.

Your cunt’s pretty and swollen- sensitive to, from how you jerk when his breath fans against you. Making soothing motions on your hip with one hand as he shushes you, his eyes focus on the thin line of his spend dribbling out of you.

Well that simply won’t do.

He uses one finger to trace back up your folds, pushing his cum back exactly where it belongs before sliding two fingers into you once again.

It doesn’t escape his notice how much easier it is this time, your fucked open body still soft and pliant for him. He debates teasing you about it for a second but the look on your face has it clear you’re close to crying- tension and anticipation having tears welling up in your eyes.

Spoiled the thought flashes across his head. Course it doesn’t help that he’s utterly whipped. He’ll give you anything you ask for just because you want it.

His head drops, eyes on you while his tongue lashes as your clit and his fingers fuck his cum back into you.

You cry and strain and buck against his hold. Simon knows he won’t have to wait long to feel you clenching around his fingers- it never does when he uses his mouth and fingers at the same time.

But he does wonder how quick he can wring a third out of you once he pushes you over the second time.

He’ll find out shortly- you’re already babbling, knowing the routine and half afraid he’ll make you hold it please let me cum please-

“Go on, pet.” He doesn’t so much pry his face away as he just mouths into your flesh, but got the same result either way.

Your back arches as you clamp tight on his fingers- Simon doesn’t let that get in the way of his ministrations, continuing to mouth at your clit and stroke that spot in you until your cries of pleasure turn into okay okay okay oka-

He doesn’t stop. You try crawling away from him but he puts a stop to that by quickly banding his forearm across your abdomen.

You have a safeword- kettle- if it actually was too much, and unless he hears you say it he’s going to keep a hold of you like a dog being threatened with having his favorite toy taken from him.

You’re being fucking loud, no way the neighbors can’t hear you unless they’re simply not home, and Simon doesn’t give a singular shit as he works you from your second orgasm clear into your third.

His efforts are rewarded with another rush of your cum, soaking his face and dripping down his chin.

Good. He’s still fixated on the idea of you being fat with his child, and the way he sees it the more he gets you to cum the better his chances are of it taking.

Your efforts to squirm out of his grip only increase, futile as they are.

“One more,” he lifts his head to offer you. “Be a good girl and give me one more.”

Those tears that had welled earlier are falling now, and Simon thinks you look absolutely divine with tear tracks down your face, make up smeared to hell.

“Okay,” you nod with a shaky breath- hips still trembling but no longer trying to squirm away from him.

He descends on you once again, intending to make the most of your compliance. What a good little wife he has.

He’s got your fourth orgasm rushing over you in record time, relishing in the way you tense and relax as your body tries to fight the overstimulation before your mind would quiet it. His hand strokes your hip and thigh soothingly, mumbling praises into your skin the entire time.

True to his word, he pulls away once you’ve come down.

You’re watching him with glassy eyes, limbs trembling as you finally catch a reprieve from his mouth.

“I’ll untie you now, okay love?” He’s checking where you are mentally, if he pushed too far-

You nod to him, eyes following as he steps away from the bed to grab the keys off the nightstand.

Your wrists are released from the cuffs only to be encircled by Simon’s hands- so much bigger than your own- as he gently rubs them and checks for any marks. “You alright, love?”

The soft smile you flash him has him ready to melt. “I’m good,” he watches you stretch, the slight wince. “Shoulder’s a bit tight.”

“I’ll run us a bath and we’ll see what I can do about that hm? How about you think about what you want for take out?”

He starts to turn, tethered in place as you reach out for him.

“Don’t go yet.”

He lets you lead him back into bed with a light pull on his hand.

Absolutely spoiled rotten, and yet Simon will gladly give or do anything for you if only you ask for it.

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #my writing #simon riley #simon ghost riley

3K notes · View notes

rafeysbafey · 7 months

Text

✮ 9. bed sharing — ethan landry MDNI

summary. sharing a bed with ethan turns into something more

warnings. dick!ethan (he gets better ^o^), enemies to lovers type beat, smut, language, riding

word count. 1.1k

a/n. def got carried away, so i think i rushed at the end oops lol. also this is going to be put on my regular masterlist as well as my kinktober list because it’s so damn long lmao

“what do you mean i have to share a room with ethan?!” you asked, completely flabbergasted at this sudden information.

anika and mindy had only booked three rooms when the group decided to go on a trip together. sam and tara sharing the second room while you and ethan share the other.

chad was sick the day before everyone was supposed to leave so mindy just decided to cram you and ethan together.

“im sorry, babe,” she said, frown on her face as she tried spewing out ideas to make it better.

“he’s going to hate this,” you pointed out, looking past her to see where he was, “he’s going to hate me.”

“well, more than he already does,” you added under your breath.

you and ethan had a…rocky relationship, to put it nicely.

he absolutely hated you. with the mean side comments and the not so subtle shoves he would give you when in passing.

it hurt because you actually liked ethan, when joining the group you actually found him cute.

you would see the way he conversed with others, the nerdy, kind ethan he would be in front of the group.

but with you it was different, for whatever godforsaken reason.

“ethan’s not going to hate you,” anika chimed in, giving you a look filled with pity as you sighed in annoyance.

“ethan’s not going to hate who?” a voice asked from around the corner, the devil himself making his way round before stopping a few feet away from you guys.

his eyes immediately fell on you, a sour look taking over his face as he narrowed his brows at you.

not being able to hold his gaze, you looked at the ground with a huff.

“there was a mix up apparently,” you mumbled, looking at your feet as you forced out the next words.

“we’re sharing a room.”

his mouth went agap and a certain glint flashed in his eyes, but you weren’t aware since you were looking down.

“no way, id rather rip my hair out one by one than share a room with her.”

“first off, fuck you,” you spat, your head shooting up as you glared at him, “second, i told you,” you turned towards the girls.

“guys give it one night! then we’ll figure something out. right now it’s late,” mindy sighed, giving attention to how late it had already gotten.

“sam and tara already went up, let’s go.”

the room was small and…cozy, to put it nicely.

and to make things worse, there was only one bed.

“im taking the bed,” ethan announced, tossing his suitcase on the mattress before kicking off his shoes.

“where am i supposed to sleep?!” you asked, watching as he narrowed his eyes toward you with a chuckle.

“on the floor? outside? i couldn’t care less.”

“dick,” you muttered.

“what did you say, brat?”

“just forget it,” you scoffed, shoving past him and heading into the bathroom.

after brushing your teeth and taking off your makeup, you changed into your pajamas and left the bathroom.

the lights were already off, the soft glow from the moon outside shining through the room.

you could see ethan sprawled out on the bed, resting comfortably on the cushioned mattress.

walking over to him, you shoved his side, almost pushing him off as he sat up abruptly.

“what?” he hissed, shooting you a dirty look as you rolled your eyes.

“at least give me a pillow.”

“so fucking needy,” he mumbled before grabbing an extra one and tossing it towards you.

you didn't know how long you were awake for, tossing and turning, your body aching from the roughness of the floor.

"god, could you stop being so loud?" ethan's sudden voice boomed through the silence.

"says the one who has the bed," you spat back.

before you could process what was happening next, you felt two strong arms snake around your waist and hoisting you up on the bed.

"there," he mumbled, "now stop complaining."

it was a tight fit, the bed was so small it was probably a twin.

you could feel your back pressed against ethan's chest, his hands uncomfortably resting by his sides because if not there, they would have to rest on your hips.

"y'know how angry you make me?" he suddenly whispered, voice so quiet you almost missed it.

"what?" you asked, afraid of what he'd say next.

"how angry you make me," he repeats before adding, "how stuck up you act and think you're better than everyone else."

you furrowed your brows together as you forced yourself to flip over, eyes squinting in the dark to try and read his expression.

"how do i act stuck up? i've done nothing to you," you defend, confusion laced in your voice.

"that's the point. you've never given me a chance."

flabbergasted, you scoff in annoyance, "because you're so mean to me!"

it was silent for a second, the air thick and quiet as ethan tried mustering up words.

"so if i wasn't—wasn't mean, i would have a chance?"

"a chance with me? ethan what are you talking about," you were genuinely confused.

ethan was always mean to you, making remarks about what you wore or how you did your hair, shoving past you when needing to get something, and most importantly sending jabs about how 'ugly' you were.

"i'm in love with you, god damnit."

before you could ask why, why he was in love with you if his actions and words spoke different, you felt his lips clash into yours.

you didn’t know how to react, being completely off guard as he quickly pulled away.

“fuck- im sorry, i-i should have asked i-”

you didn’t let him finish as you leaned back in, kissing him this time gently as he melted into your touch.

you rolled on top of him, straddling his waist as you intertwined your hands together, squeezing ever so slightly.

“you’re so hot,” ethan rasped out, one hand leaving yours to cup your waist as you slowly started to move against him, grinding down on his hardening cock.

“fuck, y/n.”

“want me to ride you?” you asked, innocence laced in your voice as you batted your eyelashes down at him, the moonlight hitting your face perfectly.

ethan could have came in his pants right there, the boy quickly nodding as you lifted yourself up to pull down his sweatpants, his boxers following after.

his cock slapped against his lower abdomen as he let out a sigh of relief, his tip an angry red as you stared in astonishment.

he was big.

“so pretty,” you mumbled, leaning down to kiss his tip as he hissed ever so slightly at the feeling, your pillowy lips sending vibrations through his body.

you quickly took off your pj shorts before doing the same with your underwear, tossing them somewhere random in the room without a care.

leaning down to connect your lips with his, you allowed yourself to sink onto his length, a small cry falling from your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut.

‘fuck this hurts.’ you thought to yourself, the feeling of ethan’s hand cupping the side of your face causing a warm feeling to go down your spine.

“doing so good f’me,” he whispered, his thumb stroking your cheek softly as you leaned into his touch.

after what felt like forever, you started to move, the both of you sighing in relief at the friction you two were making.

“just like that, fuck-“ he groaned, head falling back against the pillow as he held both sides of your hips with his hands, helping you bounce on top of him.

“so good, eth” you cried, “so so good.”

you felt your legs tremble as you tried your best to be consistent, ethan noticing as he took hold of the small of your back and leaned you into him.

you rested against his chest, hand wrapped around his torso as he started fucking up into you, small moans leaving your mouth.

“you’re so pretty, you sound so pretty,” he groaned, his hand still on the small of your back as the other cupped the back of your head, “so so pretty. all for me.”

“all for you,” you rambled, nodding in agreement as you felt the familiar pit in your stomach form.

“bout to cum, please let me cum,” you begged, snuggling your face deeper into his neck as he cooed you softly.

“don’t need to beg, baby.”

with that, you let yourself release on him, your body stiffening before falling back into him, jolts traveling through your thighs.

ethan followed quickly after, groaning lowly in your ear as he held your hips still, allowing him to dump himself in your used hole.

“so perfect, fuck,” he moaned before letting out a sigh, his hand now stroking the back of your head.

using all the strength you had left, you pushed yourself up to face him, a tired look on your face as you gave him a small smile.

“still hate me?” you mumbled, slightly teasing him but not really. you did believe he hated you, maybe not right at this moment, but things could be different in the morning.

“never hated you,” he whispered, frown on his lips as he pushed the lose strands of hair away from your face.

“im a jerk,” he added.

“a cute jerk,” you giggled softly, causing him to smile just a little—knowing you weren’t being as serious as he thought you would.

“but really, it hurts when you treat me the way you do.”

“i know, and im sorry for everything,” he said, pure sadness in his voice as he leaned into you, forehead meeting yours.

“i think i love you.”

“id hope so,” you snorted, pecking his lips softly before adding, “i mean your dick is in me.”

“can’t you be serious?” he joked.

“fine, i love you too.”

kinktober tag list 🏷️ @angelofcigs @courtneykindasleepy @sickyrat @thelomlisrafecameron @cupcakebrisblog @sickofitall31 @liliawritesss @ho3forfakeguys @highjadelolxo @jackchampionsbbg @jdswifee @olivia091108 @tv3verett @ch9mpi0n @20braced22 @unlikelykidwizard @thefriendlygeist @alltoomay @julesmendoza890 @mazzystarwhor3 @simpleyjaz @colsongunkelly @chvpion-jack @heheyhey @spectr3inl0ve @rafescokenostril @eventualoptimism @starkeysheart @nowitsmissing @pedrisgatorade @everythingjjmaybank @yourfavnatsblog

users with a line through them can’t be tagged

#ethan landry fluff #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry #ethan landry scream #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry oneshot

2K notes · View notes

javierpena-inatacvest · 1 month

Text

Haircut

Summary: Javi thinks that he's way past due for a haircut. You like his hair long for reasons other than his good looks.

Word Count: 2.1K (I sprinted to write this after I saw this picture)

Pairing: Husband!Javi x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n, reader's nickname is Osita)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) Oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, praise kink, (lovingly?) possessive Javi, Javi's back at again with his filthy mouth, hair pulling, Javi is hungry and the man is gonna EAT, allsions to more smut, Jonas Brother's references ( bc Javi is our girl dad king and his daughters love them LMAO)

A/N: Y'ALL REALLY THOUGHT THIS PICTURE OF PEDRO WAS SURFACE RIGHT HERE ON TUMBLR DOT COM AND I WASN'T GONNA DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?!? WRONG. I legit have 3 WIPS I started in the past 24 hours based on this picture alone. Pedro really did this one for the Javier Peña girlies (gn) and I will forever be in debt to him for that. You cannot tell me that this is Dad!Javi when his kids are a little bit older bc HOLY SHIT?! This really may the nail in the coffin for @notjustjavierpena and I bc really fear this is the dilfiest Husband Javi has ever looked 😩😵‍💫 anyways, never getting over this!!!!

Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“God, I can’t even remember the last time my hair has been this long. Lucy keeps saying I look like a Jonas Brother. Am I supposed to know who they are? Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Javi sighed, playing with his dark brown curls in the bathroom mirror as you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, peeking out to watch your husband’s longer than usual locks twist between his fingers.

“They’re the goofy looking boy band on Disney Channel that the girls are obsessed with. Like the Backstreet Boys, except cooler, apparently.” You laughed, planting a soft kiss into the fabric of Javi’s worn t-shirt covering his broad back before stepping next to him, leaning your hip against the bathroom counter to admire your husband as he fiddled with his hair.

“Jesus Christ, those guys? God, I really do need a haircut before I start looking like the poster what’s-his-face hanging on Lucy and Elliot’s walls.” Javi chuckled, running his hand through his hair once more before mirroring you, his hip resting against the counter, leaning his weight on his palm splayed flat along the granite surface.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think he’s supposed to be the best looking one.” You teased, giving Javi a playful shrug. “Besides, I like your hair long.”

“Seriously?” Javi asked, raising an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest in protest. “It looks like a mop right now.”

“A very sexy mop.” You smirked, nudging Javi before stepping closer into him, reaching up to run your hand through his curls, slowly twisting the ends with your fingers. “It reminds me of that trip we took to Jamaica a few years ago. Your hair was almost this long, remember? You looked so hot in those stupid floral button downs you insisted on buying, and hanging out shirtless by the pool all day while you played with the girls.”

“Fuck, I forgot about that. I’m surprised we didn’t end up with a fourth kid after that trip.” Javi chuckled, slowly shifting the palm that had been holding him up towards your waist, letting his fingers gently toy with the waistband of your pajamas. “You really like my long hair that much?”

“Mhmmmm.” You cooed, continuing to close the gap between your bodies, your free hand resting on Javi’s chest as the other continued to stroke his curls. You could feel a low groan rumbling in Javi’s throat as your fingers weaved back and forth through his hair, the other creeping up to cradle his jaw, thumb tracing back and forth across the stubble on his cheek.

“Yeah? What else do you like about it?” Javi groaned, his hand slipping under the elastic waistband of your pants to grab a fistfull of your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hand.

“I like…” You paused, bringing your lips to Javi’s, pressing a tender kiss on his lips, “I like that it gives me something extra to hold on to.”

“Hold on to?” Javi asked, cocking his head in slight confusion.

“Hold on to when you go down on me. I love being able to run my hands through your hair when you eat me out, especially when it’s long like this.” You smirked, watching Javi’s eyes go wide in delight, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he bit down on his lip.

Before you could say anything else, Javi’s hands were gripping around your waist and hosting you up to sit on the counter, caging his body against yours, hands planted around the outside of your hips while his lips crashed into yours, your mouths becoming a tangled mess of tongue and teeth.

“Fuck…” Javi whispered to himself, pulling away from your lips to pepper kisses down your jaw and neck, running his hands over your thighs. “I love it when you play with my hair, Hermosa. Love feeling you pull on it when you’re close. Makes me lose my fucking mind every time. Fuck, I’d stay burried between your legs forever if I fucking could.”

Javi began to let his kisses trail down your body, past your chest and across your stomach before he was dropping to his knees in front of you, draping your legs across the width of his shoulders. Pulling at your waistband, you lifted your hips off the counter so your pajamas and underwear could fall to the floor, revealing the wetness that had been pooling between your thighs since you had walked into the bathroom a few minutes ago.

“Jesus Christ…” Javi whispered, further parting your legs to see the arousal already dripping through your folds, staring up at you with a boyish grin on his face, “So fucking wet for me, Hermosa. Didn’t realize you liked my hair that much.”

“Oh shut up you goof, you know I- o-oh fuck-” You whimpered, Javi cutting off the rest of your sentence as the flat of his tongue dragged across your cunt, the suddent sensation making you gasp in delight, already playing in to Javi’s plan as your hand shot down to his head, digging your fingers into his messy hair.

“Better hold on tight, querida. There’s a lot more where that came from.” Javi smirked, pulling away just enough to see the smug smile between his cheeks, peppering a few wet kisses on the inside of your thighs before his head was back between your legs, placing a soft kiss on your clit, already aching and throbbing for more of what you had just been promised.

“Do your worst, Peña.”

That one sent a low growl of approval humming through his chest, laughing to himself as his hands gripped tighter around your thighs, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your skin before another slow, broad stroke of his tongue was traveling through your folds.

While you were truly convinced there wasn’t another man who loved going down on their wife more than your husband did, you could always tell when Javi wanted nothing more than to stay buried between your thighs, making you cum over and over until you were begging him to stop, lapping up every last drop of you until there was nothing left to give, and right now, you already knew Javi meant what he said when you were about to have to hold on for dear life.

The hand buried in the dark waves of Javi’s hair only began to tug tighter as his tongue began to work meticulously across your cunt, pressing just enough pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves to already have you a squirming, whimpering mess, but painstakingly slow enough to have you begging for more.

“Javi… Oh, shit. Fuck, more baby, please. P-please.” You moaned, looking down at Javi with what you were already sure was a wrecked expression painted across your face.

You could practically feel Javi’s smug smirk pressed against your cunt as he eased one, then two fingers into your aching core, curling them to bump against the spongy spot inside you that already had you fisting at the edge of the bathroom counter to try and keep your composure, and better yet, your voice down.

“Oh my god, f-fuck. You feel so good, baby.” You moaned, feeling the strong arch of Javi’s nose bumping against your clit, placing a soft kiss there before the flat of his tongue licked another long, broad stroke across your cunt, putting just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers worked in tandem to send the sweet tingling sensation to start building in your spine.

“Fuck, I love this perfect pussy so much. I still can’t believe she’s all fucking mine. My perfect fucking wife. Tell me, Hermosa, whose pussy is this?” Javi asked, pulling away for you to see your slick covering his mustache and the lustful look pooling in the dark brown of his eyes, the quiet possessiveness of his tone making your cunt clench even tighter around his fingers as they continued to pulse in and out of you.

“It’s y-yours, Javi, It’s all- fuck- It’s all yours.” You whined, your breath hitching in your throat as you spoke.

“And who’s the only one who makes you feel like this, huh?” Javi tutted, sliding a third finger into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting making you let out a ragged whimper as you threw your head back in pleasure.

“Y-you- Jesus- Y-you are, Javi.”

“And who’s gonna be a good girl and soak my face when she cums for me?”

“M-me.”

“That’s fucking right, you are.” Javi growled before diving back between your legs, working his tongue relentlessly against your clit, circling and flicking in fast and firm motions as his fingers curled deeper into your core, eating you up like a man starved, desperate to make you fall apart.

You could already feel the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten from the way Javi was working so relentlessly to make you come undone, drinking every ounce of you up as his lips latched around your sensitive bundle of nerves, making your back arch and mind go blank while that all too familiar tingle began to creep through your core, cunt beginning to clench tighter and tighter around him.

At this point, your fingers were tugging so tightly around the soft, brown curls of his locks to try and hold yourself together, that you were convinced that you were close to pulling his hair out of his skull, but with the way you were on the brink of collapse from the way Javi’s mouth was working against your cunt, you almost didn’t have a choice.

“Fuck, Javi. Oh shit- Baby, I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop, mi amor. Won’t stop until this pretty pussy fucking soaks me.” Javi mewled, peeking his head out from under you just enough so that his sweet, brown eyes were locked with yours, the hot words of his breath dancing against your pussy as his fingers continued to rock in and out of you. “I’ve got you, Osita. Promento. Damelo, bebita. (I promise. Give it to me, baby).”

Before you could respond, your jaw dropped open and face scrunched in pleasure as Javi dove back in, burying his face in your cunt as each press of his tongue became more firm and precise than the last, feeling your pussy begin to flutter as you clutched tighter around the edge of the counter, trying to keep from screaming out in pleasure and raise any suspicion. But as your legs began to tremble and your heart race, teetering on the brink of collapse, it was taking every ounce of willpower you had left to make that happen.

“Fuck, Javi. Fuck, I- fuck- I’m gonna, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.” You whimpered, feeling your orgasm crash through you, pleasure radiating in your veins as you fell apart, losing all inhibitions to keep yourself quiet as you threw your head back in all consuming bliss. With his fingers still buried in your cunt, gently working you through your high, Javi shot back up, his mouth engulfing yours in an electric kiss to try and capture your ragged moans that had been coating the walls of the bathroom, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips.

Your heartbeat finally began to slow, your chest heaving in long, heavy breaths as you slumped into Javi, your head resting on his shoulder as your hands stayed buried deep in his hair, grasping onto his now sweat-dampened ends to try and pull yourself back down to reality.

After a few moments of letting you come to, Javi gently pulled out his fingers, all three drenched and glistening with your slick, pulling them out and bringing them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk of satisfaction on his face.

“God, you taste so fucking sweet. You really weren’t kidding about the hair, huh Hermosa?” Javi chuckled, cupping your jaw to cradle your cheek with his broad palm, forcing your gaze up at him.

“I told you.” You giggled softly, still trying to catch your breath as you smiled at him, pulling him in for another long, tender kiss. “Hottest looking Jonas Brother I’ve ever seen.”

The two of you burst out into laughter, practically snorting at your comment, taking a second to compose yourselves as Javi crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes at you.

“If that’s the fucking case, I’m getting out the clippers tonight.”

“Not until you take me to bed and do this all again, you aren’t.”

taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @pigeonmama @pedr0swh0r3

665 notes · View notes

bluexiao · 2 years

Text

#your highness, do you love me?

—how do they treat you with favor if you’re the tsaritsa’s heir

CHARACTERS. fatui harbingers (Tartaglia / Childe, Arlecchino, Pantalone, La Signora, Sandrone, Scaramouche, Il Dottore, Columbina, Il Capitano, Pierro); Tsaritsa’s heir! Gn! Reader

THEMES. Can be platonic/romantic, it’s on you; fluff; crack on some

WARNINGS. reader is a simp for everyone /hj; sandrone is gaslight gatekeep girlboss; obv tsaritsa is your mother here… biological or not is not really implied

NOTES. You are free to think what’s the reader’s age or appearance as i did not really specify those things here~ p.s. i tried to write for pulcinella… but i really can’t lmao

Archons, in general, do not pass down their divinity to their own blood. But for you and the Fatui, this was different. For them, the Tsaritsa was the one that built them and made them who they are now—giving them power and the ability to conquer the world of Teyvat.

…

TARTAGLIA, being the newest member of the Fatui Harbingers, is expected to do what newcomers do: be too showy with their loyalty—however, this is already quite apparent with his personality all the more, which made him stand out for you as he was twice as showy as the others than you’ve ever seen.

He was not exactly a good person, but he was the Harbinger that did not mind talking to you casually, especially after your permission. And you liked it. It was a breath of fresh air, and it gave you a sense of being one with them, not just someone who had a position just because you were their Queen’s heir.

“Are you leaving?” you question, catching him along the hallways, on th way out of your mother’s throne room.

“Hm? Why? Are you going to miss me?” he lets out a sly smirk to which you chuckled—how he can make you laugh in amusement within seconds still amazes you up to this very day.

“You’re so funny, Tartaglia.”

“So… you won’t miss me?”

You could only smile and send him look, “You’re free to guess, Eleven.”

ARLECCHINO gives you the same respect as she does with the Tsaritsa. She knows her place and her role, and she may not talk to you unless you talk to her first.

“Knave, Knave, have you heard? I heard Tartaglia went to look for Scaramouche. Would you be going as well?”

“I am not,” she answers, “not unless the heir wishes for me to go, then I shall-”

“Ah, no! Don’t!” You immediately interrupt her, “How about spending time with me instead?”

“If that is what you wish, Your Highness.”

“Knave…” you gave her a look—and for her, it was a look she often saw from the Tsaritsa, whenever she is displeased, that is—“I told you to call me by my name, did I not?”

A shiver runs down her spine, bowing her head down, “I apologize, Yo—Y/n.”

She feels a flutter in her stomach when she catches you smiling brightly—as bright as the sun that does not dare to peek in the land of Snezhnaya—what was this? Is this of worry that she had displeased the heir? Or was this because it’s you? Either way, both do not go well with her—this could jeopardize her standing as a Harbinger as well.

“Good! Now, accompany me? Knave?”

“Very well… Y/n.”

PANTALONE treats you quite handsomely (just like he is…) actually. He has a ton of gifts for you, especially when he came to realize how you liked being given one. He’d shower you with material things, and would even give them personally quite a few times—your birthdays most likely.

To be frank, he only did this at first to earn your favor, at the very least, make you have a good word to say about him to your mother just in case.

But things got out of hand.

“Ah, be careful! Lord Pantalone is fond of Your Highness’ heir. He would not tolerate it if he heard you say anything about them!”

Even the others had noticed the (not-so) subtle actions of the Harbinger, and yet it was him who thought that all this time, he was only doing this for such a simple reason.

But why does he find it infuriating just by hearing others say your name? Or whenever he sees you act more friendly to the other Harbingers.

He certainly has to find a reason why.

And the only way is to go and find you and have a nice chat.

Yes… just a chat.

LA SIGNORA is known for being one of the Tsaritsa’s closest aides, and that was how you came to know her as well.

As she is closer to your mother than the others, you’ve seen her far too many times and was able to also converse with her as well.

However… she’s quite…

“Ah, well it isn’t you, little one.”

“I… why do you always call me that?” you purse your lips, almost pouting in front of the Eighth Harbinger, to which she could only giggle.

“Why? Are you displeased with such a thing? Would you rather I call you…” she paused leaning in ever so slightly and making you lean back… but she didn't say anything else—just giving you a knowing smirk and look.

“C-call me… what?” You tried to question, entertaining her response, whatever it is.

“Hmm,” she hums yet never answers the question. She stays in that position a moment longer before she leans back and crosses her arms.

“Seeing as you couldn’t propose a new name, I’ll continue calling you the same, little one.”

SANDRONE does not really speak to you much, but people could feel that she truly favors you, probably much more than the other Harbingers and even the Tsaritsa.

Yet that favor seems to have come from somewhere else.

“I see you all are unaware, yet unawareness is not an excuse for this treachery. Your Highness, if you may allow me to punish them for their disrespect towards you,” the woman bows her head with a hand on her chest, making the Fatui members tremble at their leader’s words.

“T-the heir themselves! Please have mercy-!”

“They are my subordinates and yet they do not know who the heir of Your Majesty is. I am disgraced by such,” she raises her head and sends a look at you, eyes gleaming, “Your Highness should not let themselves be treated this way.”

Is she… urging you?

“I…”

“Have mercy, Your Highness-!”

You looked away, closing your eyes with a sigh.

“I’ll leave it to you, Sandrone.”

She smirks—which you failed to see—and replies, “As you wish, Your Highness. You truly are a great fit to the throne.”

SCARAMOUCHE is not favored by everyone, and maybe that’s why he does find satisfaction whenever you show your kindness to him.

Like a lone moon in the middle of the dark.

Not that he’d ever admit to such a thing.

“Scara!”

He grits his teeth, jaw and shoulders tensing at the way you referred to him—and at the mere sound of your voice. He bit back the words he so wanted to blurt out, aware of his surroundings—the eyes and ears that your call had caught attention of.

After all, it is not that usual for you, the heir of the Tsaritsa, to call someone—let alone a Harbinger with a nickname.

“Your Highness,” he hisses, and pauses just as soon as he had faced you, glaring at you as he mutters in a low tone, “do you love me?”

“W-what?!” You staggered and instinctively looked around. It was a good thing he had questioned you without letting others hear or else—

“I said—”

“I heard you for the first time, Sixth.” Your firm voice made him halt, as well as probably caught more attention from the people around you. It was not that usual for you to talk seriously in front of others—especially to SCARAMOUCHE.

He raised a brow at your tone, only to let out a scoff when you drop the serious look on your face and smile at him again.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No! But you got my heart!”

He makes a disgusted look on his face, only to face away with a huff, crossing his arms. Ah, he should really make you stop… but it’s not like he could—or that he’d want to.

IL DOTTORE… Well, you probably found him scarier than Pierro honestly. At first.

As time went on and you continued to observe him, you realized that...

Just as much as someone like him craves for things that are interesting for him, he was the one who you found interesting.

“Ah… you’re here again, Your Highness! A pleasure for you to join us.”

You found yourself smiling at the grin that the Doctor gave you, standing at your usual place and placing your arms on the desk—one that is quite far from his workplace, as he’d one time told you it was “dangerous to come near”.

“What is it that you’re up to today, Dottore?”

“My, my, aren’t you a curious little cat?” He hums and turns to face you, “this time will be a secret, however. Fear not! Your expectations will be granted once I present to you what this experiment is about.”

“Oh? A surprise? I didn’t know you like surprises.”

“Oh I don’t” he smirks, “but I know you do.”

You adored COLUMBINA’s voice the moment you heard her, and it was you who gave her her name.

“Damselette, truly fitting, isn’t it?”

“I am grateful, Your Highness.”

Anyone could tell that there is something going on between the two of you—either you favor her greatly or that she follows whatever you say as if it is law.

“Isn’t she the Harbinger that the Heir is fond of?”

“I bet that she only became a Harbinger because of the Heir.”

“What are you saying?! That Harbinger is terrifying! Did you not hear what she did on her most recent missions?”

“What? What did she do?”

You were passing by with COLUMBINA when you caught the voices of the Fatuus not too far away from both of you, before they could say any more, you halted from your tracks and reached for your companion’s ears, cupping them and preventing her from hearing anything.

She perks her head but does not say anything. You could still hear the others’ voices, to which prompted you to signal from the guards that were accompanying you, and they knew full well what the look on your face tells.

Removing your hands from COLUMBINA’s ears once the guards had taken the talkative Fatuus’ away, your heart swelled on the smile that she flashed onto you, bowing her head and letting you hear her sweet voice.

“Your Highness is always there for me, and this humble servant shall always be by Your Highness’ side.”

You scoffed, smiling back.

“Good.”

IL CAPITANO… he knows his place—his title as a Fatui Harbinger, but he also would have tendencies where would show some human kindness that probably very few of his colleagues do possess… every once in a while. And honestly, that was what you liked about him. That regardless of his strength and title, you could see an ounce of humanity in him—despite there being a chance that he’s not anymore.

You’d never know.

Nonetheless, it shows whenever he was with you—or when you see him, actually. You two are not that close, it was difficult to. You are the heir of their Queen, who were you to make friends with technically her subordinates? Your mother would not permit you to, nor would she let them do the same.

One day, however, changed it all.

It was the day that you had seen IL CAPITANO training on his own. Ever since, you were mesmerized. It’s quite unknown to you whether it was because of him and his movements or was it your desire to fight.

But nonetheless, it broke all the walls down and prompted you to ask “Could you teach me?”

You caught his attention—maybe way before that day.

“I mean… could you train me? To be as strong as you. You’re strong… right? I’ve heard Eleventh ask you to spar with him before. Maybe… you can teach me that too. To spar.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t. '' You could hear the grin in his voice, but you can’t really see it with his mask on.

Actually, you think to yourself, you shouldn’t, you replied to him in your mind, only to merely smile.

Not that he’d ever know.

Not now, that is.

You cannot really remember when was the first time you met PIERRO, as he was already there when you were born, and he had been a constant in your life. Maybe you almost forgot a time where he wasn’t present and by your side.

Nonetheless, you’ve always seen him as quite intimidating, but also somewhat of a protector. At one point, you had heard your mother tell him to guide you on the right path. And since then, you’ve always noticed him whenever he was near.

And one time, you had the courage to walk up to him and actually talk to him.

He was… rigid, so to speak, but he entertained your talk and the conversation, so it didn’t stop you from trying to speak or have a chat with him every once in a while, sometimes even in his office where you just talk his ears off and he listens. He indulges you, you think. And honestly, you were just there because you were quite curious if he’ll ever tell you off or scold you in any way—just like your mother would whenever you try to initiate long nonsense chats with her.

But he doesn’t.

And maybe… you’re still trying up til this day, and he already knew your intentions whenever you try to talk to him.

“Your Highness… you’re here,”

“Ah, yes, I have another story to tell you!”

“I have reports to finish but,” he pauses, sending a look to you, “I shall listen to whatever you have to say.”

Reblogs and comments are appreciated~

Taglist is on the reblogs!

#genshin x reader #harbinger x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #scaramouche x reader #pantalone x reader #dottore x reader #columbina x reader #capitano x reader #pierro x reader #sandrone x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #arlecchino x reader #damselette x reader #kunikuzushi x reader

9K notes · View notes

aureatchi · 4 months

Text

⛇₊˚ .࿐₊˚✧ BUBBLES IN MY CHAMPAGNE, LET IT BE SOME JAZZ PLAYIN’ . . .OSAMU DAZAI

⟢ SYNOPSIS. the port-mafia was infamous for throwing glamorous holiday parties every year. not only were you attending this time, but you were also finally going to be introduced as the port-mafia boss’ pretty girlfriend! or…that was the plan.

of course, things never go according to plan.

a/n. merry christmas !! adding onto the xmas dazai fics jdjsjwn <3 this one’s vv chaotic.

info. fem!reader. pm boss!dazai. pm exec!reader. fluff, angst, pinch of sugg. there’s DRAMA. mentions of drinking. lil jealousy. dazai is a 💩. the pm is filthy rich lmao. pazenia is a made up country. wc. 3.4k

“Oh my.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

The brunette chuckled as he waltzed towards you. You saw him appear behind you through the sizeable full-body mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist as you finished applying your lipstick.

“It looks even better on you.” Dazai’s fingers wandered playfully, tracing the curves the red dress he gifted you hugged so well. The tailoring was so impressive—the dress could fit noone else but you. And indeed, it was made exclusively for you, for the largest and most luxe corporate event of the year.

It was the Port Mafia Christmas party. Everyone was required to attend, and plus-ones were allowed too, stirring even more chaos into the affair. You were a Port Mafia executive—of course you were going, but the night was going to be unique for another reason.

Tonight, the Port Mafia boss would confirm all the rumors…all the gossip circulating the past few months. He was finally making your relationship with him official in front of everyone.

As if everyone still doesn’t know.

Yet you were nervous. Keeping things an enigma actually worked in your favor—besides suspicious stares with muffled voices and jealous women, you didn’t have to worry about much. Dazai would take care of any problem. After all, you trusted him completely.

But now, everyone would know. You and Dazai had gone through all the downsides—you could become a potential target for any enemies, your name would rise even higher on the wanted list, and you could be stalked by frustrated, jealous men…honestly, you two were almost too hot for your own wellbeing.

Just almost, because “I’ll take care of it all. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you, darling.”

He whispered those words into your ear, sensing your anxiousness as you continued to look at your reflections.

“Please don’t worry.”

He did not speak in his usual teasing, playfully amorous voice. The brunette’s face matched the seriousness of the topic you had both gone over multiple times, making sure that the other wanted to still go through with it. You both didn’t want to force the decision of your relationship upon the other—though it was Dazai who had suggested the idea, the choice rested entirely on you. He ensured you knew you could change your mind anytime you wanted.

And Dazai wished you could see that he truly, would go to the ends of universes to make sure you were safe.

You gave him a reassuring smile. “I won’t,” you replied. “I’m only worried about you. I need to be by your side at all times to fight any bad guys that come for you.”

And girls. If you were being honest, you always felt a bit sick thinking about other women wanting him. Maybe this is why your nerves hadn’t backed you out yet…you wanted everyone to know their leader was indeed taken.

Dazai laughed more heartily than he intended to at the comment. He, the now Port Mafia superior commander, known even before as the Demon Prodigy, was being talked to in concern that he needed a sidekick to help him.

Though, he was also the same man whose mind was full of fervor for one girl. You giggled, seeing the apparent blush on Dazai’s face when you fixed his black tie. He was matching with you, of course—his red attire was the ruby scarf.

“Perfect,” you mused when you were done. “Wow, you’re handsome.“

“And you’re ethereal,” Dazai responded, putting on your coat. “Ready to go shock everyone?”

“As if half of the mafia doesn’t already suspect anything between us, Osamu,” you smiled.

“Hmm…you’re right.

“Of course they’d think I’d sought after the prettiest woman in the world.” A coy grin snuck back onto his lips.

…

It was evident your lover had good taste, not only in outfits. He chose to rent out one of the big hotels as the venue for the party—very fitting for the filthy-rich organization.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of the limo was the massive Christmas tree in the center of the hall.

“Woah.” There were at least fifty gifts under it already.

You noticed Dazai’s brows suddenly furrow as he, too, inspected the presents.

“Osamu?”

“Bella, remind me who this person is again.”

He picked up a present, showing you a familiar name.

“Oh!” He was the assistant under your wing. You two had worked together for years—you had built up a lot of trust and a friendship to have him in charge of some of your responsibilities.

“I see. Don’t mind that; I forget some of my men sometimes.”

You nodded, though you felt a bit unsure about his response. Regardless, you cast the thought aside.

What you didn’t notice was the way Dazai showed you the package. The present was from your assistant, but the name it was for was entirely covered by the brunette’s hand.

“Well, are you ready to go in?” Dazai asked, holding out a hand towards you.

“Yeah, I’m-”

“Dazai!”

It was Kouyou, another executive. She saw you and greeted you, too.

“My, you’re looking lovely today,” she chirped. “So you and the boss are dating.”

You smiled. “Yes.”

“Well, better tell everyone soon,” she told the both of you. “Dazai, a daughter of a very infamous organization in Europe, is at this party as a plus-one. She wants to discuss a business proposal…‘as soon as possible,’ she said. It’s confidential, too; she only wants you. Do you have a few moments to spare?”

Dazai immediately turned toward you, to which you nodded at him. “It seems important, especially if she’s from Europe.”

“You’re sure?” Dazai asked. You were supposed to walk into the dining hall together to introduce yourselves as the power couple of the evening. “What about…”

“Yeah, the mafia is the priority. I’ll find you soon.” You were an executive, after all. The mafia existed to protect Yokohama City, so work should be an urgency.

“Alright,” he replied. He took another look at you—a singular, amber eye softened once he met your gaze. The other was hidden behind bandages, and so were the emotions of his heart. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling at the moment.

“Let’s go, big sis.” He turned towards Kouyou, who led him out of the room.

Now alone, not counting the guards, you glanced at the presents again, picking up the one Dazai had previously questioned you about.

Oh! Your assistant gave you a present. You found it sweet; your assistant hadn’t gifted you anything until this year. Now Dazai’s reaction made sense—perhaps he had thought you had a secret admirer or something. You giggled at his assumed jealousy.

…

You walked inside the dining hall by yourself, a large crowd already entertaining themselves inside. Everyone who saw you stopped to greet you—their executive, and you wished them a merry Christmas back with a friendly smile.

“Huh? So she’s not dating him?”

You turned your head the slightest, pretending to grab a drink while you instead eavesdropped on two employees you hardly knew. Thank goodness they weren’t the ones going out on missions to spy—they were terrible at not being obvious.

“I’m not sure. But that underground aristocrat from Europe that everyone knows has a crush on the boss showed up to meet him. That huge Christmas tree by the staircases is actually a gift from her.”

“Really?! So…maybe she was the boss’ plus-one? Now that’s wild. Everyone really had me believing he was seeing the executive.”

“Yo!” Your attention was suddenly pulled from their conversation.

“You good? You’re overflowing your cup.” You had poured too much drink, so liquid was running all over the floor.

“Shoot, I think she heard us!” you faintly heard behind you as the employees moved away.

“Oh, yeah. I’m so sorry,” you responded to your assistant who had found you. He handed you a few napkins to clean your hands and dropped a few more to mop the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t need to help, and thank you,” you said as you cleaned up, too, feeling bad.

“All good! Merry Christmas, by the way. How’s your evening going so far?”

“Good, thank you,” you responded, half-truthful. You needed to find somewhere to process what you had just heard. Even if they were only rumors…they bothered you.

“I saw you got me a gift in the lobby,” you added, recalling earlier. “I was surprised! You haven’t done that before, so I found it so sweet.”

“Oh yeah!” he replied, and you didn’t miss the pink that tinted his cheeks. “Who knows…I may have had a change of heart this year.”

You chuckled innocently. “Well, whatever the reason, thank you! I’m excited to see what you got.”

“Of course. I do hope you like it! Also, your dress. It looks good on you.” His voice sped up at his last comment.

“Oh, uh, thanks-”

That was really awkward. You gave him mercy, though…you hadn’t even told him you were in a relationship. So, you tried to say to him that it was your boyfriend, Dazai, who had the dress made for you, but you were cut off.

Dazai had finally entered the room, but he was accompanied by that noblewoman everyone was speaking about.

Wow, she was gorgeous. Her hair was in a perfect blowout, and she wore an emerald green dress that fit her like a glove.

And with each step Dazai and this new woman took into the hall to be regarded by everyone, your heart sank a bit more into your stomach.

What??

“You don’t look so well. Are you okay?” Your assistant paid no mind to the mafia boss’ new commotion. He was wholly concerned for you.

“Yeah. This drink tastes weird, but I can’t put my finger on what.” Yet, you took another sip. What was going on? You had never doubted Dazai’s love or loyalty toward you. Had you been so blind by your own to miss this?

Dazai didn’t even bother trying to search for you. And the way the lady’s arm touchingly clung around his infuriated you.

“He was seeing some foreign princess all along?”

“The boss always has to cause a scene with something new.”

“They’re kind of hot together, though.”

Now you really wanted to puke. You stared until the noblewoman’s eyes finally caught yours and dwelt on your figure briefly before turning toward Dazai and asking him something.

Dazai’s lips read, “Okay!” before a guard approached you.

“The boss is summoning all the executives to him,” he whispered in your ear, and you nodded, strolling over to him.

Fuck. You wanted to cry. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

You felt a bit better when the other executives—Kouyou and Chuuya showed up before you.

“Miss, these are the Port Mafia’s three executives.” He introduced you individually, not meeting your eye when he went to you.

You wanted to leave. There was no point in being here anymore. What you thought would be a cheery Christmas Eve turned out to be the worst night ever. It couldn’t have gotten any worse…

“And this is the Lady of Pazenia,” Dazai said, introducing the woman. “Our most important foreign guest tonight.”

“So, uh? I’m kinda confused,” Chuuya commented. “Mackerel boss, ya dating her or something?” He glanced at Dazai, the girl on him, and then you.

She responded for him. “We’re getting acquainted tonight, that’s all,” she replied smugly. Dazai chuckled. “Yes…we’ve communicated online a few times, but this is the first time we’re meeting face to face.”

What the fuck.

“Oh, uh, okay.” For once, Chuuya didn’t pester, didn’t tease anymore. Because he was just as startled as you. He, too, suspected that you were dating the boss.

“I’m sorry, will you please excuse me? It was nice meeting you, m’lady; I hope you enjoy your Christmas with the boss.” You didn’t even wait for a reply. You stormed off in the direction of your assistant. You were going to ask him to drive you home, and then you’d pack your things and then stay at a friend’s house for a few days to figure out what to do next.

Everything was crashing down like an avalanche.

But before you could get to him, the bastard’s subordinate stopped you.

“Akutagawa? Hi, Merry Christmas. Sorry, I’m in a rush-”

“Merry Christmas, miss,” he responded, moving in front of you again when you tried to shift over. “Aren’t you going to rescue the boss? Has your emotion clouded your rationality so much you can’t see things clearly anymore?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

You turned back towards the scene, and yeah—what you saw was your final straw. Akutagawa misjudged. Not even a glimmer of hope remained in you.

Somehow, they had ended up at the corner of the room. And lo and behold, Dazai and the Lady of Pazenia had ended up under the mistletoe, and many of the upper ranks surrounded them. There was even a Paparazzi.

You tried to push past Akutagawa, but he stopped you.

“Watch.”

Why? Did Dazai place him there to make sure you suffered through it all? This was so cruel. Tears welled up in your eyes as the room went quiet to watch.

“Oh! Silly me…how did I manage to get here?”

“I’m not sure…” the woman replied flirtatiously. “But you can’t break a tradition, boss of the Port Mafia.”

“I guess I can’t,” Dazai replied, leaning in. “But, can we make a deal, Miss?

“You can kiss me, but tell me where the real Lady of Pazenia is. The exact coordinates where you’re keeping her hostage. If there’s anyone kept in place to secure or torture her.”

And the crowd suddenly gasped. She did, too, and a hand flew to her mouth.

“Shit!”

About ten guards ran towards her, restraining her before she could do anything. Dazai calmly backed away, continuing to explain.

“The business proposal was crafty and would’ve led to our doom quite quickly. You’re trying to overthrow your own government. So, you devised a cover-up to get the mafia to help you, with a deal to help us on our end, but just like your original goal, you want our city’s government to fall into anarchy, too.

“An underground noblewoman. You are exactly that—quite literally.” Dazai sighed. “No, I’m not in a relationship with her, I…”

Dazai finally met your eye, and his heart immediately sunk seeing you cry.

“Oh my gosh,” he whispered, and he ran towards you, tightly embracing you.

You wanted to punch him, throw him away—something, but you were surrounded by half the corporate. There was already enough scandal tonight, you didn’t need to add any more.

“Hah, it’s okay,” you responded audibly, hastily wiping tears. “You’re a great actor, Osamu, really got me believing you were cheating on me for a second.” Words spurred out of your mouth—you hoped you wouldn’t regret it later.

Dazai’s grip on you tightened to silently show you gratitude before he turned to your audience. “Now that the problem is out of the way—Merry Christmas to you all.” A waiter handed him a glass of champagne, who had also gone around with multiple others to hand out drinks to everyone.

“And a special Merry Christmas to my girlfriend, right here.” He gave you a kind smile, and you tried your best to reciprocate your own. There were “awe”’s and “that’s so cute”’s about.

Dazai held his glass up towards everyone else’s before toasting with yours.

…

You stayed away from Dazai for the next hour. He respected your space for that long—in the meantime, you acted fine. You conversed with others, you laughed. Your assistant apologized for his comment on you earlier—“I was completely oblivious to you and the boss! I’m so sorry; I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” You laughed it off, telling him it was okay.

“Hey, bella.”

Dazai had finally found you alone. You looked at him, facing the inevitable.

“I’m getting tired. Wanna sneak away with me?”

You hesitated. “Where would we go?”

“The drinks suck here, besides that champagne. I know Chuuya was definitely not in charge of this part.”

You had to agree with that one. You couldn’t even finish the glass you overfilled earlier.

…

Bar Lupin was surprisingly empty that night. The bar was Dazai’s safe place, his getaway. You were constantly reminded of his genuine, complete trust in you whenever he took you here.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai apologized as you waited for your drinks. “What I did was brutal.”

“It really fucking hurt,” you said, finally able to release your true feelings now that nobody else was around.

“I had to keep up the act to expose her. Her vulnerability was that…she had a crush on me? So, the most rapid way to gain her trust was to make her believe she had a chance. She didn’t know I was seeing someone.”

“You take acting too seriously. You’re the Port Mafia boss, not some goddamn movie actor. You couldn’t even…make eye contact with me? Give me a reassuring look or something?”

“You’re right. That’s no excuse.” He took a breath. He had actually messed something up. He could predict and do everything else flawlessly until it came to the people he loved.

He always screwed it up.

“I set aside our relationship for a mission. I’m really sorry, love. And I understand if it takes awhile for you to think through it all. The only thing I ask is for forgiveness.”

“I dunno…it kind of seems like you enjoyed it…”

That was a lie. You were just saying things out of spite now. You had rethought the previous events after recalling what Akutagawa had harshly told you without context—rescue the boss? Yeah, Dazai clearly didn’t enjoy it. He never touched the woman back in any way, and his word choice was very cautious. Except one line.

“Us communicating online? Yeah, I knew she’d just go along with it. I had to say that so Chuuya would stop pushing and blow my cover. Besides, you literally have my email login, darling. You see everything.”

“I really hate you sometimes, Osamu, you know?” you muttered as the bartender finally handed you two your drinks. You took a thirsty sip out of yours. You couldn’t even stay mad anymore.

“Is that your way of saying you forgive me?” he chuckled, knowing the mood was lightening.

“No. You’re just too…attractive. Like, why are you so hot? All the girls want you…I was actually quite relieved when you asked me if we should make things official so everyone could finally know that we belong to each other…”

Hah, if only you knew.

“You don’t assume I think the same? You almost pissed me off by hanging around your little assistant, too, belladonna. He clearly fancies you.”

You gulped, remembering his earlier compliment. “Don’t do anything to him—he didn’t know. He does now.”

“He better,” he simply replied. “And everyone else. There’s no excuse now—you’re the Port Mafia boss’ girlfriend.”

You felt like there were butterflies in your stomach. The protectiveness was attractive. You pulled on Dazai’s tie, reeling the rest of him towards you.

“And you’re my boyfriend,” you smiled.

To everyone else, Dazai was known as evil, suicidal, murderer, demon, saint. But to you, he was simply Osamu. Your boyfriend. And perhaps that’s what he loved most of all. Across universes, you would not fail him—not even Odasaku succeeded so highly.

“Are you going to kiss me, bella?” Dazai asked, the signature smile back on his face.

“No,” you teased, pushing him back. “I’m still mad at you. Nothing went according to plan.”

“Nothing did,” the brunette replied. “But isn’t that what’s so exciting about life? Life is unexpected, yet some good things can come out of it, such as…”

He revealed a piece of mistletoe in his hand, holding it above you two.

“Even if you’re mad, you can’t break a tradition,” Dazai spoke, swinging the plant back and forth.

You sighed before you both leaned in to kiss each other. Dazai pulled you onto his lap, and you kissed him even more feverishly. Your hands ran through his hair until the bandage around his head finally came undone, unveiling the rest of his pretty face.

You focused on his dilated, honey-colored eyes. Finally, they revealed what he was feeling. Comfort in having you in his arms again. In your warmth.

Everything felt too intense after that. He had started making out with you again, his hands were wandering you curiously, the dim lighting, the jazz instrumental, how tipsy you felt from the drinks…

“Let’s just go home.”

…

You were swaddled in Dazai’s arms under the bed's covers at home. So sleepy. Dazai promised that the next day would treat the both of you better—a peaceful Christmas gift.

“Let’s stop doing such large parties,” you said, looking up at the ceiling. “It just calls for trouble, to be honest.”

“Yeah…we’ll have a small houseparty next time. Everyone else can do what they want.”

You were gently kissed on the forehead before the brunette softly whispered to you. “Merry Christmas, belladonna. I love you.”

“I love you too, Osamu.”

dazai told me he’d kiss u if u rb this. rbs are cherished; they are ur christmas gift to me! <3

tags: @kissesmellow21 @osaemu @ruanais + @lovedazai @chuuyrr @anqelically (i think u guys would like this <3)

544 notes · View notes

spideyhexx · 4 months

Note

OK IVE HAD THIS THOUGHT ABOUT BILLY FOR A WHILE BUT I FEEL LIKE NOWS THE PERFECT TIME TO TELL YOU

Have you ever heard of what taking and wearing a cowboy’s hat means? It means you’ll ride him

listen I’m just saying that has such good opportunities

xoxo- 🦢

yes ive seen lots of great fics with this so let me add onto that never ending list lmao

mdni - fem!reader

thinking about this that I wrote where you steal his hat, but what would happen if you put it on when you stole it? I love this dynamic, your relationship with Billy being a rather playful and tumultuous one. From your side more than his. For Billy, he was constantly biting his tongue to keep from telling you off whenever you teased him. He can’t admit that he likes it, so he just gives you one of his forlorn stares and maybe makes a snide comment here and there. He tolerated you. That was all. You on the other hand may be completely in love with him, but that wasn't important at the moment.

And you grab his hat from his head in front of the rest of the gang and plop it right onto yours.

Billy’s eyes darken in anger towards you at first but then he realizes what you’ve done and the snickers from the other men. You don’t seem to notice, your gaze only on Billy as you back away. To some, it would look like you two are already lovers and you just openly, silently, relayed to your lover that you wanted him.

Billy would rush over to you before you could react, grabbing your forearm and tugging you away. His hold is tight but not enough to hurt you and you can't help but giggle as your eyes narrow at him.

"What's gotten into you, Bonney? Finally wanna play back?" You catch the slight shake of his head and he halts, his grip on you still there.

"Do you know what you've just done?" You tilt your head to the side, his hat too big on your head, but staying put.

"I stole your hat, Bonney and I have to say, the face you made was quite-"

"Not the...stealin' part...," Billy trails off, his jaw clenching and he searches your eyes as your brow furrows. He realizes you're actually confused as to what he's getting at and he clears his throat, "You never heard the guys joke 'bout...?" Billy's anger softens for a moment as his shoulders lose their tension. He can't believe you of all people don't know about this. He thinks you must be playing some kind of joke on him like you always are.

You shake your head, "'m tremblin' with anticipation, Bonney. Tell me."

He narrows his eyes. "If you're wearin' a cowboy's hat you...or put his hat on you...you ride him," he says, a bout of embarrassment starting to flush to his cheeks, but he forgets all about that when he sees how wide your eyes get.

"O-Oh. I see," your voice drops to a softer tone, above a whisper. This tough, playful, insufferable woman that Billy's always seen you as is getting flustered under his gaze and now he really thinks he must be dreaming. You can't believe you've never heard about this before, but now realize your impulses have caused you to not only put Billy's hat on but do so in front of all of the gang; yeah it hits you hard.

"Well, 's a joke, right? So...," and you try to wrench your arm from his grasp, but he holds on.

A little chuckle escapes his lips and he smiles, "You're flustered."

Rolling your eyes, you give him a pout, but it's apparent from your still wide eyes and the way you can't look him straight in the eyes like you always did that you were in fact flustered. "No, 'm not."

Billy chuckles again and lets go of your arm, "Yes you are. The little cowgirl's actually flustered for once. Are you thinkin' about it?"

The heat in your body increases from his words and you go to take his hat off your head, throwing it at him. You can't deny the all too familiar feeling of heat pooling in your core as you think about that act with him. How you've thought of that very fantasy before, especially the days you'd catch Billy sitting with his legs a little too spread. Billy catches his hat, but he also catches the way you shift on your feet, your jaw tensing and the slight squeeze of your thighs. Billy almost curses out loud at the filthy thought that comes to mind and the twitch of his cock in his pants, but he ignores it, "don't gotta ride me," he snorts. He's trying to be reassuring, but he's not gonna let you know that.

"Wasn't plannin' on it," and you take the chance to lock your eyes back with him, an attempt to regain your composure and turn the teasing back on him, but your head is swimming in desire right now.

"I know, but it sure got you heated, hm?" He bumps his shoulder into yours as he walks past you, starting to head back to the camp. Billy's already forgotten about the gang and how they'll tease him about this later. All he can think about is how he's finally found an upper hand with you.

"Yeah? Well, I think you'd love for me to ride you," you call out to him in a sudden impulse move (a common habit for you, it's been established).

Billy turns back, raising his brow. He hesitates for a moment, wondering just how far he wants to go with this but he decides, fuck it. He walks back up to you, sauntering as he rests his hands on his gun belt, his head is cocked to the side and the smirk on his lips is one you wish you saw all the time. "Don't think you'd be able to handle it, sweetheart."

"What makes you say that?"

You cross your arms over your chest and he smiles, looking to the side out at the setting sun before back to you, "Cause even the thought of ridin' my dick is gettin' you all squirmy. How would it be if you were actually on it, hm?" He raises his brow, waiting for you to respond, but you don't. You stare at him wide-eyed, mouth parting, then closing.

"That's what I thought," and he gives you a look, raking his eyes quickly over your body before turning and walking away.

let's chat about billy, here :)

596 notes · View notes

sunkissed-zegras · 4 months

Text

✮ 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 (𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬), trevor zegras

♡ ─ word count | 16.3k words (y'all asked for it!)

♡ ─ summary | trevor had always hated your guts. you never knew what for, maybe it was your close friendship with his best friend, or maybe it was because he was jealous of you. that was until, he kissed you, of course.

♡ ─ warnings | very much unedited (i don't got time for that🙅🏻‍♀️) enemies to fwb, alex being collateral LMAO, more plot than smut, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering (lots of it), so much fighting and arguing, usual enemies to lovers stuff, cursing and maybe some other things?? as always lmk if i missed anything

♡ ─ taglist | @dancerbailey3 @valluvsu @daisysnhl @dasiysthings @iminlovewithtz11 @literatureluster @lvrzegras @lxvleyzoe

♡ ─ ev's notes | the long awaited trevor zegras fwb fic i've been teasing for the past 4 months, it's finally here. i finally got the motivation to finish and here we are, i hope it exceeds y'alls expectations!!! also if yall couldn't tell i didn't know what to title this but whatever, live laugh love! anyways, this isn't exactly 'canon' (my god... can't believe i just used that for a hockey fic im dead) because i know alex/trevor do not live together but for the sake of the fic, live with it. anyways, this is just brainrot for the part, but i hope you enjoy this incredibly self indulgent fic!!!!!!!! love you all mwah mwah mwah

also... requests are open for now if y'all wanna send in some ideas!!

The first moment that Trevor locked eyes with you, he knew he didn't like you.

You never understood why. You couldn't help but wonder what had caused such an immediate dislike. Was it something about your appearance, your demeanor, or just a gut feeling he couldn't shake? Whatever it was, it hung between you two like an invisible barrier, making the atmosphere uncomfortable whenever you two were in the room and it was even harder because you shared a best friend.

You walked into the familiar home of your close friend, Alex and tried to find him. You had left your airpods there a few nights ago and this was the only time you knew he'd be home.

Well, apparently you were wrong because he wasn't anywhere to be found even though his car was clearly in the driveway.

"Alex? Are you here?" You quietly called out, there was no response, so you ventured further into the house, your footsteps echoing in the silence.

Determined to find both your airpods and an explanation for the eerie quiet, you walked further into the house. Each step echoed through the hallway as you walked.

As you turned in the hallway, you let out a loud yelp when you bumped into someone. Someone who clearly wasn't Alex.

"Jesus!" You jumped in fright and calmed down for a second once you recognized the face. "Trevor? What are you doing here?”

Trevor's expression remained as annoyed as ever, though there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes as well. "I could ask you the same thing," Trevor replied, his voice cool and measured. His arms were crossed, and he leaned casually against the hallway wall, as if he had every right to be here.

You tried to stay calm even though his arrogance, as usual, was pissing you off. "I came to pick up my airpods because I left them here a few nights ago, and Alex said he'd be home today."

Trevor rolled his eyes in annoyance as he leaned off the wall and walked closer to you. "Well he isn't here, is he?"

You wanted to slap that stupid know-it-all expression right off his face as he walked past you. You turned around and scoffed, "And why are you here?"

He turned around and looked you directly in the eye. "I'm staying with Alex for a bit." He said simply as he examined your annoyed expression. "What? You have a problem with that, princess?" The nickname rolled off his tongue and you felt your body heat up with anger.

Trevor's use of the nickname "princess" sent a surge of anger coursing through you. You could feel your face flush, and your fists involuntarily clenched at your sides. He knew exactly which buttons to push, and it was infuriating.

"Don't call me that," you snapped, your voice tinged with irritation. "And yes, Trevor, I do have a problem with it. You've made it pretty clear you don't like me, and I sure as hell don't like you either. This is supposed to be Alex's place, and now I have to deal with you too? Just great."

Trevor's smirk seemed to grow wider, as if your anger was exactly what he wanted. "Well, princess," he taunted, emphasizing the nickname, "I don’t care about how you feel about me staying here so… I don’t know what to tell you.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the house, leaving Trevor and your airpods behind. Your heart was still pounding with anger as you made your way down the driveway.

──

"I don't know why he hates me, Alex." You complained through the phone as you got ready for a party. It was Friday night you wanted to get absolutely wrecked after the week you've had.

"He doesn't hate you, Y/N-"

He was cut off by a scoff as you put on your makeup. "Are you seriously trying to say that he likes me?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Alex let out a reluctant sigh. "Okay, maybe 'like' is a strong word, but I don't think he hates you either. He's just... Trevor, you know?"

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Trevor's name. "Yeah, 'just Trevor' is the problem. Every time we're in the same room, it's like he's actively looking for reasons to annoy me."

"That's just Trevor, though." Alex tried to reassure you but he was plain wrong. The Trevor that everyone else knew was funny and sweet, and what do you get? An absolute fucking asshole whose sole purpose to annoy the hell out of you.

Alex's attempt at reassurance didn't help at all, you couldn't help but let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know, Alex. It's just hard to believe it's just Trevor when he acts different when I'm not around, you know?"

You could hear the sympathy in Alex's voice as he responded, "I get it, Y/N. But maybe there's more to it than meets the eye. Sometimes people have their reasons for acting a certain way."

He sounded like a dad lecturing their kid as you let out another sigh. But you had to admit there was some truth to it, though.

"Look," Alex continued, "I'll talk to him, okay? Maybe he doesn't even realize how much he's getting under your skin. And besides, it's Friday night. Let's focus on having a good time at the party and worry about Trevor another day, alright?"

You couldn't help but smile at Alex's support. "Yeah, I guess you're right Alex. Fine, I won't think about him anymore but I'll see you at the party."

With renewed semi-determination to enjoy the evening, you said your goodbyes and finished getting ready for the party, hoping that this night out would provide the much-needed break you deserved.

──

The loud music of the party made your head buzz but it was exactly what you needed after the week you've had. The loud atmosphere, with people dancing and laughing, created a welcome distraction from your problems.

You grabbed a drink and joined your friends who were currently sitting outside, enjoying the warm summer weather. As you settled into a chair, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The cool breeze and the sounds of laughter around you were a soothing contrast to the intensity of the party inside.

"You good, Y/N?" You heard your friend laugh next to you as a smile engulfed your face. The alcohol was already working as you let out a giggle and a nod.

And just as you finally got the buzz, it quickly faded as you heard his voice behind you.

"Yeah, you good, Y/N?" The mocking tone in the voice was unmistakable as you turned to see Trevor taking a seat across from you. Alex followed closely, sitting down next to Trevor.

"Hey, Y/N." Alex gave you a soft smile but his eyes were pleading with you to not start anything now.

"Yeah, I'm good," you replied, your voice carrying a tinge of annoyance. You then turned your attention to Alex, who offered a soft smile but communicated his silent plea for you to avoid riling Trevor up.

Trevor, seemingly unable to resist provoking you, leaned in closer. "So, Y/N, having a good time? Or is the buzz from all that alcohol making you forget how much you can't stand me?"

You clenched your jaw, your patience wearing thin. "Oh I haven't forgotten, trust me. Trevor, can't you just for once not be a complete dick?"

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the rise he was getting out of you. "Oh, come on, Y/N, where's your sense of humor? It's just a party."

That last line really made your anger flare up even more. The irritation in your voice apparent as you retorted, "You know, Trevor, you seem to have a real talent for ruining a good time."

Trevor smirked, seemingly unfazed by your comment. "Oh, really? I thought I was just making it more interesting."

Your friends were exchanging glances before Alex shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sensing the growing tension. He tried to intervene, "Come on, guys, let's not—"

But you weren't in the mood to back down. "Interesting, huh? More like insufferable."

Trevor leaned in, his tone mocking. "Is that so? You don't have to stick around if you can't handle it, princess."

The nickname made your temper grow, as you shot back, "I can handle it just fine, and you can't tell me what to do, I'll stick around if I want, Trevor."

Trevor's smirk remained firmly in place as he replied, "Well, well, someone's got some fight in them tonight."

Alex, growing concerned about the direction of the conversation, spoke up again, his voice pleading, "Come on, guys, can we please just have a good time tonight? This isn't the place for this."

But your anger at Trevor's provocation was hard to contain, and you answered, "Maybe Trevor should learn to behave himself."

Trevor, not one to let a challenge go unanswered, leaned in closer and said, "Or maybe you should learn to take a joke, princess-"

The word "princess" coming from Trevor's lips felt like a taunt you couldn't let slide. "Don't call me that!"

Alex, sensing the situation escalating, pleaded once more, "Hey, Y/N let's go get some drinks and relax, okay?"

But Trevor wasn't backing down, his smirk darkening. "Oh, of course Alex would step in now. You gonna go get some drinks with your boyfriend, huh?"

His accusation left you stunned as you blinked back at him, but then it clicked in your mind. Trevor's animosity seemed to be fueled by jealousy, and you couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. Trevor's face twisted with annoyance at your reaction.

"Oh! I get it now," you exclaimed, a hint of amusement in your voice. "You're jealous of me!"

Trevor's annoyance only seemed to intensify, but he maintained his stubborn stance. "You wish, princess."

Your realization had struck a nerve, and you decided to tease him further. "You think I'm gonna steal Alex from you, isn't that right, Trevor?"

Trevor's face contorted with a mix of irritation and embarrassment as your words hit home. It seemed like you had touched a nerve that he hadn't expected.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, his tone laced with irritation. "I'm not jealous, and you're definitely not stealing Alex from anyone."

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, thoroughly enjoying the fact that you had gotten under his skin for once. "Oh, come on, Trevor," you teased, leaning in a little closer to him. "You don't need to be jealous. There's enough of Alex to go around for both of us."

Trevor's irritation deepened, and he leaned in closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, how sweet of you, Y/N. You're absolutely right; I'm sure Alex is just thrilled to have both of us fighting for his attention."

Your teasing had clearly struck a nerve, and you couldn't resist pushing the envelope a bit further. "Well, you know what they say, Trevor, 'Two's company, three's a party.'"

Trevor's face turned a deeper shade of red, and his fists clenched involuntarily. He struggled to find a retort as he seethed with frustration. "I couldn't care less about your little friendship with Alex. You're not even on my radar."

Your playful smile didn't waver as you pressed on, pushing his buttons even further. "Oh, Trevor, it's cute how you're trying so hard to convince us of that. But we all know actions speak louder than words."

Alex, sensing that Trevor was on the brink of losing his temper, interjected urgently, "Guys, seriously, let's drop it."

But it was too late. Trevor had reached his breaking point. He slammed his hand on the table, making the glasses rattle, and his voice rose to a furious level.

"Is it impossible for you to shut the fuck up, Y/N? I've had enough of your mind games and your twisted need to be the center of attention," he seethed, his eyes burning with anger.

He got up from the couch and walked to face you, his eyes burning into yours. "I couldn't care less about your friendship with Alex or anything else about you. Just do us all a favor and stay the fuck out of my way."

As Trevor walked away, he made sure to deliver a sharp shoulder bump, leaving you standing there, feeling a mix of shock and anger. The tension between you and Trevor had reached a boiling point, and it was clear that this confrontation had taken a toll on your already strained relationship.

──

A few weeks had passed since the night at the party, and you and Trevor's interactions had become less confrontational, bordering on civil. One night, you found yourself alone in Alex's house. He had gone out for the night, leaving you and Trevor in an awkward, but not entirely unfamiliar, situation. You spend most if not all your time in his house, even if you did have your own. You just always liked his more than yours, even if Trevor had decided to start living there as well. The home was eerily quiet, except for the soft hum of the city outside.

Trevor had been in the living room, watching TV while you were in the kitchen, going through the contents of the fridge trying to find a snack. You had been trying to avoid him, but the small space between the kitchen and living room made it impossible to do so that long.

As you reached for a container of leftovers, Trevor's voice suddenly cut through the silence. "Y/N, can you pass me the remote?"

You sighed inwardly, feeling a wave of frustration wash over you. Suppressing your irritation, you handed him the remote and muttered, "Here."

But as Trevor took the remote from your hand, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of unexpected electricity through you. You both froze, locked in an moment of eye contact.

Trevor suddenly broke the eye contact and your face felt hot. You wanted to slap yourself, there was no way a two second hand-brush made you feel this way. What was wrong with you? Were you ovulating?

Trevor's voice broke the silence, low and intense. "You know, Y/N, you can be stupidly frustrating."

Your inner thoughts were interrupted by Trevor's comment, and his words only served to amplify the tension in the room. You could feel your heart pounding, and a mix of irritation and desire swirled within you.

You also couldn't get any words out and you felt even more stupid. Trevor noticed your silence and moved his gaze back to you, a smug expression etching his face. It was as if he had achieved a small victory, and he couldn't resist the opportunity to revel in it.

A sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and he leaned in slightly closer, his eyes dancing with a mix of amusement and desire. "Cat got your tongue, Y/N?" he teased, his voice dripping with cocky self-assurance.

Your cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration, and you cursed yourself for letting him get the upper hand. Trevor had a weird ability to push your buttons, and in this moment, he had successfully left you flustered and at a loss for words.

You scoffed, finally getting out of the trance he somehow got you in. "N-no, I just couldn't think of... anything worth saying."

Trevor's cocky grin only widened at your stammered response. He leaned in even closer, his breath tickling your ear as he continued to revel in his perceived victory.

"Nothing worth saying, huh?" he replied, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Well, Y/N, maybe you'll come up with something better next time."

His words made you roll your eyes as you gritted your teeth, determined not to let Trevor's cocky attitude get the best of you. You felt yourself getting even angrier as you stared at Trevor but you couldn't come up with anything to say, he has the upperhand and he knew it. You wanted to slap yourself again, you were acting dumb.

The front door had opened suddenly and you let out a relieved sigh when you heard Alex's voice ring through the apartment. The sound of Alex's voice was like a lifeline, breaking the tension that had gripped the room between you and Trevor.

"Hey, guys, I brought WingStop... Did I interrupt something?" Alex looked slightly concerned as he looked at you two.

Relieved to have a reason to shift your focus, you gave Alex a grateful smile and replied, "You didn't interrupt anything important, just the usual Trevor bullshit."

Trevor, who had been reveling in his victory moments ago, now seemed to deflate slightly at the mention of his antics being dismissed as "bullshit." He decided to play it cool, though, adding, "Yeah, bullshit."

Alex seemed to buy the explanation, though there was a hint of skepticism in his expression. "Alright, if you say so," he replied, setting the bags of WingStop on the table. "Let's eat, I'm starving. Then maybe we can watch a movie or something."

You fixed your posture as Trevor walked up from the couch, a smirk still evident on his face as he walked to the table.

"Actually guys, I have stuff to do tomorrow morning." You grabbed your purse from the couch, you didn't wanna be around Trevor right now after what the hell happened earlier. You needed to sort out a lot of stuff in your mind.

"Like what?" Alex sat down in the table, immediately taking out the wings and beginning to eat. "Are you... okay?"

"Yup, just tired."

Trevor's smirk seemed to widen, and you could practically feel his satisfaction. It was clear that he had achieved some victory in the earlier situation, and now he had the upper hand.

Alex, who had been happily digging into the wings, looked up with a curious expression as you grabbed your purse. "Y/N, are you sure you're okay?"

You managed a small smile and a nod, though you couldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah, just got some things to take care of. You guys enjoy the wings and the movie. I'll see you guys whenever."

With that, you hurried out of Alex's apartment, leaving behind the now weird tension between you and Trevor. As you made your way down the hallway, you couldn't help but replay the intense moment with Trevor in your mind, the mix of attraction and irritation still simmering within you.

"What'd you do, Z?" Alex gave him a glare before Trevor raised his arms up in defense.

"Nothing, I swear," he insisted, though his tone was tinged with amusement. "This time, it was all her."

Alex's glare deepened, clearly not entirely convinced by Trevor's explanation. He was well aware of the dynamics between you and Trevor and knew that things could easily escalate between the two of you.

"What do you mean, 'it was all her'?" Alex prodded further, determined to get to the bottom of the situation.

Trevor leaned back in his chair, his expression growing more relaxed. "Well, let's just say she couldn't handle a little teasing, and things got... interesting."

Alex's skepticism was replaced with a amused expression, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "What the hell do you mean, interesting? You and your teasing, Trevor. You're like a walking powder keg."

Trevor grinned, seemingly pleased with Alex's reaction. "What can I say? It keeps life entertaining for us.”

──

A few days had passed since the weird encounter between you and Trevor at Alex's apartment. The memory of that night still lingered in your mind, and you couldn't help but feel hot when you thought about it. The tension between you and Trevor remained unresolved.

One evening, Alex decided to host a small party with a few friends at his house. It was meant to be a relaxed evening of drinks and conversation, a chance to unwind and catch up. As you arrived at Alex's house, you were greeted by familiar faces and warm smiles.

You got up from your spot on the couch and entered the kitchen to get a drink. Thankfully, Trevor was still at practice so you hadn't ran into him yet. As you reached for the beer that inside the fridge, you heard Alex's voice from behind you.

"You sure you wanna be drinking tonight? You have a ride?" Alex's concerned voice made you smile and you got the beer while closing the fridge.

"Yeah, why not? I could always Uber if all of you guys are going to be drinking." Truth be told, this week wasn't exactly your week. After that whole encounter with Trevor, it had all just went downhill. You needed this, you needed a night where you could just forget about everything. And Alex's get-together did exactly that.

Alex eyed you suspiciously. "What happened with Trevor Monday night?"

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Nothing, promise."

"Did you guys kiss or something-"

"No!" You said, almost a little too loudly. A smirk grew on Alex's mouth as you repeated a little quieter, "No, what makes you say that?"

"I don't know, there was just a different kinda tension when I came into the apartment then." He smirked at you as you rolled your eyes, despite the warm blush coming onto your cheeks.

"Shut up,"

Before Alex could continue, Trevor entered the kitchen, his exhaustion evident in his posture. You hadn't even realized he was back home; his arrival had been drowned out by the sounds in the apartment.

He walked right up to and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, you're blocking the fridge."

You bit your tongue at his lack of manners and moved away, Trevor opening the fridge as he grabbed a water. Alex gestured to the living room and you nodded, deciding to leave the kitchen to go hang out with the rest of your friends.

As Trevor walked out to the group a few minutes after you two, you could sense his irritation with the number of people in the apartment. He muttered something to Alex about the crowded space, and you couldn't help but overhear. Trevor's annoyance was evident in his voice as he complained, "There are way too many people here, man. It's like a sardine can."

"Well I told you I was gonna be havin' a few people here tonight, Z." Alex responded calmly but irritation was clear in his face.

"This is way more than a just a few people, dude. How am I supposed to relax after the shittiest practice with a bunch of people here?"

Alex looked annoyed and he just ignored Trevor, looking back at you. But you decided to speak up, not willing to let Trevor's negativity ruin the night. "Trevor, this is Alex's place, and he's doing you a favor by letting you stay here. You can't expect him to control who comes over. It's not just your apartment."

Trevor's irritation flared as he turned to you, his voice laced with frustration. "Oh, of course, the princess coming to Alex's defense. Always looking out for Alex, aren't you?"

“I'm just trying to keep the peace, Trevor. It's not about taking sides. We're all here to have a good time and you're kind of ruining it."

Trevor was glaring daggers at you, his gaze filled animosity as he looked between you and Alex.

The tension in the room was palpable, and your friends were growing increasingly uncomfortable with the heated exchange. Alex tried to intervene, saying, "Okay, let's not ruin the night with this. Trevor, relax. Y/N, thanks for looking out for me, but it's all good."

But Trevor's anger hadn't simmered down. Instead, he seemed to become more agitated, muttering something under his breath that you couldn't quite catch as he huffed and walked off to his room.

With Trevor's mood affecting the atmosphere of the party, you felt the need to step outside for some fresh air. You just couldn't comprehend Trevor. One moment, he was finally okay with you then he wanted to be an absolute dick. It always bothered you, why did he have to be such an asshole?

You were soon joined by Alex, who had sensed your discomfort and followed you outside. Alex leaned against the poll, gazing out into the night, and you stood beside him. He sighed, and you could tell he was trying to defuse this whole situation.

"Sorry about that," he said, his voice filled with concern. "Trevor's just been having a rough time lately. Practice has been pretty shitty, and it's taking a toll on him. I know he can be a pain, but he's going through a lot right now. I mean, he's worked all his life for hockey and sometimes it just doesn't give the same energy back, you know?"

As you listened to Alex as he opened up about Trevor's struggles with his hockey career, you were suddenly hit with guilty about blowing up on him. The weight of your argument with Trevor and the realization of the pressures he was under made you feel bad for earlier. Alex's words had painted a different picture of Trevor's situation, one that you hadn't fully grasped. You knew that being a pro-hockey player was demanding, and setbacks could be demoralizing.

"I didn't realize he was going through all of this," you admitted, a sense of regret in your voice. "I feel bad for being a bitch now. I should've been more understanding." You sighed. You may hate Trevor but you never wanted to add his stress, knowing how hard it is when something you put so much energy in, doesn't feel so rewarding in the end.

Alex gave you a reassuring pat on the back. "Hey, don't blame yourself, Y/N. He was being an ass first and uh... thank you for defending me. I appreciate it."

You smiled at Alex's words, appreciating his understanding and grateful that he didn't hold your heated defense against Trevor against you. As you looked at him, those words felt like they had a deeper meaning than he was letting on. "Thanks, Alex. You're a true friend, ya know that?”

As you and Alex walked back to the living room, you noticed that some of the people were already in the process of saying their goodbyes and putting on their jackets. It seemed that the argument between you, Trevor, and the general tension in the room had prompted an early night for some of your friends.

"We're gonna call it a night, guys." Your friend smiled politely. "Trevor should get some sleep."

Before you could protest, Alex gave them a quick goodbye. "Yeah, they're right. He needs time to relax."

With that, they made their way to the door, leaving you, Alex, and Trevor in the home. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, and the tension from earlier still lingered. It was clear that the night hadn't gone as planned, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.

You felt guilty about the entire thing, and the weight of your words hung heavy in your mind, replaying that moment. If only you had kept your mouth shut, none of this would have happened. The ongoing tension between you and Trevor had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and sometimes, you wished you wouldn't be so impulsive.

You couldn't help but wonder if you were too quick to react, too willing to engage in these heated exchanges with Trevor. The realization that your words might have pushed him away further gnawed at your thoughts.

You were torn between wanting to apologize and your ego. Nevertheless, as you stood in the living room, your conscience pushed you to take responsibility for your actions.

You glanced at Alex, who was busy cleaning up the remnants of the party. He seemed to be trying to maintain a positive attitude (per usual) despite the earlier disagreement. It was then that you decided you needed to make amends.

Quietly, you excused yourself from the living room and headed down the hallway to Trevor's bedroom. You felt determined as you knocked softly on the door, waiting for his response.

"Alex?" You heard Trevor's voice from behind the door. "It's fine dude, I forgive you. But ya owe me a beer next time we go out."

"Trevor? It's actually me."

There was silence for a couple seconds before you heard the bedroom unlock; and there he was, with all his glory. He was shirtless, his hair was wet and it was obvious he had just come out of the shower. The only thing he had were those slutty sweatpants, god damnit.

You couldn't help but stare a little longer at his body before finally maintaining your composure. You couldn't deny, he looked good shirtless. You squeezed your thighs together as you maintained eye-contact with him, trying to keep your composure.

"What?" Trevor's voice sounded annoyed, per usual.

You found yourself lost in a trance again, your words momentarily escaping you as you tried to gather your thoughts and confront his anger. What was up with you and not knowing how to deal with hot men?

With Trevor's anger emanating off him in waves, you forced yourself to snap out of your momentary daze. "I'm sorry," you began, your voice quiet but sincere. "I didn't mean for things to get involved like that. I know practice has been rough for you, and I shouldn't have added to your stress. It's just... I hate seeing you so worked up."

Trevor's expression remained stony, and his arms were crossed, a clear sign of his lingering irritation. "Well, you certainly didn't help."

You sighed, knowing you had to take responsibility for your part in the argument. "You're right, I shouldn't have let things escalate. But you have to understand, I was just trying to help Alex."

The anger in Trevor's eyes didn't dissipate, but there was a hint of maybe something else. "Help him with what?" He scoffed as he walked into his room, sighing angrily as you followed, your patience running out.

With a deep breath, you decided be honest with Trevor. "He told me about your struggles at practice. About how it's been hard on you. I didn't mean to throw fuel in the fire but I was just worried about both of you. I may not... like you but I don't wanna push you while you're down, y'know?"

Trevor's jaw tightened, his annoyance evident. "So, you're just meddling in my business now? Trying to be the savior?"

That was his response? Now you really wished you had gone with your ego. Your frustration flared, and you shot back, "I'm not trying to be anyone's savior. I just wanted to help, I hate seeing you two fight, and I wanted to defuse the situation. I thought I was doing the right thing."

Trevor ran a hand through his wet hair, seemingly torn between anger and something else. "Well, you didn't, Y/N. You made things worse."

In response to Trevor's accusation, your own anger flared up. "I'm trying to help, Trevor. I don't need you to be a dick about it."

Trevor's voice seethed with frustration as he fired back, "Maybe you shouldn't, Y/N! I didn't ask for your help, and I sure as fuck don't need it. You're always butting in where you don't belong."

Your anger flared, and you shot back with equal intensity, "Oh, I'm 'butting in'? You're so damn proud, Trevor, you can't accept help from anyone! You act like you're above everyone, like you're untouchable."

Trevor's eyes blazed with fury as he retorted, "You think you're so perfect, always trying to fix everything. Well, you can't fix everyone, Y/N."

"I wasn't trying to fucking fix you, Trevor, who do you think I am?!" You shouted back, anger evident in your voice and expression. You couldn't even comprehend his point of view.

Trevor's eyes blazed with anger as he took a step closer, close enough you could feel his warm and minty breath on your forehead as you looked up at him. "You think you know everything, don't you? Always playing the peacemaker, always trying to fix everything. Well, guess what, Y/N? Some things can't be fixed."

The room felt like it was on the brink of a hurricane, the air charged with anger and resentment. Trevor's chest heaved with frustration, his intense gaze locked onto yours. In a low and seething voice, he muttered, "This is pointless."

You clenched your jaw, mirroring his anger as you responded, "Fine, it is."

You both stared at each other, breathlessly. It almost felt intimidate as you gazed into each other's eyes and you could see Trevor's expression relax.

"Why are you always defending Alex?" His voice was still angry but it sounded slightly hurt, underlying... jealousy? You were confused, what did he mean by that?

Your anger had subsided, and you met Trevor's question with genuine confusion, your voice softer than before. "What do you mean, defending Alex?"

Trevor scoffed, his usual snarky self was back on. "You're like his damn lawyer or something, you always have his back. It's fucking exhausting, he's my best friend."

You understood this whole issue now. "I know he's your best friend. I get that, okay? I'm not trying to steal him from you, he's your best friend and I get that-"

"It's not about that!" He raised his voice, frustrated. He sighed as he shook his face, staring back you. You were confused as you stared back at him. As his gaze suddenly softened, it clicked.

He wasn't jealous of you, he was jealous of Alex. It seemed to have clicked in Trevor's head too, his deep blue eyes gazing deeply into yours. And before you knew it, his lips clashed into yours. You kissed him back, moaning into the roughness of the kiss.

He didn't give you any time to adjust to any of it, he hand laced around your neck, pulling you closer to his mouth. His tongue quickly invaded your mouth, exploring everything.

He broke the kiss for a second, looking into your eyes for confirmation. "Y/N?"

You couldn't even form any words, that kiss, even though it had lasted mere seconds felt like a breath of fresh air. You couldn't even form words anymore, your brain had become mush. God damnit, the fucking spell this man had you under.

A smirk stretched Trevor's face as he stared into your lustful eyes, he couldn't help it. He pulled you into another quick kiss before pushing you down on to the bed and quickly followed on top of you, as the bed squeaked under you and Trevor's weight. His hand rose from your neck to your face, gripping it harshly as he squeezed.

"You run your mouth all day long and now you can't say a single word." The smirk was still evident on his face, he looked proud as he stared down at you. "And all I had to do was kiss you stupid, huh?"

"Trevor," you whimpered out. You couldn't even think straight but you did feel stupid, how could one kiss make you feel this way?

"What?" He sounded annoyed but you could tell he was enjoying having control over you. "What do you need, princess?"

You hadn't heard that irritating nickname in a while and usually, you would get mad. But this time, the nickname went right down to your pussy. You let out a soft moan at that, as he squeezed your face again.

"Thought you hated that, princess? Hmm? You like it now?" Trevor moved closer to you, planting a sloppy kiss on your mouth. His hand moved back to your neck, holding you in place. "I asked you a question, can you answer it for me or did I already break you?" His smirk grew at the last statement, the idea of breaking you made his cock grow a little harder.

You felt it, too. Right on your stomach too, which made you squirm under his weight. "Trevor, please."

"Trevor, please. What?" He mocked you, making you sigh exasperatingly. He rocked his hips against your stomach unexpectedly, making you let out a shocked moan.

"Fuck, Trevor."

"You need me to fuck you, huh?"

That was definitely not what you meant, but you'll take it. "Yes, please. I need you, please."

"Hm, so polite. You really are a princess huh, pretty girl?" He brought his other hand to move your hair out of your face, so he could so you better. He cupped your cheek next, grabbing your face before kissing you again.

Trevor got off of you, lying next to you. You were confused and were about to protest until he placed his hand right on your stomach, making you go still. He then sat up, pulling your shorts right off, your underwear next.

You felt self-conscious until you saw Trevor's face. You could tell now, Trevor was the one in the trance, he looked like he was in awe. He then moved his hands to your shirt, discarding it along with your pants.

He placed his hand right on top of your stomach and you felt yourself get even hotter from his touch. He moved his hand lower and cupped your bare cunt, you let out a breath. Trevor looked focused as he started moving his hand against your cunt, making you whimper.

He moved his hand then inserted a finger, making you shiver. You were surprised at the sudden pressure and let out a small gasp. Trevor smirked from next to you, as he began to thrust his finger in and out of you.

You couldn't let out any words, only pathetic sounds. The thought of Alex being in the next room was quickly disregarded as Trevor began to quicken his speed, making your whole body feel like it's been lit on fire.

Your back arched at the new feeling, your head suddenly felt like you were on a roller coaster, you were dizzy on his single finger. The tight sensation began to form in your stomach and you were breathing heavily, losing yourself in the feeling. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Right as you were about to cum, his finger left your wet cunt. You let out a cry of displease as you looked up at Trevor, a smirk evident on his face. "I want you to cum on my cock, understand princess?"

You let out a whimper of agreement. You weren't thinking straight at the moment, all you could think of is finally cumming and cumming on Trevor's dick.

Before you knew it, Trevor was on top of you. He took out his hard cock out of his pants, his expression changing to one of desperation and lust. His eyebrows were knitted in concentration, as he gave his cock a few pumps. His cock was already leaking of pre-cum as he slowly inserted himself in you.

Now, this was a new sensation. You couldn't help but arch at the feeling. If you thought you couldn't get any more drunk on Trevor, you were completely fucking wrong. His dick felt unreal, even if he was only a quarter inside of you. You moved your hand to grip his arm, trying to settle yourself.

He bottomed you out as quick as he could, you felt filled to the brim in the best way. The sensation burned as he stretched you out, it had been a while since you'd been intimate with anyone. It felt so good, your mouth hung open as Trevor put his hands on your hips.

"Fuck, baby you feel so good." He groaned in your ear as you let out a small string of whimpers. Trevor felt light-headed from how good you felt; so warm, so tight, so wet, your pussy was made for him.

He began rocking his hips against yours, thrusting in and out of you. You began moaning, not being able to hold it back. Trevor's hand immediately clasped your mouth to shut up, "Shh, princess. Gotta be quiet."

Trevor was having a problem staying quiet too, desperate sounds leaving his moans as he kept thrusting into and out of your core. He moved one of his hand up to grip your throat. The added sensation made a knot form in your sensation, you were close.

You started bucking your hips to meet his own, causing a new rhythm. You gripped the sheets as you felt yourself come closer to the climax. "Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum." You rambled in Trevor's ear, whimpering.

"Fuck me too baby, hold on." He choked out. Your pussy sucked him in so well, making it harder for him to even breath. His thoughts were consumed completely of how good he was feeling right now. "Let's cum together, kay?"

All you could do was nod as you couldn't even comprehend anything that was happening expect the fact you needed to cum, that knot was so closing to snapping. You felt your heartbeat race as the bed creaked underneath you two.

The knot was so thin, so close. And it snapped almost immediately as Trevor started rubbing your clit along with his harsh thrusts. "Fuck!" You cried out. You let out a breath of utter bliss as Trevor soon came undone inside of you.

As Trevor came, he immediately came down from the high and he realized exactly what had happened. He had just fucked the girl he swore up and down he would never ever like. And the worst part was he wasn't even mad about it.

──

"Y/N?" Alex repeats as you finally zone back again. You were at a brunch with Alex after a few days without seeing him. Which also meant it had been a few days since you had seen Trevor, giving you a lot of clarity about exactly what had happened.

"Yep, yep. I'm listening, sorry. I have a caffeine headache." You replied softly as you looked down at your plate, taking a bite of your food.

Alex wasn't convinced though as he looked at you, clearly trying to read you. He knew something was up with you ever since the party but he couldn't piece it together, thankfully. He still doesn't know that you and Trevor hooked up that night.

"What's been up with you?" He asked, concern etched across his face as he probed for answers.

"Sorry, it's just been a long week," you reply, attempting to divert his attention. You take a sip of your coffee, hoping the caffeine would kick in and help you shake off the residual effects of the headache.

Alex leans back in his chair, eyeing you with concern. "You sure that's all it is? You've been kind of... distant for past couple days."

"Yeah, just school and work stuff, you know?" you reply vaguely, avoiding eye contact.

He narrows his eyes, clearly not buying your explanation. "Come on, Y/N, we've been friends for how long? I can tell when something's bothering you. Talk to me, please."

You let out a sigh, realizing that Alex's persistence might not be easy to deflect. "Okay, fine. It's just... things have been a bit hectic lately. School and work have been piling up, you know?" Another lie. But you couldn't risk Alex finding out anything, you were scared of his reaction. It had already changed the entire dynamic between you and Trevor, you surely didn't want it to change yours and Alex's.

Alex's expression softens as he bought your white lie, and he nods understandingly. "Yeah, life can be a lot sometimes. But you know you can always talk to me, right?"

"I appreciate that. It's just been a bit overwhelming, and I'm trying to find the balance," you explain, maintaining the facade. The weight of keeping the truth hidden gnaws at you, but the fear of how Alex might react keeps you from opening up.

He leans back, a supportive look in his eyes. "I get it. Just don't forget to take care of yourself, okay? You don't have to carry everything on your own. I'm here to help, too."

"Thanks, Alex. You means a lot to me," you say, grateful for the understanding tone in his voice. You hated the fact that because you let your stupid hormones get in way, now you had to lie to your best friend.

──

The booming music echoed through the crowded room, the beat of the music creating a chaotic sound of laughter and chatter. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. You found yourself in the middle of it all, a red cup in hand and the bright lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors over everyone as Future plays through the speakers.

As the night progressed, the effects of the one too many vodka RedBulls took their toll, and you realized that getting home on your own might be more challenging than expected. With a blurry sense of responsibility, you fumble for your phone and manage to dial Alex's number: your favorite sober friend.

"Hey, Alex," you slur into the phone, trying your best to sound coherent.

"Y/N? Is everything okay?" Alex's voice, though concerned, held a hint of weariness.

"Yeah, I'm just... shitfaced right now. Can you pick me up?" You request, your words entirely slurred. Your head was aching and all wanted to do was sleep.

There's a pause on the other end. "I wish I could, Y/N, but I've got some work I need to finish tonight. I'm really sorry."

You pout, the disappointment evident in your voice. "It's fine I can call an uber. I just-"

"Wait, Trevor's here. He said he could come pick you up."

"What?" You thought out loud. Trevor hadn't spoken to you in more than two weeks and now all of a sudden he wants to come and save the day?

"No 'whats' Y/N." Alex sounded exhausted. "It's 2 am, I'm not letting you get into an uber drunk and alone. Trevor's coming right now, just hold on."

With that, you hang up and awkwardly attempt to wait for Trevor. The minutes feel like hours as you sway slightly to the music, the room spinning around you. You were getting tired as you sipped on your water as an attempt to sober up. You felt a hand grab your waist and you jumped but relaxed at the sight of Trevor behind you.

Exhaustion was clear on his face but he still somehow looked good. You didn't know if it was the alcohol or what, but he looked amazing under the colorful lights. He steadied your shaky and drunk body as he looked down at you, concern on his face.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks, his expression shifting from concern to genuine worry.

"Yeah just a little... drunk." You slurred as you manage a half-smile, appreciating his presence despite the haze of alcohol clouding your senses.

"Yeah, I can see that." He returned your smile as you unintentionally stared at his face, his blue eyes boring into yours. "Let's get you home, okay princess?"

The nickname didn't sound so bad drunk or horny as you blinked up at him. Together, you navigate through the crowd, Trevor's hand securely on your waist, a sense of comfort and stability in the swirling chaos of the party.

The journey outside is a welcome relief from the overwhelming noise. The cool night air hits you, and you take a deep breath, feeling a bit more alert. Trevor leads you to his car, and as you settle in, you can't help but feel a mix of gratitude for him. You look at the time, it was almost 4 in the morning and he came all the way here to get you. It wasn't even at the request of Alex, he offered.

"Thanks for coming," you mumble, your words slightly slurred.

Trevor gives you a small, understanding smile. "No problem. Just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

As Trevor drives through the quiet streets, the gentle hum of the car and the motion lulls you into a drowsy state. The exhaustion from the party catches up with you, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, your eyelids become heavier with every passing moment.

Trevor glances over and notices your head nodding, your eyes struggling to stay open. Concerned, he reaches over to gently shake your shoulder. "Hey, Y/N, you okay?"

You mumble a sleepy affirmation, your voice barely audible. The comfort of the car, with the rhythmic sounds of the night, becomes too hard to resist. Slowly, your eyes flutter closed, and you find yourself succumbing to sleep.

Trevor glances over again, a soft smile playing on his lips as he realizes you've fell asleep. He adjusts his driving, making sure to navigate the roads carefully while allowing you to rest. The ride continues in a peaceful silence, the streetlights casting a soft glow over the car.

By the time Trevor arrives at your house, you're in a deep sleep, completely unaware of the ride's end. Trevor parks the car carefully, making sure to have a smooth stop. He looks over at you, the soft glow of the streetlights illuminating your peaceful expression.

Trevor decides to let you sleep. He turns off the engine and steps out of the car, gently closing the door. Moving around to your side, he opens the door with a quiet creak, trying not to disturb your rest.

With great care, Trevor scoops you up in his arms, cradling you like precious cargo. The night air is cool as he carries you towards your front door. His steps are measured, ensuring each footfall is soft, not wanting to wake you from the peaceful sleep you've fallen into.

As Trevor reaches your door, he fumbles to find your keys and unlock it. The quietness of the night envelops the scene as he carries you inside, careful not to make a sound. He navigates through the somewhat familiar space of your home, finding your room and carefully putting you down the on the soft cushion of your bed.

He took off your shoes and socks, as well as your coat. He got a blanket and covered you with it carefully. Trevor then went to the kitchen grabbing a bottle of water and finding the asprin, putting them on your bedside table.

After, Trevor stands there for a moment, watching you sleep, the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. With a final look, he quietly leaves the room, leaving you to continue your sleep undisturbed.

The next morning feels like waking up from a million year sleep (and not in a good way). As consciousness seeps back in, you're met with a disorienting fog, a heavy ache in your head and the lingering taste of regret. The sunlight beams through the curtains feels more intrusive than comforting, casting a harsh light on the hazy remnants of the previous night.

This happened every time you go out and drink, your hangovers are always the worst no matter how many tricks you try. You sit up, your head pounding as the memories of last night resurface. The room spins for a moment before settling into a dull ache. Glancing around, you piece together the familiar surroundings of your room, but the events of the night before remain elusive, obscured by a mental fog.

You turn your head to the bedside table and see what Trevor had left. Then everything started to piece together. The phone call, the drive home and now... he left you asprin and a bottle of water?

As you slowly sip the water and take the asprin, the disorienting fog begins to lift. The sunlight, though still unwelcome, now holds a softer glow, and the room feels less oppressive. You can't help but wonder about Trevor's motives and the reason of his actions. Is it mere kindness, or does it mean something more?

You shake your head and sigh. It's too early to be contemplating what any of it means, you're too hungover to even care. All you know is that you appreciate him for what he did last night, even if he had ghosted you for two weeks.

──

"Yeah and then she left the date right after I told her that, and she never texted me back." Alex chuckled as he leaned back more into the couch, getting more comfortable.

You and Alex laugh as he recounts a date, the casual banter lightening the mood in the room. The atmosphere feels familiar and relaxed, and you're both enjoying the comfort of the couch.

"That's rough. The classic 'reveal too much too soon' thing," you joke, a playful smile on your face. It was good to finally relax back at Alex's place without any of the Trevor shit making you uncomfortable. You were in the clear for now, you and Trevor still haven't talked about what happened a few weeks prior and it sounded like neither did Trevor and Alex.

Alex nods, taking a sip of his drink. "Yeah, pretty much. I guess I scared her off with my deep thoughts. Lesson learned, I suppose."

"Deep thoughts?" You laughed as you shook your head. "Okay Mr. Philosopher."

"That's right, Y/N. I'm not just a pretty face; I've got layers," Alex teases, giving you a mock-serious look. You let out another booming laugh, leaning back into the couch.

The door opens unexpectedly and you both look to see Trevor walking in with his gym gear. He looks tired and his eyes widen in surprise as he makes direct eye contact with you. He immediately looks away and sighs.

"Hey," Trevor greets, his voice carrying a mixture of weariness and slight annoyance.

"Hey, Trev." Alex responds, a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. The living room now feels awkward, the unspoken tension palpable.

Trevor moves further into the room, avoiding eye contact with you. "Am I interrupting something?"

Alex glances at you, and there's a moment of hesitation before he responds, "Nah, just catching up. You're not interrupting."

Trevor nods slowly, still avoiding direct eye contact with you. The weight of the unspoken tension hangs in the air, and the room now feels awkward and strained. As Trevor heads to another part of the apartment, you exchange a look with Alex, both unsure of how to navigate the unexpected encounter.

"That was awkward." Alex was the first to speak up, a little amusement in his voice. "Everything okay with you two?"

You tried your best not to show how uncomfortable that question made you feel. You had to lie to your best friend again. "Yeah, why'd you ask that?"

"I don't know, Trevor's usually more excited to be home and you guys were making pretty intense eye contact." Alex explained as he shrugged, leaning more back into the chair.

You manage a nonchalant smile, doing your best to downplay the significance of the encounter. "Probably just tired from the practice and the gym. And maybe he's hungry."

"You're right. He does get hangry." Alex muses as you let out a little chuckle. You hear the bathroom door open and there he was, an somewhat angrier expression on his face.

He sat down on the loveseat and sighs as you and Alex exchange looks. "Hey dude, you hungry?"

"Yeah." Trevor responds with a nod. "You and Y/N planning on going out to eat?" His voice carries a hint of... jealousy?

Alex rolls his eyes and sighs. "No, not just me and Y/N, I was thinking about goin' and getting something for all of us to eat."

As you sat in the middle of this situation, you felt like you were intruding. This felt a little more personal than they were both leading on.

Trevor's skeptical gaze shifts between Alex and you, and for a moment, the tension thickens. The air becomes charged with more tension, and you feel like an unwilling spectator caught in the middle of their now, weird dynamic.

Finally, Trevor breaks the silence, "Alright, fine. Whatever you're getting, make it quick. I'm starving."

As Alex heads towards the door, you and Trevor are left in an awkward silence. The weight of the unspoken tension looms, and it's clear that something beneath the surface is affecting the atmosphere.

"So..." you begin, attempting to break the awkwardness.

Trevor cuts you off with a curt nod. "Look, we need to talk about what happened."

You scoffed in annoyance. You have been trying to get in contact with him after this whole weird incident but you kept getting left on read and now he wants to act like he's the bigger person? You're not gonna let him get away with that. "Yeah, we do. Let's talk about it."

"Fine, let's talk," Trevor concedes, his eyes meeting yours with frustration.

You decide to break the ice, "Look, Trevor, I tried reaching out to you. Multiple times. You left me on read every single time."

Trevor crosses his arms defensively, his gaze avoiding yours. "I needed time to think, alright? It's not that easy."

"You could've at least told me that. Ignoring me just added more confusion to the mix," you retort, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

He rolls his eyes, dismissive, "We hooked up, Y/N. That kinda thing complicates things and I needed space to figure it out."

You shake your head, unimpressed by his justification. "Space doesn't mean ignoring someone. And, for the record, you played just as big a part in 'complicating things' as I did."

Trevor looks at you, his irritation evident in his features. His ears were turning a bright red as his eyes became solely focused on you. "I don't want to rehash this right now," he sighed. "Let's just move on and forget about it."

You're not willing to let him sweep everything under the rug so easily. Your heart raced in anger as Trevor tried to downplay this entire thing. It was pretty clear to you that this whole thing meant way more to you than him. "You don't get to decide that, Trevor. We both need to address what happened."

He huffs, clearly growing angry. "What's there to address? We hooked up, things got weird, and now we're here. End of story."

Your jaw slightly fell open, you couldn't believe he just said that. Your frustration intensifies, and you're not about to let him off the hook. "You can't just pretend like it didn't mean anything. We were somewhat friends, and now it feels like you're trying to erase that. And don't get me started on what would happen with us and Alex."

Trevor's eyes narrow at the mention of Alex. "He doesn't have anything to do with our business and if he gets mad at us for just doing that, so be it. We're adults who can make our decisions without him being angry about it."

Your frustration only grows as Trevor dismisses the impact of your actions on Alex. "We're all friends, Trevor. It's not just about us; it's about the dynamic between all three of us. You can't just sweep it under the rug and expect everything to go back to normal."

Trevor's expression tightens, and his frustration is palpable. "This is between you and me. Bringing Alex into it just complicates things for no fucking reason."

You cross your arms, unyielding. "He's part of our lives, Trevor!"

Trevor runs a hand through his hair, visibly agitated. "You act like I'm hiding something from him. We're not together, and we both know it was a mistake. So, what's there to explain?"

But you're not ready to move on. There's a lingering tension, a connection that can't be easily severed. "We can't just brush this under the rug, Trevor. Ignoring it won't make it disappear. We need to talk about it and figure out where we stand."

Trevor's expression hardens, and you can see the walls he's putting up. "I'm not gonna dissect our one-night stand and it's every little detail, Y/N. If you're looking for closure or whatever, find it elsewhere."

The blunt dismissal stings, and you find yourself growing more frustrated with every passing moment. "You can't just shut me out, Trevor. We are both friends with Alex, and we owe it to him to face the consequences of our actions."

Trevor's face contorted with anger, and he snaps back, "You act like I owe you or Alex something, Newsflash: I don't. We hooked up. Get over it."

"Okay fine. It's not like it was anything I hadn't felt before, your skills are mediocre at best." The comment slips out, and Trevor's face contorts in anger. You knew it was petty to bring the sex into it but it was worth his expression. He looked shocked as he was surprised.

He got up from the loveseat and grabbed your face. "Oh really? It didn't sound like that when we were fucking, Y/N. You were screaming so loud I'm surprised that the neighbors didn't say anything."

You knew you struck a nerve then and there and couldn't help but smirk. You held his eye contact for a few seconds before spitting out another petty remark, "Maybe I'm just a really good actress."

Trevor's grip on your face tightens as he leans in closer, his eyes narrowing. The air between you two crackles with intensity, a strange mixture of anger and something else. "Wanna test that, princess? Let's try again and see who's right." Before you can fully register what's happening, his lips crash onto yours in a fierce, heated kiss.

It's a collision of conflicting emotions – anger, desire, frustration – all rolled into one. The kiss is both punishing and passionate, a show of the unresolved tension that has been building between you. As you respond to his unexpected move, the lines between anger and lust blur in the heat of the moment.

Time seems to freeze as you both lose yourselves in the unexpected intensity of the kiss. The room, once filled with animosity, now becomes a battlefield of unspoken emotions. The kiss is a paradox, a contradiction to the heated argument that lead to it.

His hands left your face as he move them to grip your hips, as his lips travelled down your neck as he planted wet kisses on it. You couldn't help but whimper in desire, keeping his movements slow and calculated. "You're a slut, you know that?" He whispers in your ear as he sucks right below it.

The dirty words left his mouth so smoothly you couldn't help but whimper in affirmation. You couldn't help but like it. Trevor's hand moves further south and lands right on your crotch. You let out a soft moan at that, looking to the side at Trevor's expression. He still looked frustrated as he rubbed you slowly, "You let Alex touch you like this?"

You wanted to be annoyed but he just has you such a trance, you couldn't be. You didn't know what this whole competition with Alex was, but all you know was that Trevor wanted praise. You shook your head, "Only you, Trev."

"Good." He finally unbuttoned your jeans and you felt a relief wash over you. Trevor quickly moved your jeans to down to your ankles as he felt your underwear. You felt another jolt of utter arousal hit you as he rubbed you.

"Oh fuck, Trevor." Your eyes shut as your head lolled back on the couch.

"You're so wet, princess." Trevor let out a laugh as he moved his hands. "Bet Alex couldn't make you this wet."

You shook your head in a state of deliciousness. "Only you, Trev. Please, do something."

"I don't think you deserve it though, princess. Haven't been so nice lately, huh?" He was teasing and you both knew it. You let out an exasperated sigh as you bucked your hips against his hand.

"Trevor, don't tease right now."

"I'm serious." He moved his other hand to grip your face to make you look at him. "You haven't been a good girl, princess. Causing all these problems for me, when all I've done is make you feel so good. Right?" He started rubbing you a little faster, as your eyes shut again.

You knew you were gonna regret agreeing with him later but you needed him to touch you, or you swore you were gonna explode. "Fuck. Yes, I'm sorry. Sorry just please do anything, I need you."

"Need me? Hmm?" He was having fun with this and you were tired of it. He finally moved your underwear to the side and he dipped a finger in, making you arch your back on the couch.

"Shit, Trev!"

He immediately started thrusting his finger in and out. "You're so fucking wet, princess. And I didn't even touch you until now. You're a slut for me, beneath all that anger and frustration from earlier, all you needed was another good fuck from me again, huh Y/N?"

You hated how right he was. And how good he was making you feel. He soon added another finger and that added to the pressure that was currently building in your lower stomach. It was so, so close to snapping, you were about to cum. Your whole body began shaking as you felt the wave of relief wash over you, one hand gripping his wrist and the other holding onto the couch.

Before you could process anything, Trevor pulled your jeans back up. He leaned down to your face, "Open your mouth." You did as you were told and he stuffed his fingers into your mouth. "You made a mess all over my fingers, princess. Gotta clean it up now."

You sucked his fingers clean of your arousal. Then, you heard keys and Trevor quickly pulled them out of your mouth right as Alex walked in. "Hey guys, I got Chipotle. I got your usual orders." He looked up with a smile before it fell slowly. "Um, you two okay?"

Trevor responded with a laugh, "Yup we're perfect. I gotta go to the bathroom really quick I'll be right out." He didn't spare you another glance as he sauntered back into the bathroom.

"Didn't he just take a shower?"

"Yeah, maybe he just um... needed to pee." Your legs were still shaking as you smiled up at Alex. "You uh, got some guac and chips?"

──

As the weeks passed, the dynamics between you and Trevor shifted. What started as a complicated relationship began to turn into something more. The late-night conversations grew longer, the laughter became more genuine, and the guarded walls you both had built around yourselves started to crumble. Being vulnerable became something neither of you were scared of anymore. You found solace in each other's company, sharing your thoughts, fears, and dreams.

Trevor, who was once guarded, started opening up about the pressures of his career, the expectations, and the toll it took on him. In turn, you shared your own struggles, creating a bond that turned into something more than the physical. The tension that lingered from the first night slowly dissipated, replaced by a something more.

The secrecy surrounding your relationship added an element of thrill, but it also brought uncertainty. The fear of someone finding out, especially Alex, loomed over you both. Yet, despite the complications, you found solace in each other's company. The intimacy that developed between you two went beyond the physical, and the connection deepened with each passing day. But the lingering question remained: How long could this hidden relationship last and what would be the consequences when the truth inevitably came to light?

The glow of city lights illuminated the night as Trevor and you walked side by side along a quiet street. The evening air felt cold, but the warmth between you two created a bubble that shielded you from the cold.

Trevor's hand found its way to yours, his fingers intertwined with yours in a natural and familiar way. Your hands were freezing and his were warm, you felt yourself become warm by his touch. As you walked, you couldn't help but exchange playful glances and teasing smiles.

The city sounds slowly faded as you entered a little café that was a safe haven from the crispy air outside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee enveloped you as you walked in.

The barista greeted you with a smile as you approached the counter. Trevor squeezed your hand gently, his eyes locked onto yours. "What do you feel like having?"

You scanned the menu, the warmth in your chest spreading as you realized how comfortable and natural this felt. "How about some hot cocoa?"

"Yeah, me too." Trevor nodded and placed the order, his hand never leaving yours.

As you waited for your drinks, you found a cozy corner booth and settled in. Trevor slid into the booth across from you, his gaze was warm. "My stomach still hurts from that ramen we had on Saturday."

You laughed at that and shook your head, "Me too. What were we thinking ordering the spiciest one on the menu?"

Trevor chuckled, his laughter echoing in the warmth of the café. "I don't know, we thought we could handle it. I don't even remember what it tasted like."

"Probably a trauma response," You joked as you smiled up at him.

Trevor shook his head, "Yeah never again."

The warm cups cradled in your hands, you took a sip of the sweet hot cocoa. "This is perfect. Thank you for indulging my sweet tooth."

Trevor grinned, his eyes sparkling with as he winked playfully. "Anything for you."

"Oh yeah?" You laughed as you shook your head.

Trevor leaned in slightly, his voice lower. "Absolutely. You've got a sweet tooth, and I've got a soft spot for you."

"That was so cheesy, Trevor." You shook your head in a faux disappointed way but your heart fluttered at his words. You wanted to think logically but at this point, you couldn't. You knew you weren't dating but it felt like you were, and that was all that mattered right now.

"Yeah? Well you're blushing so I'm pretty sure it landed well, no matter how cheesy you say it was." He smirked as he drank some of his hot cocoa.

"Oh, shut up." You rolled your eyes, hitting his shoulder playfully. "That was your goal the entire time, you're just trying to get in my pants."

He put his hands up defensively as he laughed, "You got me there, princess."

Your face was as warm as the drink in your hands as Trevor gazed back at you. "Stop looking at me like that." You whispered with a smile.

Trevor shook his head in response, "Nope." He leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your lips.

──

You pulled up the blanket to cover your naked body as you let out a laugh at Trevor's joke, the warmth of your bodies leaving your entire body on fire. The glow of his bedside lamp created a cozy atmosphere, casting shadows that danced along the walls. Trevor laid beside you, a contented smile playing on his lips.

"That was a good one," you say softly, still chuckling at his stupid humor.

Trevor smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I have my moments. But hey, I've gotta keep ya entertained."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Entertained? Is that what this is?" You gestured between the two of you.

"Of course. I'm here to provide top-tier entertainment. What else did you think this was?"

You feigned deep contemplation, tapping your chin. "Well I was hoping for a one-man show, but I guess company isn't too bad."

His eyes sparkled with amusement as he laughed. "Oh, I see how it is. You're just here for the comedy, not the sexy company."

You chuckled, "Well, your sexy company is tolerable when you're not making terrible jokes."

Trevor placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded. "Ouch, Y/N. My jokes are gold, and you know it."

"More like bronze," you teased, smirking.

Trevor shook his head, "I'm a comedic genius and you know it, princess."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Genius might be pushing it a bit."

He feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch, right in the ego. I really thought I was the funniest guy you knew, sweetheart."

You chuckled, "You're definitely up there, but I can't give you a big head. We wouldn't want that."

Trevor shifted closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. "Nah, my head's just the right size. Wouldn't want it any other way."

Before you could respond, you heard a loud ding! coming from the bedside table. You realized it was Trevor's phone and grabbed it quickly and glancing at the screen on pure habit. Your heart dropped when you saw a girl's name with three hearts next to it, "Amber ❤️❤️❤️". You didn't recognize it and you quickly handed it to Trevor, choosing to keep quiet. You two were nothing but friends with benefits, that was it.

That realization hit you like a ton of bricks, you knew you had no right to be saying anything because neither of you even talked about wanting commitment. But the thought of him talking to other girls the same he did with you felt like betrayal, but of course he was; he was one of the biggest names in the NHL right now, who wouldn't wanna sleep with him?

Trevor took his phone from you, glancing at the screen. He quickly tapped a response, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, even though you had no right to. Your heart felt like it was shattered and you suddenly felt sick. It was a stark reminder of the nature of your relationship – undefined and open.

He put his phone back on the bedside table, seemingly oblivious to the momentary discomfort that flickered across your face. "Sorry about that. Just a friend," he said casually, offering a smile.

You managed a nod, plastering on a forced smile. "No worries." Your response was short as you pulled the covers up to cover up more of your naked body, you felt more exposed than before.

He noticed the gesture and his eyebrows furrowed, "You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired. I should probably get going, I have work in the morning." You said softly, dismissing the fact you said you'd stay the night, like you usually did.

Trevor seemed confused until he looked at his phone then back at you, piecing it together. "Oh,"

You got out of the bed and put your bra and shirt back on. Trevor stayed in bed, trying to figure out what to say. Just as you were about to leave, Trevor's phone buzzed again. Another notification from the same girl probably, and you couldn't ignore the pang of hurt that struck you.

Trevor, sensing your gaze, met your eyes, his expression guarded. The unspoken tension between you two hung in the air. "Is everything okay?" He asked, shaking his head.

"Yeah, fine."

"Y/N, is this about her?" He gestured toward his phone. Before you could say anything he continued. "Come back, princess. Promise I'll stop talking to her, okay? Will that make you stop being cold?"

You hesitated, caught off guard by Trevor's unexpected offer. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored your own uncertainty. After a moment of silence, you sighed, relenting to the unspoken desire for clarity.

"Fine," you replied, the weight of the unspoken tension lifting slightly. You looked up at him and the curves of his lips turned up into a warm smile and it felt like he was pulling you back in. Goddamnit. You tried to be strong but even his smile made your knees buckle.

"Come here, princess." He mumbled as he opened his arms up and you sighed. You put down your bag and slowly walked back to him as he scooched so you could come.

As you nestled into the warmth of Trevor's arms, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you, a mixture of comfort and uncertainty settled in. The comfort of being close to him tugged at your heart, and for a moment, it felt like the unspoken tension had given way to a silent understanding. You listened to the soft beat of his heart, and it echoed the complexities of your own feelings. Trevor's fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, the rhythmic gesture grounding you both in the present moment.

He moved slowly and gave you a soft kiss on your head as he muttered against your hair, "Only really want you, princess. You're the only one who could ever make me feel like this, do shit like this..."

The words hung in the air, as you stayed wrapped in his arms. You couldn't ignore the fact that, despite the uncertainties, there was a bond that he shared with you that he doesn't share with anyone else.

──

Finally, after months of living with Alex, Trevor had secured his own place. In the true nature of Alex and Trevor, they threw a housewarming party to celebrate it.

The party at Trevor's new place was in full swing. In a corner of the living room, Trevor leaned against the wall, a solo cup in hand, and surveyed the scene. His eyes found Alex across the room, engaged in a conversation with a group of people. As he caught sight of you approaching, Trevor's smile widened.

"Enjoying the party, princess?" he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. "Not bad, Trevor. You throw a decent party."

Alex walked over and joined the conversation, clapping Trevor on the back. "Man, this place is huge. Finally got rid of the sardine can feel, huh?"

Trevor chuckled, "Yeah, the sardine can days are over. No offense, Alex."

"None taken. It was time for a change, and I needed my own space. Plus, no more stepping on each other's toes. I can finally have as many girls over as I want." Alex joked as you rolled your eyes.

"Okay, sure Mr. Rizz right here."

"Shut up, Y/N. You're still single and I'm here with girls blowing up my phone." Alex playfully glared at you and you couldn't help but laugh. You and Trevor both exchanged a knowing glance before laughing again. It was still a secret, of course.

Trevor's gaze suddenly moved behind you and he quickly excused himself, you turned around to see the girl, Amber, from the other night. The one who he'd insisted he'd stop seeing. The only reason why you knew what she looked like was because you decided to do some investigating on his Instagram, finding her. Your face fell and you turned to Alex, excusing yourself as well to go find some drinks.

The thing was, you and Trevor weren't together. It wasn't the fact that he's still seeing her that bothered (but you would admit that it did sting a little), it was the fact that he promised to stop talking to her, it was on his own accord.

Moving through the crowd, you felt a knot form in your stomach as you sought refuge near in the kitchen. The sight of Lily's arrival stirred a bunch of emotions, each one more complex than the last. Trevor excusing himself to go talk to her only added to the discomfort.

As you busied yourself with preparing a drink, Alex joined you, sensing the shift in your mood. "Everything okay, Y/N?"

You forced a smile, attempting to downplay the situation. "Yeah, just needed a breather. Crowds, you know?"

Alex raised an eyebrow, studying your expression closely. "You sure that's all?"

"It's nothing, Alex," you reassured him, taking a sip of your drink. The burning liquid did little to soothe the brewing turmoil within.

The music throbbed in the background as you kept an eye on Trevor. His interactions with Amber seemed too friendly for someone he "stopped talking to". The promises he made echoed in your mind, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being betrayed, even if it was in a vague, unspoken way.

As you continued to observe Trevor and Amber, your internal turmoil escalated. You knew that watching wouldn't help your anxiety but you couldn't stop yourself. They laughed together, sharing inside jokes that seemed to bridge a connection beyond what you'd expected. It was a contrast to the secrecy that surrounded your interactions with Trevor, you couldn't help but feel jealous. The laughter, their shared glances, and his touches — it all played out before you like a scene from a script you hadn't been privy to. Your attempt to brush off the unease became even more challenging.

Then, he broke your final straw — he moved her chin up to look at him, like he always did with you. It was a simple gesture but it meant a lot but now you've realized it may have just been a trick all along. He knew what he was doing. You couldn't just sit there and watch anymore, you had to do something. Unable to bear the sight any longer, you made your way through the crowd, determined to confront Trevor about this stupid situation.

Finally reaching Trevor, you tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to you, a smile playing on his lips. "Hey, princess, having a good time?"

The nickname didn't feel so endearing as did it before you glanced at Amber then back at him. Your attempt to maintain composure was slipping, and you responded with a forced smile. "Can we talk?"

Trevor's brow furrowed, and he exchanged a quick glance with Amber before nodding. "Sure thing, Y/N."

Before you and Trevor could walk away, Amber spoke up. Sensing tension, glanced between you and Trevor before smirking. "Oh, is this your girlfriend?"

The term stung, not because you didn't want to be Trevor's girlfriend, but because it highlighted the weird nature of your connection. Before you could respond, Amber continued, her tone condescending, "Trevor, you didn't mention you had a possessive one."

You gritted your teeth, your patience waning. "I appreciate your concern, but this is between Trevor and me. You don't need to get involved."

Trevor's jaw tightened, irritation evident in his expression. "Amber, we're just figuring shit out. It's not your business."

She chuckled, clearly enjoying the tension. "Oh, I get it. Casual fun, right?" Amber's gaze shifted to you, her eyes narrowing with a hint of mockery. "Hope you're not catching feelings, sweetheart. It's not that kind of arrangement. And just remember, you have options, Trev."

The nickname rolled off her tongue perfectly as she left. As she walked away, Trevor shot her a disapproving look before turning his attention back to you.

Turning back to Trevor, you felt a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Can't believe she talked to me like that. And I can't believe you just let it happen."

Trevor looked torn, his eyes darting between you and where Lily disappeared into the crowd. "Y/N, I didn't expect her to be like that, she's sweet to me. Can we talk about this later?"

The dismissal fueled your anger. "Later? You always say later, Trevor. Do I even matter to you?"

Before he could respond, you stormed away, the weight of unspoken words heavy on your shoulders. Trevor hesitated for a moment, torn between following you and letting you go, but ultimately, he chose to chase after you, calling your name in a desperate plea.

He finally caught up, a hand grabbing your arm gently to turn you around. "Y/N, come on. Let's talk about this."

You scoffed, ripping your arm away. "Talk? You're only good at talking, Trevor. Actions? Not so much."

Trevor ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. "What do you want from me, Y/N? I can't control how she acts."

"Maybe you can't control her, but you can control your own actions," you shot back, the anger bubbling over. "You promised, Trevor. You promised me you'd stop talking to her."

He sighed, looking exasperated. "I said I would talk to her. I didn't know she'd act like that. Can we please not do this here?"

Your eyes narrowed, a bitter laugh escaping you. "Oh, now you care about where we fight? How considerate of you."

Trevor's frustration matched yours, and he raised his voice. "I'm trying, okay? I'm dealing with a lot right now."

"Yeah, well, so am I," you retorted, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill. The emotions that had been brewing for weeks finally reached a boiling point. "I can't keep doing this, Trevor. I can't keep pretending like everything's fine when it's not."

Trevor's frustration boiled over as he snapped back, "Oh, don't act like you're innocent in all of this, Y/N. You're the one who can't make up your damn mind. One minute, you're all over me, and the next, you're acting like I'm a stranger."

You glared at him, the hurt evident in your eyes. "Maybe I wouldn't be so confused if you actually communicated instead of leaving me in the dark all the time. And don't even get me started on your promises."

He rolled his eyes, a scoff escaping his lips. "Promises? What are we, teenagers? Get over yourself, Y/N. This isn't some fucking fairy tale, people are gonna break some promises sometimes."

Your jaw tightened, and you shot back, "At least I'm not playing games with people's feelings. You know, it's not that hard to be a decent human being, Trevor."

Trevor's eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, the venom in his voice palpable. "You act like you're some hotshot, like you have it all figured out, you're just as lost as the rest of us. Maybe you should stop pretending like you have your shit together because I know you don't."

You couldn't believe he had went that low. Your chest tightened with anger, "At least I'm not relying on empty hookups to fill the void, Trevor. Maybe if you faced your issues instead of drowning them in whatever girl you find next, you wouldn't be such a fucking mess all the time."

Trevor's face contorted with rage, his usual composed demeanor crumbling. "And what about you, huh? Always trying to fix everyone else's problems. Maybe you should take a good look in the mirror and realize you can't fix everything."

The words hung in the air, each one sharper than a blade. The pain they carried cut through the lingering tension, leaving you stunned. Trevor, realizing the meaning of his words, took a step forward, a desperate urgency in his eyes.

"Y/N, wait, I didn't mean—"

But you had heard enough. The realization that he had crossed a line, spoken words that couldn't be unsaid, fueled your resolve. You turned away, your footsteps quickening as you tried to distance yourself from the searing pain in his words.

Trevor stumbled out an apology, the desperation in his voice growing, "Wait, I take it back. Y/N, please, don't go. I didn't mean any of that."

With each step away from him, the sounds of the party became muffled, as if the world outside your fractured bubble was moving on without you. Trevor called your name one last time, his voice a desperate plea, but you couldn't bring yourself to turn back.

He turned around and saw the last person he'd thought was overhearring them. "Fuck, Alex. You scared me-"

"You and Y/N were hooking up this entire time?" Alex spat, anger in his voice. Trevor hadn't seen him this livid in his entire life. "I should've known, and I should've told her it's a bad idea. And now she's crying because of you, Trevor. Great move, buddy."

Trevor's annoyance flared, "Alex, this is none of your business. Stay out of it."

But Alex wasn't backing down. "None of my business? She's my best friend, Trevor. I hate seeing her like this, and I hate that you're the one causing it."

"Cut the "best friend" bullshit, we all know you fucking like her!" Trevor yelled. He was so close to spilling over the edge, this was supposed to be a fun party but now it's turning into a mess. "And you're too fucking jealous to admit it. And here's the thing, buddy, she'll never see as more than a brother figure, so find yourself someone else."

Alex's eyes widened, disbelief and even more anger merging on his face. "You think this is about jealousy? Trevor, you're so fucking blind. I care about her well-being, not some weird possessiveness shit. Unlike you, I don't treat people as disposable, and I sure as hell don't manipulate them into some fucked up games."

Trevor's frustration boiled over. "You don't understand a fucking thing. She's not your responsibility, and you're not her savior. Stop pretending like you know what's best for her."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "You're right. I don't know what's best for her. But I know what's not, and that's you, Trevor. If this is the person you've become, then-"

Trevor, feeling the weight of the accusations and the tension in the room, snapped, "You know what, Alex? She's mine. Got it? Mine. And you need to accept that."

Alex's eyes widened, pure anger on his face. "What did you just say?"

Trevor's face contorted with a bitter smirk. "You heard me. She's mine. You've always been in the way, and now she sees it too. So, back off, buddy, She doesn't need you."

The words hung in the air like a poisonous cloud. Alex, fueled by a surge of rage, responded, "You're fucking crazy if you think she's an object you can just claim. She deserves someone who treats her with respect, not someone who plays with her feelings for fun."

Trevor's eyes blazed with fury, "You have no idea what she wants. You've always been the nice guy, and nice guys finish last."

Alex scoffed and finally looked away from him, starting to walk to the door. "Yeah, fuck this I don't care. Bye, asshole."

"Oh real rich, Alex! Running off to go save the day like you always do, huh?" He yelled as Alex opened the front door. "Good luck getting outta the friendzone." Before he could walk out, Trevor grabbed his collar and pulled him closer. "You'll never, ever compare to me, Alex. In any way, shape or form. Especially in that department cus we all know who does it better." With a forceful shove, Trevor sent Alex stumbling backward against the door before turning away and walking off.

Trevor needed a drink, and fast. He didn't process anything or anyone as he walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of vodka. He pulled out one of the shot glasses before pouring himself one, taking it quickly.

Before he could take another, someone tapped on his shoulder. "How'd it go with your little girlfriend?" Amber smirked. "Is she gone?"

Trevor couldn't even speak, he was livid. She was the reason that you had walked away from this. And he just realized that you were the best thing he'd ever have. "Oh, fuck off."

Amber looked proud as she laughed, "Don't be too sad about it, Z, you have me."

That was the last straw. "Get the fuck out."

Her face finally fell. "What-"

"You heard me. Get the fuck out," each word came out more harsh the next. "And I don't wanna ever hear from you again, got it?"

"Z, wait, no! Why are you mad-"

"Get the fuck out! Now!" Trevor finally yelled, watching her shoulders fall. She finally got the memo and sighed, walking away.

As Trevor downed another shot, he realized the gravity of the situation. He had pushed you away, hurt Alex, and now, he had to face the consequences of his actions. The alcohol burned, matching the turmoil in his mind.

Alex caught up with you just outside the house, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. He could see the tear stains on your cheeks, and the weight of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders.

"Hey," he said softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turned to him, and he could see the hurt in your eyes. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight and comforting embrace.

You let out a shaky breath, finding solace in the warmth of Alex's presence. His friendship had always been a source of support, and in that moment, you needed it more than ever. He didn't press you to talk; he just held you, letting you feel the reassurance of his touch.

"I can't believe he said those things," you whispered, your voice breaking as your tears stained his hoodie.

Alex sighed, rubbing your back soothingly. "Yeah, he went way too far. You don't deserve that, Y/N."

As the two of you stood there in the quiet night, the weight of Trevor's hurtful words lingered in the air. Alex's presence was the comfort you needed, though. The warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart against yours, helped to ease the ache that Trevor had left behind.

After a moment, you pulled back slightly, meeting Alex's gaze. There was a soft understanding between you, a connection that went beyond friendship. In that shared vulnerability, something shifted.

"I don't know what I expected," you admitted, wiping away a stray tear as you sniffled. "But I never thought he'd say those things. It's like he's a different person."

Alex nodded, a mixture of empathy and frustration in his eyes. "Sometimes people show their true colors when things get tough. And sometimes, we don't really know them as well as we think we do."

A small, sad smile played on your lips. "I thought we were... together, you know? And now it's like I never really knew him."

Alex's expression softened, and he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "You deserve better, Y/N. You deserve someone who appreciates you for who you are, without all the drama and games."

As the words hung in the air, a new awareness passed between you. The night had unfolded in ways you hadn't anticipated, and in the quiet intimacy of that moment, something changed. The connection between you and Alex had deepened, a subtle shift that neither of you fully understood yet.

"I-I'm sorry I didn't say anything about it. It was a secret and I didn't want you to think differently of me." You spoke softly.

"That could never happen, Y/N." He whispered as he cupped your face slowly, as if to test the waters.

Then, without planning, both of your lips met in a gentle kiss. It was a tender touch of understanding of the pain you both felt. The world around you seemed to fade for a moment as the weight on your shoulders lifted, replaced by a different kind of warmth. When you pulled away, uncertainty lingered in the air, but there was also a sense of relief.

──

Over the next couple months, You and Alex started dating, and everything seemed happy and content for the most part. You went on dates and built a connection that felt safe and comforting, nothing like the one you had with Trevor. However, You couldn't shake the lingering feeling that a part of you was still entwined with Trevor. You knew that it was better for you but you missed the way Trevor touched you, the way he spoke and the way he treated you (when it wasn't bad). The joy she felt with Alex was genuine, but the ghost of Trevor lingered in the shadows, casting doubt on her decisions.

You and Alex continued your relationship but Alex couldn't shake the feeling that your heart still held a significant place for Trevor. Subtle cues, unspoken glances, and the distant expression spoke volumes to him. Despite your happy moments, he sensed your mind occasionally drifting back to Trevor sometimes.

Alex grappled with the awareness that he might be a compromise, a second choice compared to the intensity and history you shared with Trevor. The quiet comparisons became a silent shadow in your relationship, and though Alex tried to provide the love and support you truly deserved, he couldn't erase the lingering presence of Trevor in your heart.

"So who's throwing this party again?" You spoke as Alex drove quietly, music softly playing in the background.

"It's Jack's place," Alex replied, his eyes briefly meeting yours. "Should be a good time. He knows how to throw a good party."

You nodded, looking forward to a night of drinking, work hadn't been so fun and you wanted to have fun with all your friends. The car pulled up to the house, music pulsating from inside. As you stepped out, the loud atmosphere embraced you, drowning out any worries.

Amidst the loud music and the crowd, you and Alex found a space on the makeshift dance floor. The rhythm of the music pulled you closer, and soon, you were dancing together, your movements syncing effortlessly. The worries of the past seemed to fade away in the loud music, leaving only the present moment.

Alex twirled you playfully, a smile on his face, and you couldn't help but giggle. As the song shifted to a slower tempo, Alex pulled you into a gentle sway, the two of you lost in the music and each other.

The party continued around you, but in that moment, it felt like the world had slowed down. Alex's eyes met yours, and a warmth passed between you, the worries and comparisons faded away, leaving only the simplicity of the dance and the contentment of being in each other's company.

Everything was perfect.

Then Alex's gaze shifted behind you and suddenly his eyes hardened and he stopped swaying. You turned around to see the one person who you have spent the last 3 months trying to forget about, smirking as he watched the two of you.

"Trevor?"

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

1K notes · View notes

sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 3 months

Text

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

438 notes · View notes

nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 2 months

Note

Hi omg i absolutely love your work so much!! Literally had to turn on notifications just for you🩷 i wanted to request an enemies to lovers trope with ethan (but kinda slowburn) where he is really nice and shy/dorky with the rest of the group & rude to y/n specifically because he feels like thats the only way to get her attention. He walks in on her changing but leaves quickly due to embarrassment & a few days later just confesses during an argument and it ends in smut. Lots of angst & tension pls pls thank you so much🥲

Hiii! I hope you like it!

Holding on to You - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: Ethan thinks he needs to be a jackass to get your attention. After months of dealing with his annoying ways, he confesses how he feels.

Contains: fluff, angst, use of pet names, mean!ethan, dry humping, riding, p in v sex. (If I missed anything, let me know!)

A/N: Apparently if I get stoned and listen to Twenty One Pilots, I write longer fics lmao. 3.7k words...jeez.

When Chad and Ethan needed a new roommate, and you hated yours, you decided to take Chad up on his offer for you to move in. Yeah, living with two boys wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Well, Chad wasn’t as bad as you thought he would be. Ethan on the other hand, loved to do things to piss you off.

As you stood at the sink doing your own dishes, Ethan walked by and dropped a bowl in the sink.

“Seriously?” you asked, looking over at him.

“What? You’re already doing dishes.”

Chad walked in the room before you could say anything else to Ethan. He smirked at you as Chad started to speak.

“Hey dude, you want to go with me to get the pizza for tonight?” he asked. You were having your friends over, and you were happy to have an interaction with someone that wasn’t a guy.

“Yeah,” Ethan said, sitting a cup in the sink, too.

“I’m not doing all your dishes, Ethan!” you yelled, as he and Chad made their way to the door.

He turned around to look at you again, flashing a smile before walking out.

The way Ethan acted was infuriating sometimes. He was completely different in the presence of everyone else, but when it was just the two of you, he was so rude.

When your friends started to arrive after Chad and Ethan got back, you were grabbing plates out of the cabinet when Ethan walked up behind you.

“Let me take these. I wouldn’t want all of them to get shattered,” he said, reaching over you and grabbing the stack. You huffed as he sat them down on the counter.

“I wouldn’t have broken them,” you mumbled, looking up at him.

“You just broke one last week!”

“Well, if you didn’t stack so many plates on the top shelf so only you’re giraffe-looking ass was able to reach them, maybe it wouldn’t have happened,” you snapped, grabbing the plates off the counter and carrying them out to the living room.

“Thank you,” Chad said as you sat the plates down.

“Yeah, thank you,” Ethan said as he followed you out, the sweetness in his voice making you want to gag.

As you all sat around eating, Tara brought up needing help for one of her classes.

“I can help you,” Ethan said, “I took that class already.”

“Let me guess, you had the highest grade in the class?” Mindy asked, already knowing the answer.

“I can’t help that I have a photographic memory,” he said, taking a bite of his food. “But seriously, if you need my help, let me know.”

You were quiet as you focused on your phone, trying to distract yourself from Ethan. You hated that he could be so nice to everyone else but was a total dick to you. It was disappointing because at one point, you thought he was sweet. The kindness and the fact that he was tall and very attractive was starting to draw you in, but then his personality just flipped one day.

“Why are you being so quiet?” Tara asked you, as you scrolled through your phone.

“I got a text from my ex earlier. Still an asshole,” you sighed, “But he’s been liking all my Instagram photos that he unliked when we broke up.”

“Don’t give him another chance, please,” Mindy begged, “He treats you like shit.”

Your cheeks started to turn pink as you sat there. You didn’t want to directly tell them that you were considering it, but the knowing look on Chad’s face confirmed that you were doing a bad job at hiding it.

“Seriously? He’s going to be in here trying to square up with me and Ethan, because he’s an insecure idiot,” Chad said, his tone full of disappointment, “You know he’s not good for you.”

Ethan was really invested in the conversation happening in front of him. He’d always kind of hoped that you’d just tell him you were interested in him. The type of guys you normally went after was the reason he was being a jerk, after all. He’s always wanted your attention.

“That’s my type though, Chad,” you sighed sarcastically as he shook his head.

“Yeah, but you could go after a sweet guy, like my boy Ethan over here,” he said, gesturing to the curly-haired boy that started to blush. “He’s a snack, right?”

“That didn’t work when you pitched it to the cute girl at the Halloween Party, and it’s not going to work now,” you giggled, happy that you were able to make a little dig at Ethan since he always says rude things to you.

“That wasn’t nice. I think you’re a snack,” Chad said to Ethan, as Tara started to laugh at their bromance.

“At least someone does,” Ethan said, glancing over to you and looking down at his lap.

“I’m not saying you’re not attractive, Ethan,” you sighed, feeling guilty for being so mean, “I guess you are a snack.”

“Oh, am I sensing a love connection here?” Chad said in a horrible fake-British accent.

“I didn’t say that.”

As everyone started to leave for the night, you went in your room to change into your pajama shorts and a big t-shirt.

Just as you took off your jeans, shirt, and bra, the door to your room opened.

“Hey, you left your…” You grabbed your shirt you were about to change into and quickly covered yourself with it as Ethan stood there. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

When he turned around and pulled the door shut behind him, your cheeks turned bright red. The guy that loves be an ass to you had just seen you in nothing but your panties. You sighed as you pulled your shirt and shorts on and walked out to get some water.

You jumped when you saw a shadowy figure in the dark kitchen as you turned the corner.

“It’s just me,” Chad said, as you flipped the light switch.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you said, as he stood there eating some of the cold, leftover pizza. “Why are you eating in the dark?”

“Why are you so jumpy? That’s how Ethan was a minute ago when he walked in here,” he said, chewing his food. “He sat your phone on the counter, by the way.”

“Maybe we’re jumpy because you’re lurking in a dark kitchen,” you said, grabbing your phone.

“You’re probably right. Well, good night.”

As he walked back to his room, you pulled a cup out of the cabinet, getting some water. You couldn’t stop thinking about how awkward it was going to be to see Ethan again, which will happen eventually because he shares your living space.

That didn’t happen for several days, though. He intentionally avoided you, only coming out of his room if you weren’t home, or you were in your own room. It was starting to bother you, because even if he made you feel like shit before he walked in on you, he at least talked to you, and it was significantly less awkward.

When you walked out to the living room, you saw Chad and Ethan sitting on the couch watching tv. You flopped down a few cushions away from them, looking at the screen.

“Star Wars, huh? I wouldn’t expect anything less from you two dorks,” you joked, as Chad scoffed.

“You know, I used to think you were cool,” he said, throwing one of the decorative pillows at you.

You threw it back at him, hitting Ethan in the process.

“Hey!” he yelled, grabbing the pillow that eventually landed on Chad and threw it back at you.

“You know what we need? Snacks,” Chad said, standing up. He grabbed the remote to pause the movie. “Ethan, Cheetos?” he asked as Ethan nodded. “Do you want anything?” he asked you, walking towards the kitchen. “No, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself. Maybe if your nice, Ethan will share his snacks.”

You laughed at his comment as you looked over to Ethan. He wasn’t saying anything, but you could feel the tension in the air. The only thing that came to your mind was that he was probably dying inside from not saying anything shitty to you for the last several days.

“What are you looking at?” he snapped, glancing over to you.

“There it is. I thought you were never going to be mean to me again.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t feel like I should have to speak to you,” he said, as Chad walked back in, completely missing Ethan’s comment. “Thanks, man,” he said, after Chad handed him the Cheetos.

He pressed play on the movie again, as you tried to get interested in it.

“That thing is kind of cute,” you said, pointing at the character.

“Jar Jar Binks is cute? That explains your taste in men,” Chad said, as Ethan started to laugh.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, staring both of the boys down.

“He’s one of, if not THE, most hated Star Wars characters,” Ethan said, looking over to you. “Just like how every single guy you date is completely unlikable.”

“You don’t have to call me out like that,” you sighed, standing up to grab the blanket that was on back of the couch behind Ethan. “Can you sit up a little bit so I can grab this,” you said, tugging on the fluffy material.

“No, I’m comfortable like this,” he said, his tone playful because Chad was beside him.

“Please, I’m cold,” you whined, as he rolled his eyes and sat up.

You grabbed the blanket and snuggled back up in your spot. Ethan kept looking over to you, trying to be as discreet as possible about it. You caught his gaze, giving him a ‘What’ look, before looking back at the tv.

When the movie was over, Chad stood up. “I think I’m going to Tara’s. You guys want to come?”

“Yeah, like I want to be there while you try to put moves on my friend,” you said, as he shrugged.

“She’s cute. I can’t help it. Ethan, you coming?”

“I don’t want to be a third wheel,” he sighed, “I have stuff to work on anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll be back later,” Chad said, pulling his hoodie on.

When Chad left, Ethan got up to walk to his room.

“Hey,” you said, as he stopped and turned a little to look at you, “If you hate me so much, why did you agree to me moving in?”

“Because you can pay the rent,” he said, “Is this conversation over?”

“No, it’s not,” you stood up, as he fully turned back around. “What the fuck happened? Because you used to be nice to me. Then you started to treat me like every other guy ever has.”

“Yeah? What was that jab a few nights ago where you made me feel like a loser in front of our friends?” he started to raise his voice at you, “Because that wasn’t very nice.”

“I wanted you to know what it feels like, Ethan! You treat me like I’m stupid! You know how many times I’ve gone to my room and cried over some of the things you’ve said to me?” you were yelling at this point, the anger in his face softening as he started to feel guilty. “You used to be so sweet and caring, I miss that Ethan.”

“I couldn’t be like that anymore,” he sighed, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

You were still mad, yelling “Why?” at him as he started to walk towards you.

“Because you aren’t interested in nice guys!” he yelled back, “You always go after people that don’t treat you right, when all I’ve wanted to do this whole time is to be what you want!”

“You really are dumb,” you started to laugh, shaking your head. “You had a fucking chance, Ethan! I was interested in you. It was weird for me, and I wasn’t sure how to act because you aren’t my normal type, but that’s what made me like you!”

“How was I supposed to know that?” he said, sighing as he sat back down on the couch. “I just wanted to be what you wanted.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s something wrong with my normal ‘type’,” you laughed, sitting beside him. “In some sick, twisted way, I think it’s sweet that you wanted my attention so bad.”

“So, it worked?” he asked, cocking his head to look at you.

“I’m not going to validate you being an asshole. I want you to be yourself, that’s the Ethan I like,” you smiled at him.

“I’m sorry for making you cry before, I feel awful about that,” he said, the guilt present on his face.

“Just don’t do it again.”

“I totally ruined everything, didn’t I?” he asked, “I remember you mentioned your ex the other night. Are you going to give him another chance?”

You started to laugh as you looked at him, “Why would I do that? I mean, unless you aren’t interested in me, and this is just some sick joke.”

“No, I’m interested,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

The kiss was sweet at first, exactly what you expected from Ethan. He started to pull away, but your head moved with his, not wanting the kiss to end. His lips kept moving as you felt his tongue brush against your bottom lip. You started to straddle him as you let him deepen the kiss, his tongue dancing against yours. When you felt him get hard through his jeans, you pulled away to look at him. His eyes were dazed as he watched you, craving more.

“You okay?” you asked, your breathing heavy.

“Yeah, can we do that again?”

You leaned back in, his hands going to your hips as you kissed him. His grip tightened a little as he started to squirm underneath of you, desperate to get a little friction. His lips moved to your jaw, before kissing down your neck. You whimpered when he found your sweet spot, his mouth attacking it so you’d keep making that sound.

Your hands were resting against the hem of his shirt, so you started to lift it to graze your fingers over his toned stomach. He followed your lead, his hands rubbing against your sides underneath your shirt. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingertips brushed against your ribs, the tickling feeling surprising you.

“You tensed up, are you okay with this?” he mumbled against your neck.

“Mhm,” you said, removing one of your hands from his abs and putting it under his chin. He lifted his head so your mouths could connect again, as you started to grind against him.

He started to groan into the kiss, his hips moving against yours. “Do you want to do this,” you asked pulling away a little. He nodded his head as you slid off of him to unbutton his jeans.

“Wait, are we about to fuck on the couch?” he asked, as you nodded.

“Stand up,” you said, grabbing his hands. You grabbed your blanket from the other side of the couch, spreading it across the cushions. “Now we don’t have to feel guilty whenever we see Chad sitting on the couch.”

He smiled as you slid his jeans down over his hips. “I think you should let me take something off of you.”

You smiled at him as you stepped back a little, your hands at your sides as you waited for him to make a move. His hands went to your shirt, lifting it over your head. He felt like his eyes were going to pop out off his skull when he realized you didn’t have a bra on.

“You’re even more perfect up close,” he said, leaning down to take one of your nipples in his mouth.

“How many times have you thought about me almost naked since the other night?” you asked, your fingers tangling in his hair as he moved his mouth.

“So many times,” he said as he pulled away and moved to the other one. He groaned a little at the feeling of your fingers tugging on his curls.

His hands reached down to the top of your jeans, slowly unbuttoning them, and sliding them down your hips. You shimmied out of them as you slid your feet out.

As you both stood there, he leaned in to kiss you again, the tent in his boxers pressing against you.

“Do you have a condom?” you asked, as he nodded.

“Good idea,” he said, running down the hall to his room. You took the opportunity to take off your panties as you waited for him to come back. His jaw dropped when he came back and saw you standing there, completely nude. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It can’t happen until these come off,” you said, grabbing the waistband of his boxers and sliding them down his thighs. After he stepped out of them, you pushed him back onto the couch.

He opened the condom as he sat there, rolling it on his hard cock. You really started to look at his size, nervous that it wouldn’t fit inside of you. His hands reached out, grabbing yours to pull you back on his lap. You kissed him as you grabbed his erection and lined it up with your soaked core.

“Oh fuck,” you whined, sinking down onto him. You sat in place as you kept kissing him, giving yourself enough time to adjust to the pressure as he stretched your walls.

When you started to roll your hips, his hands held onto them. “God, this feels amazing,” he said, loving the feeling of you around him. “You’re so tight.”

As you started to bounce on him, his thrusts started to meet yours. You kept making eye contact with him as his mouth started to fall open, faint moans slipping past his lips.

“That’s so hot,” you moaned, as he looked at you, trying to understand what you meant. “You can be as vocal as you want, baby. I love it.”

His heart melted as you called him ‘baby’, loving the sound of it. He started to get a little louder, letting you know exactly how good he was feeling.

“Rub my clit,” you whimpered, as your hands went to his shoulders to stabilize yourself so you could move faster.

His fingers started to rub circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves, the whines flying out of your mouth echoing off the walls. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

His fingers soon sped up as your moaning got higher. “Yes yes yes,” you cried out, that euphoric feeling so close to taking over your body, “I’m gonna cum.”

Your pussy started to flutter around him as your body started to tense up. He kept thrusting up into you, so close to his own orgasm. “Shit, gonna cum,” he groaned out, his hand leaving your clit and going back to your hip as he pounded into you. “Fuuuuck.”

He let out a long, shaky breath as he released into the condom. Your body relaxed against his as his hands rubbed your back. “You okay, baby?” he asked, as you nodded against his shoulder.

You laid there for a few more minutes, just enjoying his arms around you. “You want to take a shower?” you asked your fingers rubbing across his chest.

“I’d love to.”

When you were in the shower with Ethan, he was so sweet and caring. As he ran the soapy loofah across your back, you started to tear up a little. No one had ever done anything like this for you. Any other guy you’d showered with expected round two, but Ethan just wanted to take care of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, as you stood under the water, the suds washing off your body.

“Stop. You keep saying stuff like that, you’re going to make me fall for you,” you laughed, as he laced his fingers with yours.

“You promise? Because you’re so amazing, and so perfect,” he said, and you knew he meant every word he was saying.

After the shower, you grabbed the blanket off the couch and threw it in the washer, before starting it. It would’ve made no sense to put the blanket down if you were just going to leave it there. Ethan walked up behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist. “You’re still naked.”

“You are, too,” you said, turning to face him. “I want to cuddle tonight. Your bed or mine?”

“Let’s grab your clothes and lay in mine. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about you in my bed,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

“Okay, let’s go before Chad comes home and sees us naked,” you giggled, pulling away from him to run down the hall.

The next morning, you woke up with your head on Ethan’s chest and his arms wrapped around you. You sat up a little, your tired eyes connecting with his as he opened them.

“You look so cute first thing in the morning,” he said, sitting up too.

“I’m starving,” you said, running your hand through your hair as you attempted to tame the bed head.

“I could take you out to breakfast, if you’d like to.”

“I’d like that,” you said softly, leaning in to peck his lips.

You bumped into Chad in the hallway as you both walked out of Ethan’s room.

“Uh…okay,” he said, as you started to laugh. “Was I right about the love connection?” His fake accent was back as you rolled your eyes.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumbled, walking into your room to change.

When your door closed, Chad whisper-yelled, “Yessss dude I’m so proud of you! You’ve been crushing on her forever.”

“It’s a long story, but I’m so excited that she’ll know how it feels to be treated right.”

Chad and Ethan started to do a little happy dance as you walked out of your room, both of them stopping as you smirked.

“You ready to go?” you asked, reaching out to grab Ethan’s hand.

“Yeah, I’m starving.”

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream smut #ethan landry smut #scream

312 notes · View notes

ashtxrie · 2 months

Text

oh no... am i falling in love? (sunoo)

PAIR. high school!sunoo x gn!reader GENRE. fake dating au, high school au, best friends to lovers, fluff WORD COUNT. 2.2k WARNINGS. none! NOTES. first post kinda nervous!! <//3 i need a sunoo irl he is truly the greenest of green flags

you and sunoo are those friends

you’ve got that type of friendship where something clicked and suddenly you were both attached at the hip for years

because apparently having the same clear muji pencil case with the holy grail 0.5 black muji pen at the beginning of middle school meant best friends ride or die in seventh-grade culture

like, someone who prioritized aesthetics in notetaking as much as you did? even in the confines of this crusty campus? crazy.

but anyway, with you being absolutely intent on making friends, sunoo couldn’t get rid of you if he tried but pls he could never survive without you anyway... who else would he trust enough to exchange his top-tier notes with?

and since then you’ve both been best friends for life! well, ever since the +6 with the introduction of sunoo's other friends [read: the rest of enhypen...]

and at first you were super happy because new friends!

but then they kind of stopped hanging out with you in the middle of sophomore year or so and went off into their own little world

and you were a little sad

ok maybe a lot sad. devastated, even.

but that was okay because that meant you were able to meet new friends and expand your horizons! you even got the chance to focus on yourself and join some new clubs, too!

who even is sunoo anymore lmao you don’t know him

but anyway

it was junior year and you were so tired of your friends bugging you to get a s/o

“[name], why don’t you date someone?”

“you’d really hit it off with so and so, don’t you think?”

“just put yourself out there”

ರ_ರ

ayo... excuse me

so one day you just can’t take it anymore

and maybe you should’ve thought this through but... nope

you don’t pause to think things through

because life is for living in the moment hell yes yolo gang

“umm guys i’m already dating someone!”

needless to say your friends go INSANE

like who tf is [name] gatekeeping from us they’re so fake /j

so like any sane and mentally adept person, you say the first name that comes to mind

“hahaha … sunoo!”

your friends stare at you. flabbergasted, shocked, stunned beyond words.

blink blink

“but … weren’t you guys just friends”

“NO”

you’re panicking but

trust

“we’re in LOVE”

ur friends are really like ok whatever, but go off

and that is how you find yourself dragging yourself over to sunoo's fifth period and placing your hands on sunoo's shoulders

“promise me you won’t freak out”

and ofc sunoo is already freaking out

bc why are you standing in front of the ap lang classroom with this crazily determined face and forcing him to listen to you

and this is how you get into this situation

with sunoo having a literal double take and you doing your best "pls help me out i beg of you" impression

“i can’t DATE you”

what

you give sunoo your best professional face even though inside you’re ???

bc um is it that bad to date you??

you are confused???

you’ve saved sunoo thousands of times in his high school career in both academics and social standing he can afford to pretend to date you ONCE

“WHY NOT”

“BECAUSE”

...

is he being fr rn

obviously you’re not getting anywhere and you turn around to walk away, kind of annoyed

“fine then, i’ll just find someone else to date me.” shrug (dies inside).

as soon as you say that, it’s like you’ve flipped a switch and suddenly sunoo is very concerned and almost a little upset

and when you don’t notice him contemplating something, he runs in front of you and nearly knocks you over

“second thoughts?”

sunoo scowls

although it looks more like a lil pout pushing at his lips and he crosses his arms

lmao who is this and what’s happened to sunoo

you shrug and start to leave for real until sunoo reaches out to tug at your arm

“NO, NO WAIT … I’LL DO IT”

you whirl around immediately and you are needless to say, very relieved!

｡◕‿◕｡

“perfect!”

but apparently sunoo hasn’t recovered from his fall from before

bc he can’t stop rubbing his hand against his neck and his face is all blotchy and pink

kinda cute, but in a best friends way. like wowie my best friend looks kinda adorable look at that boy go

but ofc sunoo has to ruin the special moment because he offhandedly says, “shouldn’t we have rules or something?”

rules???

RULES???

this is fake dating sunoo wdyfm rules? that's so silly goofy

“huh?”

“like … things not to do? maybe one big rule is not ruining our friendship???”

ʘ‿ʘ

he kinda smart for that

“ok easy then, just don’t fall in love with me”

apparently this is the WRONG thing to say?

sunoo is RED like boy is not pink anymore his cheeks are burning red

“you can’t just say that?”

????

you are confused bc what does that even mean

“why not?”

“that’s like ... y-you you can’t just say that.”

you are, if possible, even more confused?

“okay and?”

sunoo blinks

pls this boy has the audacity to just shrug

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

u are dumb af sunoo bout to throw hands here

but he won’t bc he loves u <3

so fifteen minutes later you guys decide to make three big rules

sunoo had a whole list of like twenty but you narrowed it down to these:

1. don’t ruin ur friendship

2. no kissing

3. and ur paying for three rounds of mint choco ice cream after this is over

honestly you think this is kinda rude considering sunoo is richer than ur entire life but whatever, at least he’s not leaving you out to the wolves

so when it’s finally time to put this fake dating thing to the test, you tug sunoo over to your side of the table during lunch and make sure to swing his hand

which actually feels kind of nice??

like you’ve never actually thought about this before

but sunoo is comforting

his hand fits right in yours, and he’s so warm

and i mean haha it’s not like this is a new thing, you two hold hands all the time!! but adjkaldjkfl not in a dating way

ur friends are shocked. bamboozled.

like they never thought you’d actually show up with a DATE

and bc they’re all RUDE they grill sunoo

but sunoo is best boy

best bf

and answers all their questions like a pro

that's my man

i mean what???

ur so proud

you let ur head rest against sunoo's shoulder and BITCH

sunoo presses a kiss to ur forehead

YO........................ insane.

why are u so happy? what is this??

it’s just so gentle and soft and you feel your heart getting all mushy and warm

your friends all give a big collective aww because one, they’re annoying af and yes y’all are cute cute and this is cute

but ur going through some existential crisis

and later when you’re walking with sunoo to all your classes, you can’t stop thinking that hey, this fakedating thing isn’t that bad

but whatever it’s just cause u miss spending time with sunoo!

yes, that’s it!

you’re just sad that sunoo always hangs out with his new group and you don’t get to see him as much

so this is nice!

you’re just going through some bff nostalgia rn... it's just gonna take some time for [name].exe to start working again

anyway now bc of this fakedating thing, you and sunoo just spend so much time together

like you guys have always been best friends, but this feels different

sunoo will run over to you when he sees you and wrap his arms around your waist

the first time he did it, he had the cuteness to go “is this okay? are you okay? is this too much?"

and YOUR HEART WENT !!!!!

you might’ve blushed

okay you did

but you convince yourself it’s just because ur touch starved and bitchless

c’mon... get it together

but whenever you call sunoo and wave at him, his face just LIGHTS up

and you’re pretty sure yours does too

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

needless to say, you kinda don’t want this all to end

because somewhere in the middle of all this, your head has gone from calling sunoo your fake boyfriend to your real boyfriend

and you don’t really want to go back to just being friends if you’re honest

wait hold up

uh oh

UH OH CODE RED

INTERPOL INTERPOL.....

did you just admit you liked sunoo?? in a FOR REALS way?

UMMMMM

so like the only way you know how to deal with things, you avoid it!

you start to act really distant

and now whenever sunoo wraps his arms around you, you stiffen up

and sunoo like the angel he is pulls away so quickly bc ?? is his best friend upset? uncomfortable?

did HE make his best friend for life, his 4lifer, uncomfortable? omg this isn’t ok what is happening

everyone can tell something is up

ofc they can, what with you going to the extent of running away whenever you see sunoo and sunoo reacting like the entire light got blown out his life

and bffr sunoo may be innocent but he ISN'T dumb

he knows your schedule he KNOWS you’re ignoring him

and baby is upset

because lately you’ve been starting to feel a lot more to him

and now you’re just gone??

that’s not okay and sunoo isn’t just gonna sit around and be sad

if there’s something he can do he’s gonna do all he can to try to fix it!

he corners you one day and holds up an angry piece of paper

“excuse me but you broke rule number one which is, in case you forgot, don’t RUIN OUR FRIENDSHIP”

“oh haha uh sunoo! hi uhh i gotta go 👉👉 ”

sunoo's face falls

and that was it

you just wanna hold his cheeks and tell him things are fine and that you love him

wait WHAT

but sunoo is still staring at you with that wounded look

like you’ve just ripped up his heart and torn it to shreds

bc that’s kinda what you’re doing

omg what’ve you done

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

“sunoo…”

his eyes lock onto yours so fast that you’re afraid he’s got whiplash

your mouth goes dry, and for a few moments it’s hard to talk

but you finally manage to tell him that “i don’t think we should fake date anymore.”

sunoo's face breaks

his eyes go wide, and it looks like he wants to stagger. and he almost does, just a little bit

“is it something i did?”

WHAT

this boy

kim sunoo is really gonna be the death of you

you’re shaking your head back and forth so fast because NO of course not of course this isn’t his fault

sunoo is Not Okay, and he looks so, so concerned for you. “because i swear i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. if i screwed up just tell me and i can fix it, [name], please”

you shake ur head, already starting to panic. “of course not. it’s not YOU sunoo. i just can’t fake date you because--”

you clamp your hands over your mouth

“because?” sunoo prompts, his voice careful

you just shake your head, already starting to turn and run back to somewhere, anywhere because this is stupid and you’re scared

terrified, actually

but sunoo just takes your hand and tugs you backward a bit, almost like a scene from a movie

you do that little twirl back and are face to face with the one and only

“do you … do you like me?” sunoo asks

that’s it

it’s out

you’re ready for your entire friendship with sunoo to come crashing down

“do you?” he repeats softly

you try to pull away but sunoo isn’t having it

he’s still holding onto your hand, gently, of course, and his eyes are boring into yours

you’re too scared to look because you’re afraid of what you’ll find

but when you can’t take it anymore and finally tilt your head up you realize something important

because his eyes aren’t full of disgust

in fact, that’s further from the truth

kim sunoo is staring at you with the biggest heart eyes you’ve ever seen and you’re confused as to how you’ve never seen this sooner

it’s almost like you’re his whole world, and now you can’t fucking breathe

is this real? chat is this fr rn??

your heart’s pounding in your chest so fast and there’s something bursting at your lungs

you nod faintly. “yes. i like you”

the huge grin that spreads across sunoo's face is everything

he rushes forward to pull you into a gigantic hug, even lifting you up a little as he spins you around and lets out a little happy noise

“i’ve liked you forever, [name], i can’t believe this is real”

what

so u could’ve been dating sunoo before??

“you dork why didn’t you tell me?”

“because you didn’t like me like that!”

BITCH WHAT

“well maybe i was confused” you pipe back

sunoo just laughs, burying his head in your shoulder. “i’m so happy right now.”

and honestly ?

so are you !!

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen blurbs #enhypen fic #enhypen sunoo #kim sunoo #sunoo #sunoo x reader #sunoo imagines #sunoo fluff #sunoo fic #sunoo soft hours #ashtxrie #— ash writes!

378 notes · View notes

roosterr · 1 year

Text

murphy's law

a/n: ive had this idea in my head for a while so i decided to dump it out of my brain for all of you to enjoy. somewhat inspired by lunarvicar's amazing wonderful fic to the flame i really love her writing so check it out yo also i haven't written anything in years so cut me some slack :')

pairing: captain john price x gn!reader

summary: when a simple mission goes south, you get left behind in the confusion. you just can't seem to catch a break.

no use of y/n, callsign is 'vantage'

no physical description, but reader is (very) vaguely implied to be shorter than price

warnings: descriptions of injury (nothing too graphic), canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, minor character death, i don't know how the military works lmao, lots of swearing bc i can't help myself

word count: 8.6k

read it on ao3 here

✹✹✹

it was a straightforward mission; in and out, grab what you need, and you'd be home in time for dinner. nothing you hadn't handled before.

ghost and price were on overwatch; the lieutenant was positioned with his rifle on a rooftop across the street, whilst the captain stayed in the suv with a laptop to keep an eye on the surveillance cameras around the exterior of the building.

you'd had your eyes on this intel for months now, biding your time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. your opening had finally arrived, and with all that time spent planning, it was going so well.

that should have been the first red flag.

the second, more apparent, warning sign was that anything you found as you, gaz, and soap swept the building was either something you already knew, or irrelevant. how was that possible? the location of this facility was a heavily guarded secret, you'd fought tooth and nail to find it; why spend so much effort hiding something which had such little value?

you'd ventured to the second floor, up the damp stairwell and further into the eerily quiet building. there must be something worth hiding here, you just had to find it. you certainly weren't planning on going home empty handed.

you paused your movement into the dark, staring down the empty corridor through the sights of your gun. you felt your stomach turn, and swallow down the sick taste of bile in your throat. for everything you'd done to get here…

it was going so… well.

bringing your hand to the radio on your chest, you don't bother to calm the shake in your voice before speaking.

"does this feel off to anyone–"

you're cut off by price's shouting, a twinge of panic in his voice you aren't used to hearing from him.

"fuck– it's an ambush! get out of there, now!"

you're about to respond, when you hear gunshots from below you. soap and gaz were downstairs, where the hostiles were pouring into the building, and you were on your own upstairs.

the shots from ghost's rifle make your ears ring, even from across the street.

"vantage, get yer arse down here, there's too many of 'em!" soap's yelling brings you out of your haze, and you can't find the energy to respond as you take off running, back to the stairs you came up. "shit– man down! gaz is hit! they're coming up, vantage!"

you just about register what he said when the door to the stairway bursts open only a few metres ahead of you. diving into the nearest open room, you narrowly avoid a bullet to the gut, and slam the door shut behind you.

shit. fuck. fucking shit.

you counted at least four hostiles up here, and with gaz injured, soap would most likely be dragging him back to the suv you all arrived in, where price was waiting, which meant…

you really were alone.

well, ghost was out there, but he was a man of self preservation. he wouldn't risk coming in here to save you. not when you were this fucked.

your chest felt tight, now, and you could hear the enemies shouting on the other side of the wall. come on, you plead with yourself, do something!

snapping your head to look around the room you'd trapped yourself in, your eyes linger on the filing cabinets lining the wall next to you. you can drag them over here, barricade the door.

prolong your survival, or delay the inevitable.

you hadn't noticed how hard your nails were digging into your palms until you went to grip the cabinet. the half-moon divots stung against the cool metal as you heaved it in front of the door.

now the hostiles are outside, rattling the wall with their attempts to kick the door down.

you drag another one, for safe measure. you pray they'll be heavy enough.

through the blood rushing in your ears, you can just about make out price's voice.

"vantage, answer me dammit! what is your bloody status!"

"i'm good– i'm good," you manage to get out between pants, never once taking your eyes off the door. willing your heartbeat to slow down. "not injured, just– stuck in a room upstairs."

"that doesn't sound good to me."

it all went quiet when he spoke to you. at first you thought it was just because your focus had shifted– because it was him– but it really was quiet now.

"yeah, i… they're– wait, they're not at the door anymore, they…"

hold on.

what?

"ghost, you got eyes? what's happenin' over there?" there's a sense of urgency to your captain's voice, and for a single selfish moment, you think he might be worried for you beyond that of a just soldier. your frenzied mind lingers on that thought.

the gruff voice of ghost brings you back to reality,

"they're setting charges– vantage, you need to find a way out."

charges. explosives.

all you can muster is a half-hearted, "shit…"

deep down, you know that isn't going to happen. you wouldn't have time to run down the stairs, and even if you did you'd only be walking right into their bullets. there's nothing they can do to help. and you think, deep down, they know that too.

this is it, then, you think to yourself, am i really going to die like this?

and for another fleeting moment, you're filled with regret that you would never get to see john's face again. all the stolen glances, lingering touches, inside jokes; none of it would ever amount to anything. would he remember you? would he even come back for your dog tags?

the tightness is back in your heart, but it's different this time.

your eyes still don't leave the door as your back hits the wall. the faint moonlight gives the room a soft glow, serene, and your heart sinks further into your stomach.

the moonlight;

the window, the outside.

not an ideal escape route, but these were hardly ideal circumstances.

you didn't waste a second with hesitation and backed up for a running start. you thank every deity you can think of that you always insisted on wearing a helmet.

this was going to hurt, but it was better than the alternative.

"van, you have to get out, please!" you're not even sure who's talking in your ear anymore, but you know who you want it to be.

for him, you think to yourself, i have to make it back to him.

with a deep breath, you take off into a sprint, tucking your head into your elbow and diving shoulder first through the glass.

as you free fall out the second storey window, you think you hear john calling your name, your real name, and you think you feel a flutter in your chest. it was almost peaceful.

and then you hit the ground.

with a thump and a sickening crack, you rolled unceremoniously and ended up on your side, in the snowy alleyway behind the building you were just trapped in; the building that was about to be demolished. your elbow muffled your pained cry.

right, explosives, the reason you jumped to begin with.

your teammates are still going berserk in your ear, yelling at each other or you or both, but you can't bring yourself to respond. you could answer them once you were a safe distance away– and when you could breathe without heaving. as you stand, swaying on your feet, you feel your ribs shift in a way they definitely aren't supposed to, filling you once again with the innate urge to vomit.

but you swallow that down; it'll have to wait, you need to get as far away as possible, now.

your hands braced your broken ribs– and you notice, then, that your shoulder is killing you too– as you stumble down another alley, leading away from the building. you slip and almost fall on the untouched snow, but somehow manage to catch yourself. in the back of your mind, you notice you lost your rifle at some point. you'd have to survive with just your pistol.

for a moment, you almost felt that you'd gotten away, that you'd made the perfect escape.

of course, it was too perfect.

the charges finally went off. you were thrown forward, and despite your helmet, everything went black.

✹✹✹

your ribs flared with agony at the ragged breath you took, blinking your eyes open as consciousness returned to you. darkness swarmed your vision, contrasting the pure white of the snow that was slowly freezing your extremities, and you fought with every bit of self-restraint you had not to cry. your eyes stung anyway.

how long were you out? you were still in the alley, and you hadn't been found by anyone yet, so it couldn't have been long. i need to move, is the only thought swirling in your head. with what little strength you could muster, you rolled yourself onto your back to look at the ruins behind you.

dust filled the air and coated everything in sight, obscuring your vision almost fully; but what you could make out, was the lights from your enemy's guns as they swept the rubble.

looking for you, presumably.

shit shit shit.

you had god knows how many broken ribs, your shoulder was fucked, and now your vision was swimming, and to top it all off you could barely hear yourself think over the violent ringing in your ears. this night just kept getting better and better.

it took everything in you not to scream at the agony as you dragged yourself behind a fallen dumpster, sitting up against the cold brick of the building behind you in an attempt to catch your breath.

in. out. in. out.

in.

out.

every move had your bones creaking in protest, the longer you sat here the more you felt every little cut and bruise and shard of glass littering your body. the dust in the air tickled your throat and threatened to make you cough up a lung, spots in your vision danced like fireflies, luring you back into the clutches of sleep.

no… i can't rest yet, you urged yourself to fight your drooping eyelids, i have to get back to the suv… they're waiting… for me…

the crunch of debris under heavy boots snaps you back to the present.

someone was approaching.

the optimist in you wanted to believe it was price, coming to rescue you. but you couldn't take that chance. your hand grips the pistol on your hip, drawing it out slowly to make as little noise as possible.

the shadowed figure came stumbling into view. your arm straightened to aim at their unprotected head, eyes wide and breathing laboured.

the man– the boy– locked eyes with you, flinging himself backwards to the wall opposite you with his hands held high.

your expression hardened. he was your enemy. his uniform made that clear. for a moment, neither of you moved, you weren't even sure if he was breathing anymore. like two wild animals, locked in a staredown, each of you waiting for the other to make the first move. which one of you was the hunter, and which one was the prey?

shooting him will draw his comrades over here. sparing him means he can call them over himself. a lose-lose.

lost in your internal debate as you stare at him, you vaguely notice his hand lowering to his belt, and in a moment of panic, your heart clenches in time with your finger to deliver a shot right between his eyes.

his body slid down the wall, a perfect mirror of your own as the life fades from his expression.

shit. again.

his friends must’ve heard that. with renewed, adrenaline fueled vigour, you scramble across the alley, and begin rifling through the packs on his chest and belt.

a twinge of guilt fills you as you notice his empty holsters. he wasn't even armed.

shaking your head, you find what you're looking for; a morphine shot. at least, that's what it looked like, the words on the label were swimming with the concussion you surely had. it would have to do.

you take the syringe carefully, and stick the end into the muscle of your thigh, through a rip in your pants you hadn't noticed before, and inject the solution. it would take a minute to kick in, but hopefully the painkiller would help you at least make it back to the suv where your team was waiting.

where price was waiting. god you hoped they were okay, him especially, though he was probably in the least danger of you all. what you wouldn't give to have stayed in the car with him.

pocketing the empty syringe, you spare another glance at the boy's face. his wide, lifeless eyes. the pack he was reaching for. the same one you found the morphine in.

he… was going to help you. and you'd killed him.

oh god. the realisation has your stomach turning for the third time that day.

you pressed his eyes shut and pushed yourself to stand. as you trudge your way to the far end of the alley, you keep your eyes forward. there wasn't time to linger.

with a deep breath, you steel yourself and begin to make your way through the cold, abandoned streets of the small town. the suv wasn't far, only a couple blocks away. it wouldn't take you long to get there, even with your injuries.

somewhere in the distance, you could hear terrified screaming, presumably the residents who were forced awake by the sound of the explosion.

now that the ringing had died down, you realise that you hadn't heard your teammates in a while. absent-mindedly, you bring a hand up to press the comms, and you almost start talking before you feel the plastic crunch under your fingers.

"oh for fucks sake."

of fucking course your radio was broken. it must have been crushed when you were flung forward by the explosion.

brilliant.

whatever, the suv would be in your sight soon anyway, you don't need it.

the cover of night made it significantly easier to hobble through the streets unseen, thanks to your all black gear. the enemy were still hovering around the destroyed building, but at least that meant they thought you were buried under there. hopefully they would stay distracted long enough for you to make it back.

god, fuck, you really couldn't wait to get back to base. you desperately needed a shower hot enough to melt your skin to scrub off all the dirt and blood from your body. the morphine had started to kick in now, but you still felt your ribs shift unnaturally with every heavy step. you'd definitely need a few weeks off to recover from this one, and you’d probably get an earful from the captain. you’d kill to hear his voice right now, even if he was yelling at you for being an idiot.

only a little further. then you’d be back with the safety of your team, with this godforsaken place in the rear view mirror. with the promise of being able to rest, your limbs seemed to grow heavier as the exhaustion finally made its way into your bones.

except, when you turn the final corner, you freeze, an ice-cold dread sweeping through your veins.

the car was gone.

it wasn’t there.

they weren’t there.

there was a stretch of tarmac that fresh snow just beginning to fall had yet to cover, tire-tracks that showed the u-turn the suv had done, blood on the snow from– you assume– gaz, empty bullet casings from the fight they put up.

but no suv.

no teammates.

no john.

no. no, no no no. they couldn’t have left you. that wasn’t how you did things in the 141. it was no man left behind, you knew that. maybe they’re just circling the area, you rationalised, desperately trying to calm your ragged breathing, yeah, they went to look for me. they wouldn’t leave me behind.

but they weren't here.

and as you followed the tire-tracks down the street, they didn’t go back into the town. they made a straight line, directly to the dirt track leading into the wilderness, clear as day in the snow. back the way you had all gotten here earlier that night.

your knees dampen from the snow, the painkiller in your system keeping you from feeling the impact. when did you fall over? there was no attempt to stop the searing hot tears this time as they ran through the dirt caked to your face. your throat constricted, lifting a hand to your mouth to muffle your hyperventilating.

they were gone.

long gone, without you.

they really had left you behind.

a mumble from somewhere to your left interrupts your breakdown. grief morphs into blinding rage for a split second; can i get a fucking break? you swing your arm still holding the pistol to point at whoever was watching you, twisting your abdomen in a way that has you gritting your teeth.

a woman, clutching her young son, shielding his eyes and ears from you.

you lower your gun. that’s not a mistake you’ll make twice. catching her eyes, you gesture for her to be quiet, which is quickly met with her frantic nodding.

it reminds you, you’re still not safe here. you were supposed to be, but hey, it looks like plans change. no man left behind– what a load of horseshit. you push yourself onto shaky legs, you only had a few hours until the morphine wore off, and you needed to be out of here before that happened. as fast as you could possibly muster, you begin to stumble towards the dirt track that disappears into the treeline, following the slowly disappearing tire-tracks.

✹✹✹

you managed to make it into the woods faster than you expected, and you found a fallen tree slightly off the path to take shelter behind while you licked your wounds. literal and metaphorical.

this was unbelievable. how could they leave you like that? if they’d only taken the time to do a quick lap of the building, they would’ve found you laying face down in the snow, and this whole mess could have been avoided. where were they off to in such a hurry anyway? it’s not like you guys had found anything sensitive.

oh, wait. gaz was shot. that had briefly slipped your mind. perhaps you were being a little selfish by getting so worked up by this, but then again, for all they knew you could have been in the same condition– or worse. they…

your breath hitched. and not from your injuries.

they thought you were dead. that would make sense, in the chaos of everything, and amidst your panic, you didn’t really do a good job keeping up with answering your comms. still though, you were definitely going to rip them all a new one when you got back; or maybe it would be the other way around.

either way, you couldn’t sit here and dwell on it all night. you needed to make it to the safehouse before they flew back to base. if you missed them this time, you really were well and truly fucked.

✹✹✹

"i've gotta be at least half-way by now," you lament, flopping down against another tree with a grunt in an attempt to calm the burning in your legs and chest. the morphine had worn off about a few hours ago, and you were finally feeling all the bleeding wounds you'd ignored before. nothing lethal, you hoped, aside from your shoulder, ribs, and splitting headache, it was mostly just a lot of glass in your skin.

when you left the town, it must have been just past midnight, and at this pace it would be well after morning before you made it back. you could just about see the first signs of dawn poking through the cloud layer.

the snow had gotten heavier, casting a haze over the horizon, but it hadn't escalated into a storm yet. even under all your gear, the cold was starting to bite at your limbs. your lack of gloves was a decision you were coming to regret; if you lost any fingers because of this you really were going to kill price.

"fuck, he thinks i'm dead…" you groan as you stare up at the sky. snowflakes catch in your eyelashes and threaten to freeze the tears as they well up in your eyes. was he as distraught as you currently were, you wonder? was he even moved at all, or were you just another soldier, just more paperwork he had to fill out?

being in love with your captain was so, so difficult. a mistake, most would say, and you used to tell yourself the same thing. but after knowing him, seeing the vulnerable parts of him he keeps closely guarded, you can't bring yourself to care. seeing his expression when you gifted him the cigars you bought for him, learning his favourite drink when you all went out after missions, trading stories over paperwork in his office late at night. even after everything you've been through together, you know, in your heart, he doesn't feel the same; he's your superior, you're his sergeant, and he is nothing if not an honest man. it can never work between you two. but despite it all, the only regret you have as you sit bleeding in the snow, is that you never told him how you felt.

please, don't leave me here…

in the back of your mind, you know they wouldn't go home without at least id-ing your body, but you were so shaken by the ongoing near death experience that your train of thought wasn't making much sense anymore.

the distant whirr of a helicopter snapped you back to reality. maybe it was… no, the 141 didn't have a helicopter here, which could only mean it was a hostile one. fucking fantastic. where you were slumped was right at the edge of the road, with very little cover from above. you needed to move further off the path, under the protection of the forest canopy.

with a laboured grunt, you pulled yourself back onto your feet, using the tree behind you as a crutch until you could catch your breath again. the helicopter was getting nearer now, close enough that you could almost make out the spotlight through the falling snow.

a brief jog was all you could manage to get away from the road. the snow wasn't deep enough to leave tracks that would be noticeable from the air, not through the shade of darkness. you still as the helicopter passes overhead. there's no change in its course, and you huff a breath of relief. at least you wouldn't have to try and outrun a chopper.

you watch the helicopter's silhouette fade into the night sky. there was nothing to do but carry on. you needed to get to the safehouse.

this was going to be a long night.

✹✹✹

hours, it had been hours since you first set off, so long in fact that it was essentially daytime. the sun hadn't fully risen, casting the world in a dim light that was just dark enough to keep you tripping over roots and holes in the ground.

the snow had let up a while ago, but the overcast clouds had stayed, the perfect match to your steadily declining mood. you thought you felt like shit earlier? if only you could have predicted how much worse it would get. you were acclimated to the pain by now, it reduced to a constant throbbing where your bones were broken. perhaps the icy temperature around you was numbing your injuries; it was either that or the shock.

ahead, you recognised a set of worn tire-tracks making a hard turn through a gap in the forest. there was no way of knowing it was the right way, but a spark of optimism ignites in your chest. maybe you were finally getting close. you just had to pray that your sense of direction was good enough to be leading you in the right direction.

you were right on top of the tracks now, and upon closer inspection, the pattern of the treads might just match the ones on the suv; you've had to fix that damn car so many times you'd know it in your sleep. they were messy, the snow making it hard to pick out, but you needed the hope right now.

this had to be them.

you go to continue down the clear path, to follow where your team had gone, but your luck just doesn't improve.

the mud slides under your foot, catching your ankle and toppling you in your attempt to struggle through. the breath is forced from your lungs as you impact the ground. you cry out through gritted teeth, feeling the strain of your muscles twisting far further than they're supposed to.

pain strikes through your ankle like lightning. drawing a breath is almost impossible from the pressure of your ribs. as you fight to sit up, the mud fights to drag you back down like quicksand.

fuck. another injury to slow you down.

muddy snow covers you from head to toe, the stabbing pain in your shoulder coming back in full force.

was that a car? the low rumbling from the direction you came from drew your attention, and you faintly see beams of headlights through the darkness. you momentarily forgot about your injuries, a frenzied panic making your blood run cold. another patrol. i need to go.

then, as you struggle to get up and out of sight, you feel a concerning pop from your kneecap, and you don't even have to look to know it's dislocated.

but there was no time to check the damage, you had to hide, now, or the truck would reach you and you'd have a lot more problems on your hands. you scramble onto your hands and knees, and yank your ankle free of the wet mud, practically throwing yourself behind the undergrowth just in time for the truck to round the bend.

your ribs are displaced again, injecting fresh pain into the shuddering breath you took, on top of your newly twisted ankle and dislocated kneecap bent uncomfortably beneath you.

it's a miracle you were able to keep quiet as the vehicle passed by.

by some stroke of luck, or just divine stupidity, your enemies drive straight past the space in the trees and your hiding spot. the headlights cast ominous shadows as they cruise by, but they didn't see you.

struggling to your feet once again, this time you give the muddy path a wide berth as you make your way deeper into the forest.

✹✹✹

one foot in front of the other. dragging your injured leg behind you. cradling your broken ribs.

just keep going.

limping through the mud took every resource your body had left, the effort of keeping upright was almost more than you could take.

how much longer could you possibly go, before you can't get back up again?

you couldn't lose hope.

ahead of you, a break in the sea of trees.

just one foot in front of the other. that's all you need. it's all you can do.

closer, stepping out into the open, squinting against the sun.

against the pale light of the morning sky, you see a dark shape. a building? you couldn't tell, you could only pray it was the warehouse you'd been longing for.

one foot in front of the other.

closer still, despite the bone-deep exhaustion in every limb. you could make it out now, the rusted metal siding and fresh tire-tracks in the mud. you were right there.

you taste the salt before you realise you're crying.

almost,

somewhere between the agony, you hear yourself think,

still too early to celebrate.

your heart stutters. they were here, they had to be.

they had to be.

one foot in front of the other.

closer again, you focus on the keypad beside the door. your ankle twists uncomfortably as it drags along the gravel.

the handle became your crutch as you mustered the energy to lift your arm to enter the code.

seeing double, vision swaying as the edges fade.

a distant beep. a red light turning to green.

the handle turns under your weight, and the door swings open.

you find the floor coming up fast.

voices are all around you.

you give in to unconsciousness.

✹✹✹

the distinct hospital smell is what rouses you from your deep, dreamless sleep. hands prod at your busted ribs, drawing a scratchy groan from your dry throat. you grab the wrist of whoever is there as you fight to open your eyes.

"sergeant vantage?" they call out to you, and you realise with a disappointed sigh that it's the medic and not your captain. you open your eyes fully and see her standing above you with a clipboard in one hand. apart from her, you're alone in the medical wing. she notices you looking around, and looks down at the clipboard as she continues, "glad to see you finally awake. your teammate gaz got off pretty lucky, the bullet went clean through his leg. you on the other hand, i'm impressed you made it back at all."

your ankle is in a boot and elevated on some pillows, and you can feel your knee is tightly bandaged under the blankets. an ache starts to form in your shoulder at the effort of holding your arm up.

"vantage, i need you to let go of my wrist." she says, and after an awkward pause you free her from your hold.

"sorry doc…" you mumble, bringing both hands up to your face and observing the tiny cuts littering your skin. you let them flop down to your sides again, but the aching doesn't subside.

"how are you feeling?" she breaks the momentary quiet, setting her clipboard down on the table next to your bed, "want me to get you anything?"

"i'd kill for some water…" you wheeze, the dehydration was catching up to you.

"alright, i'll be right back," the doctor affirms, making her way to the door. she turns back to look you in the eyes with a stern expression before she leaves, "please don't go anywhere."

and with that, the door clicks shut and you're left truly alone with your thoughts again.

your bones creak as you push yourself to sit up, your movements sluggish still with exhaustion, and you're reminded of just how badly you were hurt. everything aches, and it feels as though you'd been asleep for years.

gaz was okay, that's a relief. a little insulting that he got shot and was still in better condition than you, but whatever.

you look around the room for something, anything, to take your mind off the pain, and your eyes eventually land on the table beside you. a few cards sat on top, all with some variation of get well soon on the front, along with a small vase of flowers. you pick up the card closest to you and open it to read the scratchy handwriting inside.

'i swear you could survive a nuke, you're like a cockroach! get better soon, lots of love, soap! xxxxx'

what a charmer soap was. you chuckle at his lighthearted message, he always did try to keep your spirits up in times like these. as you place the card back where it was, your gaze is drawn to the empty chair next to your bed. there was a thin blanket folded over the back, probably left by whoever was last sitting there.

your mind begins to wander; how long were you out? your teammates clearly visited, does that mean price did too? you feel your stomach flutter at the thought of him worrying for you, watching over you as you recover. and if he fell asleep at your bedside? the heart monitor might call the doctor back if this train of thought continues. but then again, you doubted he'd be that forward, he would most likely be buried in paperwork like he usually is after a mission. and the mission you just came back from would require more paperwork than most.

because they… left you behind. that's right. you had to walk yourself back to the safehouse on all your injuries. who knows how long you were walking for but it must have been at least ten hours, considering the sun had risen by the time you got there. the butterflies were swiftly melted by the hot anger rising within you.

you were going to give him a piece of your mind, just like you promised.

all thoughts of the pain you were feeling are out of your head as you fling the blanket off your lower body. you grip your injured leg and lift it over the edge of the bed, swinging your other leg to plant both feet on the floor.

just as you were about to pull yourself up to stand, the door opens again and the medic walks in with your water bottle in her hand. she stops, an icy look in her eyes as she observes what you're doing.

you look back at her, debating whether you should give it up and lay back down, but your anger quickly wins over. the heart monitor picks up again as you work yourself up.

"i swear to god, if you don't sit back down right now," she makes her way over, setting the water down on the table you were using as a crutch. you meet her eyes indignantly, and go to step around her anyway. "no! you need to rest!" the doc puts her hands on your shoulders, and she stops your movement embarrassingly easily.

"fuck that," you croak, your voice still hoarse, "where's captain shithead? i need a word."

she maneuvers you back into sitting on the edge of the bed, and hands you the water. you keep your sour expression, but still drink half the bottle in one go.

"i assume you mean captain price? he's in his office, hasn't come out since you all got back." she takes the bottle from you when you're done, setting it down again, before moving to take the iv out of your arm. if she feels your glare, she doesn't acknowledge it. "whatever it is, it can wait."

"yeah right, i got a few strong words for him, and he is gonna hear 'em."

the doc hesitates as she works.

"i don't know exactly what happened out there, but i think you should know… that he hasn't visited you," she speaks softly, watching your angry expression fall. "your other teammates did, i even saw ghost sneaking out of here one night, but you didn't hear that from me."

silence overcame the small room again as her words sunk in. he left you for dead, and now he was avoiding you? even ghost visited you, and you'd barely had a single conversation with him. your heart feels tight again, the same way it did when you were trapped in that building.

"how long was i out?" your voice is low, almost a whisper.

"two days."

you should have listened to all the people who told you loving him was a bad idea. you'd almost died, and he still didn't visit you? that stung. god, you haven't even been awake an hour and you already want to throw up.

i guess i really don't mean that much to him, huh?

you think back to the night before the mission, when you'd sat with john while he did paperwork. at first, he tried to convince you to get some sleep,

"you wanna be well rested, love."

but you stayed anyway, saying that you'd just sleep on the flight. you would rather spend your nights of insomnia with him anyway.

the two of you had talked for hours that night, about anything that came to mind. it was the early hours of the morning when you finally retreated back to your own quarters. he'd insisted on seeing you back, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night and your room was in the next building over. the way he'd lingered by your door as you said goodnight, you really thought he was going to kiss you then. but he didn't, and you went to sleep with a heavy feeling of disappointment that persevered into the next day.

"i'm sorry vantage." the medic sets something down on the end of the bed, and you turn to look. a pile of your clothes. "i know how you soldiers are, you're gonna get up as soon as i leave no matter what i say, so i'd rather you not walk around in a hospital gown."

she was right.

"...thanks, doc."

despite the overwhelming pain in your heart, you were still about to rip into price.

✹✹✹

you limp out of the infirmary after dressing yourself as quickly as your injuries would allow, which is to say, not very fast. thankfully there weren't any stairs between here and your captain's office, you definitely wouldn't be able to make it up them with your crutch.

the sun was already setting, a pink hue filling the sky as you pushed open the doors of the medical wing. you tried to think as little as possible as you made your way steadily across the courtyard. it would only upset you, and you desperately wanted to be pissed at him. you wouldn't– couldn't– let price see how hurt you were, he probably didn't care anyway. he was just your captain, after all, realistically there was no reason for you to be this upset.

but you were, and the few people you encountered in the corridors could see it written on your face, staying well out of your way as you shuffled past them.

as you stared at the closed door of john's office, your anger wavered. despite the ache in your heart, you considered for a moment that perhaps you were being dramatic. he was your captain, you were just one of his soldiers. it made perfect sense that he'd prioritise the lives of three others over yours alone.

it was his job, and he did it well.

you love john, of course you do, and that's why you're so affected by that fact. maybe you were letting your selfishness get the better of you. honestly, you didn't have a real reason to believe he felt the same way about you. everyone on task force 141 was close, that's the way things are, you couldn't confidently say he treated you differently.

but he was smart. he had to know how you felt, had at least had to know that you don't go out of your way for your other teammates as much as you do for him.

then again, even ghost had visited you while you were out, and you considered yourself much closer to price than him. so maybe he hated you now, he'd finally gotten tired of your poor decision making skills. it was the reason you were in this situation to begin with.

you were just about to abandon the idea of laying into him when price's voice sounded through the door.

"whoever's standin' out there, hurry up and come in, or piss off." he sounded exhausted, his tone blunt with annoyance. it wasn't unusual for him to get like that, especially whilst buried in mind-numbingly boring paperwork, but you could feel something else under the surface of his sharp tone.

well, there goes your last chance to run. you took a moment to steel yourself, to remember that you were in fact angry at him, and open the door with the harshest look you can muster.

he didn't look up as you let the door close behind you, keeping his nose buried in whatever report he was currently scribbling on. his hat was discarded on the desk next to him, and the hand in his hair was keeping it the messiest you'd ever seen it. you breathe in deeply through your nose.

"oh you'd love to get rid of me that easily, wouldn't you?" you spit, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

john's head snaps forward at the sound of your voice, the hand in his hair dropping to his desk, allowing you to finally get a good look at him. his eyes were wide and tired, you could tell the bags under them were darker than the last time you'd looked him in the face.

"vantage…" he spoke with something almost like disbelief, like he couldn't fathom that you were really in front of him. the hard lines of his face soften as his eyes meet yours, and then even further when his gaze falls to your crutch and boot.

fuck, how were you supposed to stay mad at him when he looks at you like that? you channel every ounce of bottled up frustration you have before his blue eyes consume you.

"well unfortunately, i am still alive. not that you give a shit; you got a restraining order on the infirmary or something?"

he murmurs your name– your real name, and as he rises to stand, his eyes don't leave yours for a second.

fuuuuuck.

"what? you leave me for dead, now the cats got your tongue?" you hiss at him, but you can feel the venom leaving your words with every second. the way his expression falls ever so slightly has you regretting what you were saying. you came in here needing to hurt him the way he hurt you, but you were quickly losing your nerve.

"don't do that…" he was almost pleading, as he made his way around his desk to stand in front of you, his piles of paperwork long forgotten. he goes to grasp your elbow, but you pull back before he can touch you.

"sorry if you've already filled out my death certificate, i'd hate to cause you any more headaches." there was little fight left in your voice now, as you stared each other down in the middle of his office.

in the pause, john screws his eyes shut, turning his head to the side, before fixing you with a hard stare.

"don't. you know i would never've left you if i had any other choice!" it's not anger when he raises his voice, it's desperation; trying to convince himself as well as you. he takes another step towards you, toe to toe now as you lock eyes.

"do i know that? because from where i'm standing, it looks like you couldn't get far enough away from me," you can't help the way your voice cracks, nor can you disguise the hurt when you continue, "even fucking ghost visited me, but not you…"

another beat of silence.

"i couldn't…" john mumbled, eyes showing his mind was somewhere else. your chest tightened; every trace of anger was gone, replaced with the heartache you'd gotten so familiar with when it came to him.

"correct me if i'm wrong, but i really thought you cared." you try to take a step back, put some distance between the two of you, but he grabs your upper arm– successfully this time– to stop you going anywhere. it takes an impressive amount of restraint not to melt at his touch.

"of course i fuckin' care!" he growls, tugging you marginally closer.

your eyes hardened again; of course he did, just not in the way you wanted him to.

you jab your finger into his chest as you speak, your expression sour. "well you could've fooled–"

he grabs your hand as he cuts you off, and you can see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his face turning sharp again.

"bloody hell, just shut up! it killed me to leave without you, y'know that? if it weren't for simon i would've sent 'em back without me! i waited, as long as i could," he wasn't shouting, but you went quiet as if he was, any retaliation you thought of dying on your tongue. john let out a heavy sigh before he continued, "but you didn't come. you were stuck in that building, and then when it went up in fuckin' smoke, what was i supposed to think? i– we called out to you so many times, but you never responded."

the silence between you was heavy. deep down, you had already assumed everything he was telling you, but to actually hear it from his mouth had you choking up in his grasp.

"i…" you tried to say something, anything, but the words just wouldn't come. despite your best efforts, the tears welling up in your eyes were close to spilling over as your gaze fell to the floor.

john sighed again, softer this time, and using the hand on your arm he brought you into his chest, letting go of your hand with his other and wrapping it securely around your back.

you rest your cheek against his chest, bringing your own arms up around his torso, and revelled in the feeling of his embrace. listening to his elevated heartbeat, you wondered if he could feel just how hard yours was beating too.

"when you came crashin' through that door the next mornin', alive, i swear i've never been so relieved. but then you wouldn't wake up, and you were covered in so much blood… i…" his voice breaks, actually breaks, and you try to lift your head to look at him, but his hand on your arm moves up and presses into the back of your head, holding you tight against him. "...i was fuckin' terrified, love." he whispered.

"... why didn't you visit me?" the question you'd been meaning to ask all along, the real reason you had been upset at him.

you feel him press his lips into the top of your head, gently rocking you both where you stand. the crutch falls from your arm, but neither of you make any move to retrieve it.

"i couldn't. i couldn't face you, layin' in that hospital bed, hooked up to all them machines… knowin' it was my fault…"

"Hey, you know it wasn’t…" you murmur with disapproval; as much as you hate to admit it, you dug yourself into that hole.

"fuck, i'm– so fucking sorry love,"

"don't apologise… please, you did what you had to," you lift your head, and you can look him in the face again. his eyes were slightly red; if your heartstrings were pulled anymore they'd surely break. "plus, i was never really mad at you anyway."

he huffs out a small chuckle, his breath fanning over your face, the crease in his brow melting away as your eyes meet, "well ain't that a relief?"

"i thought you were pissed at me, and that's why you didn't visit…" you clear your throat and avoid his gaze, "i mean, i did lock myself in a building full of hostiles… not my finest moment,"

"no. as stupid as you are sometimes, i could never be angry at you."

"that is a relief."

a quiet overcomes the two of you, standing in eachothers arms as the evening sun casts the room in an orange glow. you wanted to stay like this for the rest of time, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the voice in the back of your head that said this was inappropriate. the way he was talking, holding you, had your hopes high, just like that night before the mission. the one where you went to bed disappointed. it didn't help that you were expecting the let-down now, if anything it only made your heart sink even lower.

you notice that, exactly like you, john was staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. you tilt your head, wordlessly urging him to tell you what's going on. he sighs, scanning the multitude of cuts and scrapes that litter your face, "i promise you, i will never let anything like that happen again, alright?"

"i believe you." you smile softly, and you do; of course you do, you'd trust him with your life. it wasn't something you'd admit out loud, but you would do just about anything if he asked you to.

"i swear, i'm not lettin' you outta my sight." the look on his face has you squirming is his grasp, under the intense gaze he pinned you with.

"alright, i get it," you chuckle, your face heating up at the implication. this was doing nothing for the enormous crush you were harbouring. shuffling backwards slightly, you put enough space between you that you can comfortably rest your hands on his chest.

"i don't think you do, love," you feel his chest rumble as he speaks, and his gaze becomes serious, "i coulda' lost you. i thought i did. fuck, when soap and gaz came outta there without you? i thought my heart'd stopped… i just– i…"

it was rare to see your captain so lost for words. you feel his heart beat faster under your fingertips, the distant look in his eyes giving away the internal debate he was surely having.

"john?"

"if i'm out of order, say the word and we can forget all about this, but vantage…" his voice was low, and you felt your cheeks heat up to a boiling point as he cradled your face with one hand and leaned in closer, chest to chest again. the anticipation and the proximity might just make you sick. "you mean the world to me, i don't know what i'd do with myself if i lost you."

was that… what you thought it was? it sounded an awful lot like a confession, and you really really wanted it to be, but… was it too good to be true?

the lack of a response from you had john pulling back with an uncharacteristic cough that radiated embarrassment. he let go of your face, hovering next to your cheek as if he couldn't bear to let go, and you frown at the absence of his warmth.

"just ignore me, i shouldn't've–" he begins to back-pedel, going to move away from you before you cut him off.

"no!" you exclaim, with a bit more panic than you intended, and grasp his shirt in your fists to keep him close. "i get it, i really do. i- i care about you too, probably a lot more than a teammate should." your face heats up at the admission, and he lights up with surprise. "i think i always have."

slowly, he moves his hand back to its place cupping your jaw, searching your eyes for any signs that he was misinterpreting your response. when he found none, he smiled at you so genuinely you doubted anyone had ever been so sincere towards you.

"yeah?" he murmurs, the slight disbelief gone from his expression but still present in his voice.

"yes, john," you mirror his tone, bringing a hand up to hold the back of his neck. his skin burned hot under your touch.

"well thank god for that," his voice is barely a whisper now, as he draws your lips closer to his. the air separating you felt thick enough to be cut.

you let your eyes fall closed, and with a small burst of confidence, you lean forward and close the final distance between the two of you. he kisses you so tenderly, with so much emotion, it makes your head spin. you sigh into him, tilting your head and pressing yourself impossibly closer, revelling in the feeling of being in his arms at last. all your many months of pining had led up to this moment, and you felt like your heart might just burst. regretfully, you find yourself needing to break away for air, and to your delight he follows your lips as you pull back.

"maybe i should get injured more often, if this is what i get," you breathe, a dazed smile on your face as both your eyes flutter open, and his chest rumbles under your hand with a deep chuckle.

"you better not; i'll have your head if you do, love."

✹✹✹

#john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #price fic #mw2 x reader #price x reader #141 x reader #first fic ive ever posted im scared #dont break my heart pls <3 #roosterr writes

2K notes · View notes