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toorurs · 2 days

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our love has always been 10 centimeters apart - aventurine

synopsis: the distance between the two of you is about to close, the distance will be gone, it only takes a few more inches, but he reminds himself that he can’t - he refrains. later on mere inches turn into vast kilometers, going beyond galaxies and planets. years later he finds you again and makes it up to you, closing the distance as he seals it with a kiss; or the two times the both of you were away from each other even though the only thing you’ve longed for was each other, and the one time where the two of you find your way back to one another again.

pairing: aventurine x reader (gn) | wordcount: 2.0k | content & warnings: unestablished relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, reader cries a bit (tiny bit), mentions of alcohol and “sex” (an idiom = get into one's pants) but no graphic mention of sex + they’re not drunk, kissing, making up and making out (one kiss), tba if i find more, proofreading is for losers (its 4am (cet) i'm just too lazy); oneshot

tags: @azullumi (i swear that grey block with spikes from mario literally looks like "alpha sigma boss. you guys agree right?? prove azul wrong.)

img credits: @/magnolia29 on x!

a/n: i started this draft at like 12 an and procrastinated for god knows how long but yeah!! hope this is okay for what sleep deprived me wrote lmfao

“you seriously still wear that thing?”

aventurine points at the wool scarfs you’re wearing, it hangs a bit loosely due to you not wrapping it around your neck enough.

“yeah, got a problem?” you tease, grinning as you look at him. “it’s the first thing i got from you when i was moved to this department.”

ah right. he remembers the day vividly. they said that a certain member has risen quite quickly in the past few months and will now be moved to his department: the strategic investment department.

on the first day of work, aventurine, like the thoughtful senior he is, came up to you and greeted you, offering you a tour around the building and introducing you to the staff and everyone who worked here. you agreed and followed him as he guided you around your new workplace.

the two of you got along quickly, exchanging laughters and telling each other jokes as the two of you were strolling around the building. he remembers gifting you an expensive scarf, one made out of the finest wool in the whole galaxy. you thanked him wholeheartedly and at that he couldn’t help but invite you out for a drink - like the mindful senior he is, of course.

drinking after work became a little habit for the two of you. sometimes the two of you were able to drag veritas or topaz along, but usually veritas denied the invitations, saying “he doesn’t want to mush up his brain due to the alcohol.” as for topaz she usually came along to look after the two of you, but today it seemed like there was an emergency regarding numby, which she had to rush to immediately. leaving you and aventurine alone.

which led you to your current situation, the two glasses of alcohol in front of aventurine are left untouched, everything that happens right now is done with a sober mind. he can’t put the alcohol to blame.

your hands are close, they're a mere 10 centimeters apart from his. it takes everything inside of him to not take your hand in his and smother it in kisses, but he refrains, he can't - he shouldn't even be thinking about something like this.

your soft lips lean forward to meet his, they're a mere 10 millimeters away from his. you continue to launch forward, he doesn't move away, he can't move - he's frozen. you assume he granted you permission to kiss him. your hand snakes towards his, loosely intertwining the tips of your fingers.

your lips ghost over his - the distance between the two of you is gone, it scares him. he fears he might not be able to return if he goes this way.

aventurine can’t help but pull away from your tantalizing touch, it hurts him. but he’s scared.

he slips his fingers out of your grasp, lurching backwards, uncomfortably shifting on the big sofa and scooting back, to move away from you.

your eyes shoot open, clearly filled with confusion. your lips slightly part open and you tilt your head to the side, irritation is written all over your face.

"s-sorry." he apologizes quickly. "i don't think i'm made for this," he mutters. regret immediately overcoming him and you.

"ah, don't worry. i should be the one apologizing. i'm sorry. i shouldn't have just assumed your feelings. forgive me." you try to maintain a steady tone but your voice and expression betray you. your voice quivers - it breaks, it sounds like you're holding back tears that are about to spill at any given moment.

no, no , no this can't be. it's all his fault. he ruined everything once again, his gift was a mere misfortune, it only caused bad luck.

your hand that was once connected with his slithered away from its previous position, this time you really were gone.

perhaps this is when aventurine realized that the both of you weren't just mere inches apart but the distance between the two of you went beyond planets and galaxies and thus could never be conquered.

the two of you were worlds apart.

it’s been a few years ever since he’s seen you. (there hasn’t been a single day where he hasn’t thought about you.) apparently someone caught wind of what happened between you and aventurine, of course they reported it right away. initially it was planned to fire you, for making a move on one of the ten stonehearts, especially as someone who stood below him.

but aventurine convinced them not to do so, saying he’s also at fault and that they should just make you move departments, perhaps you’d learn from your mistakes. it was successful - he was beyond relieved. he didn’t show it, the only thing that was visible to them was a cunning smile.

behind it, beneath the faux smile, he was clenching his teeth, biting the insides of his lips so hard that they began to bleed (he wishes that you were there to trace the outline of your lips over his once again, mending to his wounds - both, the one on his lips and the one in his heart.) his left hand was trembling behind his back as he awaited their judgment.

eventually you did get moved to another department and aventurine didn’t visit you, too caught up at work and business matters on other planets.

(it’s a lie - he knows that himself, it’s just to avoid you. it’s for the better he thinks, better for the both of you to not meet. he fears that all the feelings he kept hidden inside his chest will return and turn his world upside down once again.)

one time he overheard some co-workers gossiping about “the person who got into mr. aventurines pants” getting sent onto a mission that’ll take several years. “what a pity that they won’t get to see him anymore.” a female voice giggles as the other voice hums in agreement and they walk away.

lies. all lies, it had to be. both that you “got into his pants” - hell it was a mere kiss that the two of you exchanged (not even a kiss because he shied away.) but it had to be a lie that you were sent away right? right? It’s just rumors, just some gossip that people need to pass their time, it can't be.

of course, to his dismay, it had to be true.

his luck was truly a misfortune.

spring has come, the remaining snow melts away and turns into puddles. the skies started to clear up and flowers that were once covered in snowflakes, hidden beneath the white blanket of snow, started to open up again, blooming in their full glory.

but there was another flower he spotted, one that stood out from the others - you. after all this time, he’s finally found you.

this time he doesn't falter.

he runs up to you. pulling you into a tight embrace as he hugs you. his nose is buried into the wool scarf you’re wearing, he took notice that it’s the same one he gifted you back then. your scent mixed with his still lingers on it.

“aventurine?!!” you shout, surprised to see him again after all those years.

“you kept it..” he whispers fondly. huh? you’re confused, what is he talking about? “the scarf i mean.” he says without looking up, as if he knew what you were thinking without having to see what expression you wear or hear your voice and which sound you’ve uttered.

“of course, i did.” you say bitterly. “after all, it's the last and only thing i have left from you.” you whisper, a frown finds its way onto your face.

“no. that’s not true.” he protests, finally looking up. it's just like the last time he saw you, your eyebrow furrowed, your eyes telling him that you’re on the verge of crying - similar to when he rejected your advances. “you have me now.” the words barely above a whisper.

“oh aeons, dont, please. i beg of you.” aventurine is quick to put his gloved fingers on your eyes and rub them softly, collecting the tear drops that are about to run down your cheek. “you know i hate seeing you like this.” he whispers quietly as he removes his glove from his hand and rubs circles over your cold and reddened cheeks.

“i missed you.” you hiccup in between your cries, aventurine continues to catch your tears, he won’t allow you to cry any more - especially because he’s the reason why you’re tearing up.

“pshh.” he tries to quiet you. “ive missed you too, probably more than you know.” as an attempt to reassure you.

“i’m here now, i’ll stay with you, i’ll follow you wherever you go.” he leans forward, this time he’s the one initiating the kiss and you gladly return it. his chapped lips meet yours, kissing you messily. there’s some biting and teeth clashing but he couldn’t care less, neither do you - after all this is what you’ve been waiting for.

there's no distance, no fronts, no walls to separate the two of you. he's never felt this kind of love - your love. he hasn't been held this lovingly for an eternity, this is the first time he actually somehow feels human.

boundaries is a word foreign to the two of you, they've never been there - they never will be there because from the beginning on aventurines heart has only sought after you.

it used to terrify him, the way his heart always seemed to jump out of his rib cage upon seeing you. the louder and faster the pumping got the closer you leaned in - just like back then.

but exactly because of that or rather because of you he discovered a new part of himself, diving into an ocean of emotions that were anchored to the bottom of the water, anticipating the daz they'll be discovered and treasured in one's heart. those feelings were unknown to him until he met you.

"what should i say once we meet again?", "what should i do to prove that i'm ready now and don't fear to love or be loved anymore?", "how can i prove my love to you?"

those questions have haunted him in his restless nights, the ones that made him wake up from his deep slumber where he dreamt of you, forehead glistening with cold beads of sweat, gripping his bed sheets tightly. (all of his thoughts and dreams are filled with you.)

the beauty of this world has always been hidden beneath a window curtain, he was oblivious - blind, just how breathtaking the world can truly be.

but you came along, pulling the curtains away, revealing the outside world to him. you stepped into his life and shattered the glass that kept him confined behind the window.

you confessed your unyielding love for him. you love him - you've always done and you always will - you imagined a future which he was a part of. where the vibrant colors of the sun not only greeted you but also him as he laid next to you, side by side. watching as the rising sun kisses your skin with its tendrils of sunshine.

(he'd follow the rays of sunshine and kiss the same spots they marked, he'd leave a trail of kisses along your body.)

how can he ever repay you for what you've done for him?

a mere thank you wouldn't suffice - not in a million years.

if you were to ask him if he'd give you the sun, the moon, the stars or the whole sky - he would.

if you were to ask him if he'd get on his knees for you - he would, no questions asked. be it when he prays to you, pleas leaving his lips and dripping off his tongue or when he'd kneel down on one of his knees to tie your shoes or propose to you - he would.

if you were to ask him if he'd stay by your side all night or rather all life long - he would. he'd be your light that'd guide you even though the flame went extinct, he'd be your flesh you'd nibble on, he'd be your blood you live off.

he wouldn't hesitate for a single moment, he'd give you everything you yearn and long for in a single heartbeat.

after all, that's the least he can do for you.

@azullumi here extra paragraph again hhihihihuuh anyway when's the stoner!chuuya x stoner!reader fic like where??? also azul i love you a lot. you deserve the best - you deserve the world. i hope you get accepted into your dream uni, get everything you've worked hard for (u deserve it, you're a person full of determination) and yeah convince ur teacher to extend the deadline!!

e/n: it's 4am rn im sooooo tired but yeah here!

#𝓣𝓞𝓞𝓡𝓤𝓡𝓢: works ✯#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail fluff #aventurine fluff #honkai star rail x gn reader #honkai star rail imagines #aventurine hsr #aventurine x you #honkai star rail x you #hsr angst #honkai star rail angst #hsr fluff #hsr imagines #aventurine headcanons #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader

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urlover-atlas · 1 year

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torvar: "You're going? I'll miss you, dear." "I love you. You know that, right?" me who has played hours and hours of skyrim married to him already:

#skyrim #elder scrolls #torvar :(#my favorite husband #favorite guy #i love him.#video games #hes a little drunk sometimes but its okay #we have 2 kids a fox and a dog :)

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tojipure · 3 months

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Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like.

And perhaps that's what it was.

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong.

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–”

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted.

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later.

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer.

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it.

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi.

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.”

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch.

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking.

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x y/n #angst #jjk angst #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji zenin #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro angst #toji fushigro x reader #jjk x you #jjk drabbles #rosipuree

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deadsetobsessions · 4 months

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Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Part 1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4]

To not turn into a giant raging asshole hell bent on murdering people and destroying the world after everyone he loved died, Danny had ran from Amity with his chosen vice.

A bottle. That’s right. Even after Jazz’s talks about alcoholism as a poor coping mechanism as a form of self harm, he still chose alcohol. Or maybe that’s why he picked it, because it reminded him of her, right before the booze took the sting of grief off of her memory. He was never really all that good at listening to Jazz.

And now she’s gone, so it’s moot point. Danny really hated Nasty Burger.

Danny made it all the way to Gotham, bottle constantly glued to his hand. It’s better than Vlad’s creep-o-self looming over him all of the time. He bummed out on the streets, fitting into crime alley like a native. Danny learned to pickpocket. Not much, just enough for a bottle when his ran out. He stayed human. At first he tried to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to be perceived as a meta in a city where Batman notoriously disliked metas. Then, as he sunk deeper, he admitted to himself in a shameful curl of a whisper that it was really because alcohol affected his human side much easier.

Ghosts need an ungodly amount of alcohol to even get slightly buzzed. Danny’s human side? Only one full bottle the shittiest tequila he could find could even hope to be more than buzzed. It sucked.

He’s spent two years being an alcoholic that didn’t actually get that drunk. Technically, underage drinking was a crime. But then again, so was being a vigilante ghost. So, whatever. He does what he can to dull the grief. Mostly, he slept on covered and hidden nooks on top of Crime Alley’s roofs. Gotham city had taken pity on him and cleared her smog clouds when he was awake at night. Stargazing helped, at least. It gave him a little hope. It gave him a little wish to change and better and live like he wants. But then the night ends and when the day comes, Jazz isn’t there. Sam isn’t there. Tucker isn’t there. His mom and dad are not there.

Danny always went back to the bottle, in the end. Not that it did much.

Which was why, when he saw three looming figures over a tiny child, Danny’s saving people thing flared with a vengeance and his surprised ectoplasm burned what little buzz he had achieved by downing most of the bottle away, leaving him stone cold sober and pissed.

Danny sighed, dumping the rest of the nasty tasting liquid out. There’s no point drinking that little.

He approached the trio, who were beating up an actual child. Ancients, he hated Crime Alley sometimes.

“Give me your shit, you little punk!” Asshole 1 decided to say like a typical mugger, raising his leg to kick the curled up kid below. Danny doesn’t let him land the kick, smashing the bottle on the asshole’s head before any of them clocked his presence. He pivots, pushing a bit of that extra strength he normally keeps on a tight leash into his hands, and punched the other two in a quick fashion, knocking them out.

With that taken care of, Danny turned back to the kid who was still curled up. Danny sighed again, the trembles in small shoulders plucking on his heartstrings.

“You okay, kid?”

The kid uncurls, and Danny stared. Holy shit, is he looking into a mirror? Blue eyes, black hair, and tanned skin. Holy shit, he’s even got similar jaws to Danny.

“Huh.”

The kid flinched.

“Y-y’er the drunk,” the kid flinched again, eyes darting to the broken bottle still clenched in Danny’s hand. “I- I ain’t got money, honest. Please-”

Danny blinked down at the kid, brain connecting the dots after so long without actual interaction. He’s panicking and staring at the bottle in Danny’s hand like it’ll kill him. Danny raised the bottle and the kid closed his mouth with a click, terror worming its way into the kid’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to mug you myself, kid.”

“But- y’er the- the Alley drunk.”

Danny blinked. Did he get a reputation without knowing again? Goddammit.

“I guess. Am I famous or somethin’?”

“Nobody- nobody fucks wit’ ya.”

“I also don’t hurt kids.”

“…”

The kid stared at him dubiously and with a sinking feeling, Danny realized that maybe the kid already had some terrible experiences with a heavy drunken hand. He promptly chucks the bottle further into the alley.

“I drink, yes. But I’m also not the kind of scum that would lay hands on a kid, let alone anyone that didn’t provoke it first.”

“Oh.” The kid uncurled more, looking at Danny warily, more at ease now that the bottle has left the chat.

“Yeah. I’m Danny. Stone cold sober, right now.”

“…”

Danny waited.

“Peters.”

“Okay. Peters, do you wanna take their shit?” Danny pointed a thumb at the knocked out would-be-muggers behind him.

“Y… yeah, sure. What’s my cut?”

“All of it.”

Peters stared.

Danny shrugged and started looting.

"Y'er so fuckin' weird."

----

See, the thing is, Danny hadn't anticipated saving Peters- "'s actually Jason"- would result in having a duckling following him around. The kid, Jason, glared at everyone who even looked at them wrong. But that's not the problem, because Danny could take anyone who took issue with Jason's looks, it's more like there's a child following him around now and Danny doesn't want to be the reason Jason turns into an alcoholic. It's- well, it made him cut down on the drinking. He even got jobs- legitimate jobs that sucks out his his poor ectoplasmic soul.

Why? Because Jason's apparently homeless. While that's something Danny's okay with for himself, he can't ever condone that for an actual child. Jason's walking around in threadbare clothes and thin soled shoes in the middle of Fall, for Ancient's sake.

Danny grumbles as he piled a bunch of clothes into the shopping bag as he checked out. Gotham's Walmart is a different kind of hell, but Danny feels right at home.

Sure, the work might suck out his soul and he might hate being sober, but Jason's face every time he comes home to an actual place to live, warm clothes, and food was worth everything.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #DCxDP #dpxdc #jason todd #batman #crime alley #Danny: im gonna be an alcoholic #also Danny: a child needs help and I don’t drink anymore #Danny phantom’s saving people thing #drunk danny #alcoholic danny #but not for long #danny adopts jason todd #jason todd follows his big brother into being a vigilante #kind of #he becomes robin #but gets rescued by his long suffering brother every once and a while #alley drunk! Danny AU

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luveline · 9 months

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If you have any interest, how about a Spencer blurb where he's off on a case and gets or misses a late night call from the reader and is super worried, only to call them back and find them drunk and missing him. And of course the team rags on him after.

thank u for ur request! fem!reader

Spencer looks down at his phone and goes ghostly white.

"What?" Emily asks. "They had a sale at Waterstones and you missed it?"

Spencer clicks a bunch of buttons on his phone and brings it to his ear, crushing limp hair to his neck. "Seventeen missed calls," he says.

Derek comes to the rescue, though the lightness in his voice is slightly forced, "Don't panic, wonderboy. Who wouldn't be eager to talk to you at… two AM?"

"Is that the time difference?" Emily asks, leaning forward in concern.

Even Hotch puts down his pen. The team listens to the phone ring. It loops, loops, loops, and everybody breathes a sigh of relief when you finally answer. If something happened to you Spencer wouldn't survive it. Nor after everything he's already been through.

"Hey?" he says. There's a gap of silence. "Y/N, are you there?"

"Spencer!"

Spencer turns away from the table they've congregated at and looks through the open window at the parking lot, police cars roaming in and out of spaces. "What's wrong?"

"I miss you so much."

Spencer's nose wrinkles of its own accord. "Yeah? You sound odd. Are you– are you drunk?"

Derek laughs. Like marionettes held tight with strings suddenly cut, the team stop their stressing and send each other knowing, amused looks.

"Just a little bit!" you promise, clearly lying. Your voice catches on the syllables like they're coated in sticky honey, the slightest slurring tripping you up at the end. "We went for– to Chilli's. I had a blooming onion and seven margaritas!"

"I can tell."

"I'm really sorry, Spence, I know I'm not s'posed to call when you're away," you begin.

Spencer glances back. Rossi and JJ have returned with coffee and a late dinner, neither of them bothering to act as though they aren't listening to the conversation.

"No," Spencer says, turning back around and hunching inward, "that's the opposite of what we talked about, isn't it? You can call whenever you want to, but I can't, you know, always answer. I thought something bad happened. Maybe next time you could text me?" Rather than call almost twenty times and give him a heart attack.

Laughter echoes from behind. They team act like a teasing family sometimes, Spencer their teenage son who's never dated.

He would fluster if you weren't talking to him in loud but loving tones, "I can barely walk, texting wasn't happening. I'm para-spelgic."

"You're not," he says, firmly at first. "Are you? Who's with you? Is Rebecca there?" Rebecca being your best friend. Spencer trusts her to take care of you.

"She was, but she said that I– uh… She said I talked about you too much and made her nauseous. I feel kinda sick, too, but I just needed to talk to you, Spence. I miss you. I miss you, are you home soon?"

"Is Rebecca really not there?" he asks. He thinks about the room full of special agents he's standing in and drops his voice to a murmur. "I miss you too."

"She's making toast or something."

"That's good. It'll soak up the margaritas."

"I don't want toast, I want you! Please come home safe, angel. I really wish you were here to do that thing with my ear."

Spencer has to give in. You're speaking so loudly it's impossible the team hadn't heard it, but he can't find the will to be embarrassed any longer. You're drunk and ridiculous and all you can think about is him.

"I wish I was home, too. Do I need to worry about you? Make sure you're drinking water, okay? Alcohol makes you dehydrated, you'll get a bad headache."

"It makes me miss you," you whine.

He smiles fondly. "There's no cure for that." A door opens over the line. "Is that Rebecca?"

"Yeah." Murmurings. "She says sorry for letting me get so drunk, but she didn't let me do anything. It's like you always say, Spence, I can do whatever I set my mind to."

"And you set your mind to getting drunk at Chili's."

"Exactly!"

You talk a little more before he hangs up. He knows you're getting taken care of.

A gaggle of smiling faces greet him as he turns around. "Everything okay, 'angel'?" Derek asks.

Spencer puts his phone in his pocket. You'll text him in the morning with a hankering for Tylenol and sore eyes, but you'll be fine. "Everything's great."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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suguruplsr · 7 months

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why toji be walking as if its 30 inch (proof)

Big Dick Toji !

✰ ✰ ✰ big dick toji headcannons !

જ⁀➴ he’s so broad i wanna climb him. give him the most sloppiest head ever.

,, x fem!reader , oral fixation ? , degrading , mentions of public sex , picture taking (+ sharing , dub-con) , idk

Bigdick!toji who has to wear really baggy sweats that still somehow show his print, always manspreading for comfort. but after dating you for a while, he knows to be careful of you suddenly pouncing on him randomly, appearing on his lap and grinding on his dick through his pants. other times he’d find your head laying on his thigh, and it’s surely not to sleep. you’d palm him through his pants, ignoring his grunts of him trying to watch the football game, i mean, is he really focused on the game when he’s fully bricked through his pants? you could jerk him off just like that. and yea, he gets off to it.

Bigdick!toji who swears up n’ down he can’t go nowhere with you. you two always end up hiding somewhere secluded for a quickie, and your excuse always is, “s’not my fault. your dick jus’ needed a bit attention..” it’s even worse if he has to dress up, which isn’t common, but when he does, he’s dreading every moment because he knows you’ll tuck him in some hidden place and suck him off so good he’s contemplating on taking you to the car to finish what you started. or even just speeding home to have your head in the sheets while he’s complaining about how you forced him to do this. but in the end, you always get what you wanted.

Bigdick!toji who mocks you for it. such a cock hungry slut, always chasing for the thick girth in his pants like some whore in the streets. letting him slap your face with his cock while he makes you stain your panties with just his words. but he doesn’t let you touch him, only smearing his head around your mouth, the drool that seeped from your mouth getting all over. sometimes when he’s really pent up, he makes you jerk him off, and he’s even meaner. “bet ya want my cum down your mouth. nah, gotta fuck up that pretty face of yours before you get anything. heh” and he’s spraying a fat load all over your face, his thumb holding your tongue down while he’s jerking the last little bits of cum in your mouth.

Bigdick!toji who wants to see if one dick is truly enough for that stupid cock drunk mind of yours. he’s taking a picture of your mess and sending it to shiu, who he’s sure he’s seen you eye a few times. it’s funny, how you’re whining n’ protesting when he tells you the man immediately said he’s on his way, yet your soaked panties tell another story. he even tells you to go put on a red lingerie he got you a few weeks back, but to keep that cum in your mouth. he’s sharing you with a good friend of his, so why not make sure you look extra pretty for him? even if the cute lace of going to be in shreds afterwards.

but it’s okay, he loves his dumb cock slut. he can always just fuck the neediness out of ya <3

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arsonistbf · 3 days

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╾━╤デ╦︻ TO THE MOON AND BACK

wriothesley 〥 afab reader ₊ 𓂃 mdni. size kink, service dom wrio, fluff, dacryphilia, praise ⸻ ❪ 393 wc ❫

size kink with wriothesley goes absolutely fucking insane !!

you don't even need to have a specific body type, that man will just make it his dead set mission to manhandle you and fuck you in every position possible.

he's just so proportionally bigger compared to you that feeling tiny under him when he fucks his cock deep into your cunt, comes naturally without warning. but i only think this in a way where he's talking you through it―very, very obverse to how rough he's playing with your insides, he will never degrade you. even if you asked him to.

it just doesn't turn him on.

he doesn't like seeing you cry either, but when its because of the pleasure he's giving you in bed? oh boy, does it do things to him. he can't quite describe it, but when you get cock drunk and a little bit ditzy, it boosts his ego.

he'll always ask if you're comfortable in the set position, or if anything is hurting, down there. his words are as gentle as a lamb, and when it comes to you, he's extremely sexually reserved. he won't touch you inappropriately out in public, make sex jokes around your friends, or even go ahead without any type of consent.

but when you give him that signal where everything is okay and you are comfortable, be prepared not to walk for, generousslly, for maybe a week.

it can sometimes be a struggle keeping up with him during sex, though. i wouldn't necessarily say that his libido is high, per se, because majority of the time his work keeps him occupied when he's not around you. but when he fucks, he likes to fuck hard.

there are also a sprinkle of moments too where he wants to press his forehead to yours, hands intertwined as you ride him slowly, praising you and telling you how good you look, that you're making him feel amazing―he likes to savor these moments for after dates or when he misses you a bit more than usual.

you can tell he's smitten for you, and he gives you all the right reasons to believe it. you don't question where you stand in your relationship with him, despite if the two of you had been away from each other for weeks.

it would probably just end in him breeding you...

#wriothesley smut #genshin smut #wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #wriothesley #genshin impact #nereids' realm

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atinysuh · 7 months

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ateez and their favorite sex positions + explained

yunho, jongho: reverse cowgirl - ok hear me out, imagine yunho guiding the movements of your ass with his huge hand as you bounce on his dick while you look back over your shoulders to watch his expressions. he thinks its so hot to watch you performing on top of him that you almost can see the sparkles on his eyes. he usually let you ride him like this when he knows you had a long ass day at work or college or both and you need to take the stress out of you, so he offers his dick for you to do whatever you want because he just wanna make you feel good. on the other side… jongho also LOVES this position since he can watch your curves. his favorite body part on you is your thighs and the tattoos on it so every time he has the chance to see them bouncing on his cock he’ll take it. he’ll just relax his head on his hands and bite his lips while enjoying his girl. and you also love his thick thighs so you two are even. phew… he’s so fucking hot.

yeosang, mingi: you on top - yeosang loves leaving love bites on your neck and squeezing your waist while you ride him. out of all the girls he has dated in his life you’re definitely the only one who knows how to ride him RIGHT. because let’s be honest, my man’s got a big dick and you can take 100% of him and that’s one of the numerous reasons he fell in love with you at the first place. you kinda got the sauce. he also loves to feel your sweet vanilla cherry scent, he thinks is very sexy, so be careful because sometimes he can get drunk of you! he just place his face in the crook of your neck as you ride him and closes his eyes and stays there guiding your hips, like yunho, but in this case by the waist. okay and mingi… well, mingi is something else. he completely loves sucking on your nipples when you’re on top of him, hands on your ass spanking every now and then to remind you he’s the only one in the world who can bottom you out like that. he kinda asserts some dominance without even noticing and you can’t help it but call out his name every time you go up and down his dick. also, has a huge size kink.

san: BACKSHOTS - 6 words. on the way by jhené aiko. this song is SO choi san coded, every time i hear that “booty clapping from the backshots while we watch porn on the laptop” verse san’s the first person that comes to my mind. we all know he loves a big thick curvy ass that he can spank whenever he pleases. also “inhale the smoke while you stroke inside it” makes me literally malfunction since my biggest guilty pleasure is san getting high and passing the blunt to you while he breaks your back. if i could dedicate one song to one man it would be on the way to san because oh my god i could spend hours talking about this topic but imma stop before i pass out.

seonghwa: face off - we all know seonghwa’s the romantic type… but also the freak type. he likes it when you two are seated at the end of the bed or on the couch or even on the kitchen chair and have you like this, on top of him, facing him. as i said, when you’re fucking in the kitchen, for example, he usually put his elbow on the table behind him and expect you to ride his dick but sometimes it can get a little bit hard for you to keep a steady pace in this position so he loses his patience and quickly switch positions. you’re now laying on the kitchen counter. we also know he’s a worshipper, so he’ll make you feel so loved in his arms even tho he’s fucking the soul out of you. well, love and affection is something you’ll always receive when it comes to having a relationship with seonghwa whether is fwb, a date, a one night stand or a marriage… but he’ll also fuck you HARD and when i say hard i MEAN IT because we’re talking about a fucking aries here and as an aries myself i know exactly what goes on on his mind when it comes to sex.

hongjoong: missionary - still talking about zodiac signs, for those who don’t know, hongjoong’s a scorpio and girl let me tell you about scorpios… ma’am they are another type of freak, like, they literally invented freak, to me they are sex gods. and even tho this is a common sex position doesn’t mean hongjoong will make it ordinary. he’s very possessive so he wants to make sure that you know you’re HIS and his only and he does that by pinning both of your wrists with one hand while he chokes your neck with the other. sex with him is always pleasurable, he’ll satisfy you 200% of the time, overwhelm you even. but you can’t never get enough of him. also, he likes to hear it when you say that your pussy is his for him to please and your body is his for him to touch and that you belong to him. his moto is saying that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you because he couldn’t stand the thought of somebody else touching your body. i love hongjoong so much.

wooyoung: spoon - OK… i see wooyoung fucking you in a spoon position and it can be any type, with your leg up, down, kissing your neck, grabbing your breasts, chocking you, biting your lobe teasing you, but as long as it is in a spoon position. ooooh he loves the way you bite your bottom lip and do that crying expression with your eyebrows when you tell him to slow down and he just gives you a sassy smirk and says nothing but starts fucking you ROUGHER. you can barely open your eyes to look at his hungry eyes looking back at you because it’s rolling with pleasure. all you can do is whine and not even when he cums he’ll stop, he likes overstimulating you AND him.

#ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop smut #ateez drabbles #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez san #ateez yunho #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez seonghwa #ateez yeosang #ateez hongjoong #ateez wooyoung #kpop scenarios

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supercutszns · 1 month

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sweet on you | jason grace

wc + pairing: 1k, jason grace x f!reader

notes: short-ish jason blurb while i chalk up some of my beefier fics (& my 1k celebration thank u again)<3 this is my first time publishing for him so hopefully this isn't too ooc! i need to let myself write shorter stream of consciousness things,, all fluff, just jason taking your makeup off after a party <33 also its set at chb because i said so

Whenever Jason washes off your makeup, he acts like it's his sworn duty.

You’re a little hazy as he wets a cloth in the sink, repositioning himself between your legs that hang limply off the bathroom counter. You keep scanning his face for any trace of weariness or urgency. After a long day of camp duties, the last thing you think he’d want was to clean up his drunken girlfriend after a secret party. But he’s as kind and patient as ever, and you don’t know if it’s your heart or the alcohol talking, but you are deliriously in love with him right now. He’s a leader—a brave, powerful demigod—but he’s only that good because he’s gentle. That's what you see, anyway. Everyone loves him for a reason, but you're still sure you love him most.

You got drunk. You got anxious. But it’s more than worth it if Jason takes care of you after. Even under these fluorescent bathroom lights, he’s beautiful.

“Why thank you,” he says, a bemused smile on his face.

You blink. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Sure did.”

The scar on the corner of his lip lifts as he kisses your cheek. You hum pleasantly, and you feel the ghost of his laugh before he pulls away. “Close your eyes for me?”

You oblige. In seconds, you’re greeted with the warm press of a towel on your face. Jason keeps you in place with his hand cupping your chin. “Let me know if I poke your eyes, okay?”

“If you do I’ll just bite your finger.”

“Awesome.” He works on sweeping the cloth over your skin to drag off all that makeup. You wait patiently, happily, indulging in the occasional idle chatter and the steady brush of Jason’s thumb underneath your chin. Every pass of his fingers against your face lulls you further into your haze. He’s warm, methodical, sweet. He switches the cloth to a different side and drags up your cheekbones. Your brain is mush with alcohol and appreciation.

“‘M sorry I got carried away, Jace,” you mumble, head swaying involuntarily. “Didn’t need to come get me like this.”

His soft laugh swims in your ears, and he lowers himself a bit to see you better. “Trust me, I wasn’t doing much. The only notable thing this evening was crossing the hundred-page threshold in my book.”

“Is it good?” You slur, toying with his dog-tag necklace you’d gotten him for his birthday.

He tilts his head, “Eh. Alright. I still like taking care of you more, though.”

You must be beaming stupidly wide, because Jason shakes his head with a smile, and he wraps his arms around you to kiss your jaw. “Besides, you’re sweet on me when you’re drunk.”

The feel of his lips would have shut you up in any normal circumstance, but your idiotic thoughts only heighten. “Sweet on you?”

“Mmhm.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Yes! They … people say it.”

His cheeks flush red in that insanely adorable way, and he presses his face back into your neck. “They said it in my book,” he mumbles, and you laugh so hard he has to shush you.

He goes through the rest of your rather particular skincare routine as per your instructions. He’s seen you do it a thousand times, but you repeat the order anyways just to be sure—although it’s likely you’re jumbling up your words and taking too many pauses for any of it to come out coherent. He takes his time, focused intently on the planes and ridges of your skin. If you were any more sober you’d probably be self-conscious, but sometimes his thumb runs across your cheek with a tenderness that has nothing to do with your serums.

Once all’s said and done, your skin refreshed, you’re practically snoozing on the counter. “Sweetheart,” Jason hums, winding arms around you once more, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Only if it’s with you,” you yawn, cheek smushing into his chest.

“Well, that’s a given.”

He’s smiling again as he runs his hands down to your thighs, so you can loop your legs around his hips. “Hold on, okay?”

You oblige, relishing in the curl of his biceps against your sides as he hoists you off the counter. Usually you’d be hesitant to let him carry you around with you clinging to him like this, but your capacity for embarrassment had vanished about two drinks ago. You hear him chuckling into your hair as the breeze tickles your face, although it's far less severe in his arms.

Camp’s practically deserted this time of night so Jason has no problem getting you into his cabin. He puts you down on his lonely bed in a sea of marble, lit with nothing but the warmth of his reading lamp. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur as he helps you out of your clothes and gives you a shirt of his own. The way he smells reminds you of morning mist as he ties your hair back.

Soon you’re in your favourite place in the world: drowned in blankets on a cool summer night in Jason’s bed. You’re nestled snug against his chest, letting the fog in your mind settle as he traces shapes on your back beneath your shirt. Transfixed by the ebb and flow of his breath, you can’t help but press your lips to his collarbone, lazy chapstick kisses spooling onto his skin.

“Y’re right,” you mumble, “I am sweet on you.”

Jason laughs quietly, setting down his book. He taps on your chin to draw you out of his chest, leading you to his mouth. You’re giggling and falling into him before you even kiss. He tastes like sweet mint as he cages you against him with his arms, nothing but gentle. “Love you,” you whisper with a plucky smile.

He kisses your forehead, “I love you.” He disposes of his glasses and turns off his lamp, sinking the both of you down onto the mattress. “Get some sleep, angel.”

You must be a lot better at following instructions than you thought, because you smother yourself in his warmth and you’re sure you’ve never slept better.

#perrie’s fics #jason grace x reader #jason grace #jason grace fic #jason grace x you #pjo x reader #pjo fic #jason grace blurb #jason grace imagine #jason grace fluff

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talaok · 1 month

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Okay, so I have a cute idea. Pedro and reader go to a bar and accidentally drink a little more than they wanted to, and now they are walking home together, leaning on one another and giggling the whole way. Maybe they have their first kiss or something. idk, im giving you creative freedom on the last part.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

a/n: cutest request award

that last glass of wine had had its effect

Your brain felt lighter, like the crimson liquid had relieved some of the effort from your head

Your vision was fuzzier, unfocused in that familiar way as a soft buzz flowed into your ear

The pavement ahead was still damp with rain, and some water had gotten into your shoes, but you didn't care, you didn't care as you leaned onto Pedro, onto his strong, warm arm, as you looked up at his own glossy eyes, veiled by that sheer cloak of alcohol flowing through his veins

He was still laughing at something you'd said, and you didn't even realize that you were doing the same,

You couldn't even remember what the joke was. Something about... rain or... something

"We're gonna regret this tomorrow" he said, amusement still spilling from his lips

"I'm sure you will, old man" you snorted, hiding your face into his arm to shield from his reaction

"Old man huh?" he chuckled "Is that the way to talk to your elderly?"

"oh please" you snorted, smiling up at him as he feigned offense "I'm sorry sir, that was very rude of me, please forgive me"

The corners of his mouth twitched into a soft grin

"With that smile, I don't think anyone could ever not forgive you, sweetheart"

He did that sometimes, said something sweet that made you forget all about what your lungs were made for

Once again, you shielded your heating face from him by nestling impossibly close to him, feeling his warmth seep into you

He had a body that made hell seem cold

"You're a douchba-"

but before you could speak the very kind words you were about to speak, you had taken a step and found yourself ankle-deep into something that upon closer inspection, was indeed a puddle

You had stepped into a puddle.

Your feet were drenched

You-

You burst out laughing

"oh my god- sugar" Pedro was gripping your arm, bringing you back to dry land as he stifled the need to laugh too

"I-"

You were pretty sure you were about to pee yourself from how hard you were laughing, your eyes were shut close, you had one hand on your face and one on Pedro and then-

and then your feet stopped touching the ground

"Wha-"

He had picked you up, bridal style, and all you could do was swing your arms around his neck as a reflex "what are you doing?"

"it's clear you're in no condition to walk, so I'm taking matters into my own hands"

And he said it so calmly too, like it was the most obvious thing in the word

"you're taking matters into your own hands?" you mocked, cocking a brow as you bit your bottom lip to try not to laugh

"I am" he nodded,

"You're gonna carry me all the way to the hotel?" you couldn't help but smile now,

smile with amusement and joy and drunkness and... and something else

"What, you think I'm too old for that too?"

You snorted now, your head falling to his chest

"maybe" you mumbled, your mouth on his steel pecs as you looked up at him

And there was something in that, in all this- not in the fact that he was carrying you like a damsel in distress, not the fact that you were dizzy, not in any of that- there was something in the intimacy of this moment, of the lightness that came with it, how natural it all felt, how... perfect it felt

And he felt it too, you could see in his eyes, that he too had felt time stop, the entire world stop to let you have this moment, this precious instant

"y/n-"

But your lips were already on his, your lips were already on his and nothing mattered anymore as he gripped your shoulder to push you incredibly closer to him, wishing he could engulf you and never let you go, praying for this moment to never end

finally

the only word inside both your heads

finally

He was such a good kisser, his mouth, his beard, his lips, his everything just-

The problem was that he thought the same about you, and maybe if you'd been less of a good kisser, or if only he hadn't spent the last six months fantasizing about this... then maybe he wouldn't have dropped you

"shit-"

Well not really dropped you, he just... forgot to hold your legs, that's all

Only of course, he was there to rescue you as your feet hit the ground, making sure you didn't fall

A soft, honest laugh rumbled from your chest as you dropped your forehead to his

"I'm sorry" he murmured, his hands on your waist "I- I got- distracted"

Again, you could only laugh, this time as he joined

"you got distracted?"

"Yeah" he chuckled

"wanna get distracted again?" you smirked, watching his eyes pan to your lips

"please"

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whatawonderfulexistence--blog · 1 year

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The Mouse and The Bear (König x Reader)

(A/N: I'm too drunk to proofread this rn, I tried to keep this GN but it might've ended up being a fem! Reader. I'll come back and fix this later lol

Warnings: Swearing, mention of death, mention of injury, slightly angsty but not really, lots of fluff)

"Don't look now, but I think someone has their eye on you." Soap says with a smirk as he walks up next to you in the kitchen. You rolled your eyes in response, knowing that meant any moment now you were going to have some annoying asshole approaching you.

"Spare me." You say under your breath, Soap just laughs in response as he finishes pouring his coffee and heads off. You picked up your lunch, going to find somewhere to sit where hopefully whoever decided you were their new love interest would leave you alone. You were met with a sight you didn't expect. Instead of the usual bombardment of unwanted flirting you caught the almost nervous gaze of KorTac's gentle giant. The second he realized you caught him looking, his eyes snapped down to the mug in front of him. You hadn't had a lot of interaction with König but the few you had he had been nothing but pleasant. A soft smile finds its way to your lips as you start heading in his direction. "Hey König." You greet him pleasantly, "is this seat taken?" He shakes his head, a look of pure disbelief in his eyes over the fact you were standing in front of him. You slide into the chair opposite him. Normally if there was someone at base checking you out you wouldn't bother indulging their infatuation but König made you curious.

"I'm sorry for staring." He admits immediately, acting like a child getting caught doing something they're not supposed to.

"König I'm not mad." You reassure him.

"It's still rude… I know how much I hate it when people stare at me." He seemed to relax slightly now that he knew you weren't upset with him. Before you could ask him why he was looking at you he answered the question on his own. "I've never seen you without your gear on… I never realized how small you are- not that it's a bad thing of course! I know you're more than capable of handling yourself-"

"König," you cut him off before his rambling got him too flustered "it's okay." You smile at him and he shifts awkwardly in his seat. This was the first time you really allowed yourself to look at him. Bright blue eyes looking anywhere besides at you, he hunched over the table in an attempt to make himself look smaller and less threatening. "Du brauchst keine Angst vor mir zu haben." (You don't need to be afraid of me.) You joke in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"You speak German?" He sounded shocked.

"A little, I used to live in Berlin when I was younger." You explain. He nods, leaning forward slightly to give you his undivided attention as you speak. You sat and talked with him for a while, you definitely couldn't complain about the company. He was very attentive, asking you questions that prompted you to keep talking. He had a loud, boisterous laugh that made your heart soar everytime you coaxed it out of him

"Mick, we got takedown training, let's go." Your time with him was cut short by Price informing you to head down to the base's gym.

"I'll be right there." You call back. You turn your attention back to König, who was fidgeting with his mug again. "This was nice, thank you for the company." You smile at him, nervous eyes moving down to the table.

"Maybe… maybe we could do this again sometime?" He asks softly.

"Are you asking me on a date?" You retort immediately. His eyes snap up to you, already trying to stammer out a response in his flustered state. You giggle, reaching out and placing one of your hands on top of his, which looked child sized compared to his. "If we ever have downtime together I would love to." He nods, giving you a quiet goodbye as you cleaned up the table and prepared to head to training. You were unable to keep the dumb grin off your face for the rest of the day.

A few days later you found yourself in the kitchen again. You groaned internally as a high pitch whistle met your ears. "You come around here often sweetheart?" You recognized him, some obnoxious Private that often got in trouble for disrespecting the chain of command. He wasn't worth the energy, you just kept going about what you were doing prior to his interruption. "Maybe you didn't hear me," he tries to sound threatening. He steps uncomfortably close to you, "I asked you a question."

"You really shouldn't be speaking to a Sergeant that way." The Private turned, ready to cuss out whoever had interrupted his terrible attempt at picking you up. You saw all the color drain from his face at the sight before him. You couldn't stop yourself from breathing out a laugh. The Private slowly starts to back up with every heavy footstep that echoed through the kitchen. König steps in front of you, blocking off your pursuer. "Are you alright?" He glances back over his shoulder at you. You nod and his attention immediately turns back to the Private. "I suggest you get out of here kotzbrocken (lump of puke) before I tell your superior officer that you were getting aggressive with a Sergeant." As if on cue his Captain entered the kitchen. König very calmly explained the situation to him, the Captain grabbing his subordinate by the collar and pulling him off.

"Do you want to fucking die? Because messing with her is a good way to get there." You hear him angrily mutter to the Private as he pulls him out of the room.

"You're sure you're alright?" He asks in a much gentler tone than he was using before.

"I'm fine König, thank you." You smile at him, turning back to what you were doing before you were interrupted. You groaned as you looked through the cabinet. "He always does this to me, he knows I can't reach that shelf." You stood on your toes, struggling to reach your favorite mug that you knew Ghost put on the top shelf on purpose. König reached over you, grabbing the mug with ease before lowering it into your hands. You turned to thank him only to be startled slightly by his close proximity. You knew he was a big man, being 6'10, there wasn't anything about him that was small. But you had never witnessed your height difference with him this close up. You stood about his stomach height, the nearly 2 foot difference causing you to have to look straight up to see his mask covered face. Seeing your flustered appearance he quickly stepped back.

"Sorry, I just figured I'd have an easier time reaching it." He says bashfully.

You swallowed thickly, the mug in your hands becoming the most interesting thing in the room at the moment. "It's alright, I appreciate the help." You start making the tea you had originally come in here for, both of you sitting in silence. You didn't have to look up at him to know that König had his eyes on you. He was leaning up against the counter a couple feet away from you, just studying your movements as you flit around the kitchen. You hear König chuckle, your eyes drifting over to him. "What's so funny?" You ask him with a smile

"Don't take this as an insult, but you remind me of a mouse. You're so small and fast." You both laugh at his joke, he wasn't wrong.

"I mean, I don't have the codename Mickey for nothing." He studies you for a moment, you could tell he was thinking about whether or not he should say something.

"Would it be okay if I called you Maus?" He asks quietly. Normally you would object to someone calling you that. But hearing it from König, his deep voice that paired so wonderfully with his accent, you loved the way it sounded coming from him.

"I wouldn't be opposed… but only you get to call me that." You see the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile.

"Deal." You searched through the fridge, finding a container of leftovers you had cooked the other night.

"Would you like to join me for lunch?" You ask, holding up the container.

"I would love to." It became a ritual for the two of you to have lunch together. You enjoyed the fact that he was company outside of your team and the usual annoying flirts around the base. Even though you hated to admit it, you had found yourself rather smitten with the Austrian giant. König was kind, but never in a way that made you think he was only being nice to you because you were cute. He was always making you laugh, cracking small jokes and telling you stories. He loved to see you smile, it was one of his favorite parts of his day.

"Good morning Maus." You smile as you hear König enter the kitchen behind you. You pull down a secondary mug from the cabinet.

"Good morning Bärchen." You greet him softly as you pour him a cup of coffee alongside yours. You hear him chuckle as he approaches you.

"Bärchen, huh? Mouse and Bear, that seems pretty fitting." He nods his thanks as you handed him his coffee. "Ready for the debriefing today?" Price had informed you yesterday that Task Force 141 and KorTac were going to be teaming up together for a mission. You were more than happy to work alongside them, the whole team was incredible. But you were still worried.

"As ready as I'll ever be." You sigh, taking a long sip of your drink. "Just… promise me, wherever we end up tomorrow, that you'll be careful." You couldn't look at him. The fear you were feeling in your chest, it was too real of an emotion for you. You weren't going to say that you were never scared to go on a mission, that would be a lie. This however was new, you had another person besides yourself to be worried about.

König smiles down at you, carefully reaching out to tuck some stray hair behind your ear. "Maus, you have my word." The threat of tears welled up thick in your throat. "I'm not going anywhere, liebling." Someone calls from down the hall that it was time for your meeting. You feel König place a hand on your lower back, keeping you close while ushering you further. You came out of your debriefing feeling even worse than when you went in, this wasn't going to be your run of the mill mission you were used to. This was going to be dangerous for even the most skilled soldier. The second everyone had broken off to try and enjoy the rest of their day König pulled you aside. "Look at me, it's going to be okay." He could tell you were on the verge of panicking, despite knowing that would only make the situation worse.

"König do you know the statistics of how many people get hurt going on missions like these. Do you know how many people die?" You said it, the one word that was forbidden in your line of work. He drops down on one knee, gently taking your face in his hands.

"I know, and I know it's scary, but I don't want you to be thinking about that." He sighs, stroking your cheek. He wanted to make you feel better, he hated seeing you so anxious. "Let me take you on a date… it will give us something to do instead of sitting around worrying." You froze, your mind going blank. He wanted to take you on a date?

"I…I don't have anything to wear. If we're going on a date I want to look nice." You couldn't stop yourself from smiling. König was right about one thing, it would be a welcomed distraction.

"You already look beautiful Maus." You blushed at his compliment. He held out his hand to you and you took it without hesitation. His skin was warm and calloused, his hand completely engulfing your own as he let his fingers completely close around it. The two of you got permission to head into the city for the evening. König had been stationed in this area before so he knew exactly where he wanted to take you. Before you left he changed out of his sniper hood and into a cloth mask that covered the lower half of his face. You finally got a chance to get an idea of what he looked like underneath. You were shocked to find out that König had dark blonde hair that he kept relatively long compared to usual military standards. He had freckles that peaked just above where his mask. You could also more clearly make out the wrinkles by his eyes that shows how much he genuinely smiles. When the two of you headed into town you were honestly a bit surprised when you ended up at a food truck that served some local specialty. He ordered for you and paid for your meal, the entire time keeping his hand on the small of your back so he could ensure that you were still there next to him. You wandered into a park to look for a place to sit and made it just in time to catch the sunset. You let your head fall to rest on König's arm, he sat next to you completely rigid.

"Thank you for taking me out, I needed to keep my mind off of tomorrow." He glances down at you, bright blue eyes trained on your face.

"I'm hoping you'll let me take you on another date after this mission is over." You picked up on the nervousness in his voice immediately.

"König, I don't know if you've noticed, but I kind of like you a lot… of course I'll go on another date with you." The hand that was situated in his lap began to reach out for yours, slowly moving his finger over so it would bump into the side of your hand.

"I'm really happy I met you (Y/N)." He says softly.

You smile, eyes never leaving the horizon. "I am too."

The next morning everyone was on edge. You all sat silently in the back of the truck, the usual attempt to lighten the mood vacant. As you neared your destination Ghost finally spoke up. "Team A, we're going to sweep their safe house, any hostages I want brought to me directly. Team B, you're in charge of sweeping the rest of their compound. This is a capture or kill mission, our number one priority is getting us and the hostages out safely. You glanced across the isle at König. He tried to give you a reassuring nod but you could tell how nervous he was really feeling. The truck came to a rough stop, jolting your body forward in the process. Everyone piled out and began separating into their teams. A giant gloved hand came to rest on the top of your head as König gave you a gentle pat. "Be careful out there, Bärchen." You say softly, unable to look at him knowing it would probably make you cry.

"You too Maus." He runs off to join his team.

"Come on Mickey, we got a house to clean." Soap says as he approaches you. He could tell how stressed you were feeling. Even if he didn't know the extent of your relationship with König he knew how much you cared about him. "He's gonna be alright, man's a fuckin' tank, there's no stopping him." You nodded heading off with him to handle your half of the mission. Team A consisted of you, Ghost, Johnny, Gaz, and a couple of privates from the base. Team B consisted of KorTac, Price and a few other soldiers.

"Mick, I need to know you're here with me sweetheart, you're looking a little spacey." Ghost says quietly as you wait for the perfect moment to storm the safe house.

"I'm with you lieutenant, just another day at the office." You tried your best to sound confident. To give your team the Mickey they needed right now. Soap was right, König would be fine. All of this would be over in less than an hour.

"Move in." You got your cue. You looked at Soap, the two of you exchanging an affirming nod before you made your way up to the safe house. He taps your shoulder, motioning that he'll start his sweep to the right you start to your left. You found nothing but a couple low grade officers guarding the hostages, which meant everyone incredibly dangerous was either not here or in the same building as Team B. You quickly and quietly escorted the hostages outside so you could get them some medical attention "Team A has successfully completed their sweep. Team B what's your status?" Ghost's voice booms over the comms. It was silent for a while… too long.

"Ghost, we've been hit." Price's panicked voice was the only thing you could hear. "They found out we're here."

"Do you need medical? We're heading to your location now." You readied yours as fast as you possibly could.

"Ghost, I need you to listen to me. I don't know how many men I've already lost, if you come over here your whole team could be taken out." You could hear gunfire in the background. You were going to attempt to make a run for it. You needed to help them, you needed to get out who you could. The second you tried to bolt Ghost latched onto your collar, pulling you to the ground.

"Let me go, I need to help them." You say through gritted teeth, fighting back tears.

"Mick, you know that's only going to make things worse." Ghost jumps back on comms. "Price, do you have a casualty count?"

"At least four." Any drive you had to stand back up left your body. That was half of their team, just gone.

"Anyone from KorTac?" Ghost remained motionless by your side, prepared to drag you out of there if needed.

"I don't know, I lost them in the fire fight." You were shaking. Throughout all your years in the military you had never felt like this during a mission.

"We'll rendezvous back at base, I need to get these hostages medical attention." Price confirmed and the comms went silent again. Ghost hauled you to your feet, attempting to steady you by the shoulders when you almost fell over. "Hold it together Mickey, come on." His gruff voice shocks you back to reality. You felt like you were in a fog, you were going through the motions of securing the hostages but you weren't really there. The second you were back to base you made your way to the common room, sat down, and waited. Your teammates tried everything they could think of to comfort you but it wasn't any use. All you wanted was König, or at the very least to know he was okay. After about an hour of waiting, Price finally found you. You stood, hurrying over to him. He looked a little worse for wear but overall he seemed fine.

"Price, is König okay?" Ghost was the first one to speak up. You couldn't bring yourself to say it knowing that there was a very high chance he didn't make it back at all.

"He was hit, but he's okay. He actually asked if I could send you down to him." You thanked Price, telling him how happy you were that he was safe but you had to go see him. You ran down to the infirmary, ignoring the calls from the nurses that you had to check in before you could enter as you pushed through the doors. You just needed to see what state he was in. You were met with the sight of König sitting up in bed, pleasantly chatting with the doctor that was going over what he would have to do for his wound care. The top half of his body was wrapped in a bandage that showed he was shot in the shoulder, sniper hood still on. His eyes landed on you and you saw his whole body relax. You waited for the doctor to leave before you approached him.

"Maus." You saw the corners of his eyes crinkle up. It was hard to be mad with the shirtless mass of muscle in front of you. You had a whole speech planned about how worried you were how he could've been seriously hurt. But now that you saw him sitting in front of you none of that really mattered. You sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, tears pricking at your eyes.

"You said you were going to be careful." Your voice cracked as you spoke. He grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry." You felt the first year slip into your cheek and that was enough to open the floodgates. Your body wracked with sobs, König pulled you to him, wrapping an arm around you.

"I thought I lost you." He quietly hushed you, running his fingers through your hair. You stayed like that for a while, both of you remaining silent until König.

"I think after my contract's up I'm going to call it." You shot up, in pure disbelief at what you were hearing. "I got hit today because I got careless. I was trying so hard to get this over with quickly to get back to you that I let my guard down. I don't want something to happen to me out in the field or have you worried like this all the time. (Y/N), I'm in love with you, I don't want to miss the opportunity to explore what we have before it even starts." Hearing him say that made you start crying all over again. Once you had finally calmed down you sat up, wiping your eyes.

"I think this might be my final tour too." You smile at him. He grabs the top of his hood, fully pulling it off his head. You gently caress his face, "you're so handsome under there." You hiccup a laugh through your remaining tears.

"I'm glad you think so." He chuckles. He holds you close, lips gently finding yours for what was the softest first kiss you had ever had. König gently cradled you in his arms, taking his time to fully memorize every single aspect of what kissing you felt like.

"I love you Bärchen." You say softly. He gazed down at you with the most loved filled expression of adoration.

"I love you too, mein mouse." He whispers, pulling you in for one more short, sweet kiss.

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mywifealhaitham · 2 months

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pre release boothill relationship headcanons!!!

a/n: I'm fiending off crumbs... I've wanted to read some x reader of him but theres none so I gotta write it myself. I hope the other 4 boothill fans enjoy

warnings: gn!reader, like 2 gendered pet names (pretty girl/boy), most of this is written with bias because we don't have alot to go off, obviously written prerelease, when we actually get content of him I'll definitely be rewriting

LEAKS AHEAD!!!

bc: Valentine_DD_ on twt

- Boothill is described as a righteous person if his bottom line doesn't get crossed, so he definitely treats you good. probably more on the protective side when it comes to you, he's probably not afraid to use his gun if someone is threatening you.

- and believe me he's intimidating. from his overall tough and "unruly" cowboy look to his mechanical body it leaves enemies just a little challenged. he lowers his voice too and probably has a more fierce look in his eyes too. after any threats have been delt with he probably turns to you and turns into the sweetest thing ever, a wide grin across his face and his hands on your cheeks peppering you with small kisses.

- Its said he's a bit sophisticated due to his experiences so I'd like to imagine sometimes he charms you with facts and details about other planets or just genuinely sharing some tips and tricks he's picked up from other cultures. he's also a person who can get along with others pretty well but he can easily give strangers an impression he's selfish and is a bad person.

- again this kinda feeds into he's basically you'd guard dog... but I mean who wouldn't want to be saved by a handsome and sweet cowboy. despite his unpredictable personality and looks he's a huge gentleman for sure. always opens doors and pulls out chairs for you, makes sure your behind him and okay if any danger approaches and practically listens to your every command (lowkey giving off my girl and I don't argue she tells me to shut up and I do)

- one part I'm so excited to see is what they mean by he's illiterate and using metaphors. it's probably just him using slang but it's still kinda cute. I feel like his cheesy and strange metaphors turn into pick up lines when talking to you. perhaps he'll pull a "did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" or something cheesier. Definitely a huge nickname guy, almost never uses your real name. I'm guessing he'd use stuff like doll, sugar, baby, pretty girl/boy and more teasing names. heavy on doll and sugar and just imagine him saying it in a deep southern accent... 😍 kicking my feet. also I imagine he loves making you giggle by not cursing (because he literally cant) and normally he'd get pissed if someone laughed at him like that if it's you he doesn't mind at all.

- that's pretty much it for like analyzing the leaks I saw but now the stuff up ahead is just bias yapping because I always project

- HE DEFINITELY IS A HAND KISSER. greets you by getting on one knee, holding his hat to his chest and kissing your hand. makes eye contact with you too and does that toothy smirk of his IM SWOONINGGG

- maybe he's a dancer! pulls you into his arms and places his hat on your head when a good song plays in taverns. even if your clueless on any type of dances then he'll pull you along to the beat whispering Instructions in your ear.

- gets so lovesick when drunk it drives everyone mad. any folks he's sitting with at a bar gets a whole speech on his wonderful beautiful darling who he owes his live and would happily die by their hand. and may God save you when you come pick him up because he'll be all over you. Immediately he wraps a arm around your waist as he slurrs his hello as he proceeds to tell you he loves you like 40 times. besides the mass amounts of kisses you'll receive once you both reach a private spot he let's some feelings that he might be too shy to share normally, holding your face as he calls you his pretty girl/boy and how he's so lucky to have you.

- honestly not the best for cuddling however unfortunately he needs to cuddle you to sleep so goodluck! his metal body isn't completely uncomfortable it's just cold alot. he tries to get around this by literally preheating himself with blankets before you go to bed.

very bad boothill brainrot atm... only a few more weeks until we get official content 😭 everyone hold hands we got this

here's the actual leaks if anyone is curious ^_^

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #kiana☆posts #hsr x you #hsr fluff #honkai star rail #hsr #boothill hsr #boothill x reader #hsr leaks

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 3 months

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

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

Word count: 11K (I'm sorry)

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

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

***

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

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

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

Seems like the sort of place for him.

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

Or somethin’ along those lines.

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

Whatever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then I remember Rust doesn’t sleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sigh. I ask him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kindness almost cancels out his arrogance.

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

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

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

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

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

Asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” I reply.

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

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

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

He tilts his head away in dismissal.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want it,” he snaps quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs. “Because decisions define a person?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re part of the people,” I argue.

He hums, nodding in acceptance. “Yes.”

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

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

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

I thought that everything meant fuck-all?

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

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

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

I want – my breath trembles with it.

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

He shudders – I notice. “Since when?”

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

“I will.”

His voice sounds clogged. It sobers me right up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he contradicts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can feel you against my leg.”

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

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

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

Give me strength. Give me strength.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

I can feel him swallow.

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

“Kiss me again, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

A switch in his brain must flick on.

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

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

He then lifts his knee to place against my cunt.

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

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

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

He kisses the hollow of my neck.

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

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

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

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

Rust lets out a grunt and swallows hard again.

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

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

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

How unlike him.

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

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

I sigh, try not to squirm.

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

I nod. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want, Rust?” I whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lie back, girl,” he tells me.

My cunt flexes.

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

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

“Said lie back, didn’t I?”

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

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

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

“Can—?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“Lie back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” I reply.

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

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

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

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bitchimasnake-sss · 3 months

Text

sfw alphabet ft. roronoa zoro! (because im down bad for him)

enough horniness, now we shall weep and cry cause of how much we love this moss head 🤭🤭

yes ur honor this is the man im in love with :/

💗affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?):

affection (in it's traditional sense) comes hard to zoro. he doesn't really know how to go about it to be very honest. to him affection is sarcasm and acts of services ("acts of service" include calling you mid in 5 languages (joke), making fun of your exercise form and the way you sometimes drool in your sleep, offering you sake etc.). but as time passes by and you both start getting more comfortable with each other, he gets on board with it. every time you both are spending time alone, he holds onto you one way or the other. don't expect him to call you sugarcakes or something because he won't but he will let you know before drifting off to sleep that you mean the world to him. i dont think hes a huge pda guy but if he's super drunk then he cannot possibly keep his hands off of you, its quite weird for the crew to see him so openly affectionate (cue sanji gagging).

💗best friend:

what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start? he's lowkey the bestest of best friends. he has the energy of "idk what you're doing but ig do it anyways cause i know how to fight" an opinion on everything but he doesn't have the time or energy to say anything (between his sleeping and training). doesn't mean he's any less nonchalant, no, he's just super opinionated for some reason. so, when you're sitting next to him on the deck on those late nights, asking him absurd questions, best believe he will deliver peak (nonchalant) commentary. especially after the two years when he's back from living with perona!!! HE IS A CERTIFIED FASHION KING. "zoro," you nudge him and he hums in response, "i was thinking of getting nami that silver bracelet for her birthday, should i?" "i mean i wouldn't give that debt collecting witch anything but-" he winces lightly when you punch him in the arm, "-but. i think silver will look look washed out against his complexion. gold seems better" "you think?"

💗cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?):

at the start, he thinks cuddles are lowkey dumb (and like he probably has gone years without them), so, he puts up this weird drama like "uh no i dont wanna do it" ofc he's lying. cause you're so soft and you smell so good and his hands are literally shaking trying not to hold you against him. after a while, he will unironically announce to you that he is the little spoon tonight and you need to suck it up. (lowkey gives the best cuddles because he literally envelopes you whole till you have to physically push him away) he wants to cuddle but you're DYING. YOU JUST KNOW YOU ARE. because this man is a heat radiating hot heating device heater. he is like a portable sauna. he needs to give you some space but he wont.

💗domestic (how are they at cooking and cleaning?):

cooking? cleaning? you should be grateful that he's showering everyday ever since you started dating him. he knows some basic cooking and cleaning skills (cause he did survive on his own for a good few years) but he doesn't know them in a socially acceptable manner. he just caught a fish, burnt it and ate it cause ✨proteins✨ okay? it's not like he does it on purpose, it's just that he's too focused on training and getting better and you have a chef so, he doesn't have to bother too much about it. but if you both were living together, then i think he will obviously learn them cause he doesn't want you to be the only responsible one cleaning after his messes. and he actually has kinda started liking cooking cause it's relaxing (he's also good at chopping up veggies and stuff so you both can cook together). the only part of cooking he hates is when sanji starts giving him tips cause like genuinely, sanji mind your own fucking business okay he'd learn pasta himself. tldr; the first time you teach him these things, he makes a mess and almost burns down your house but afterwards, you can rely on him to get the things done semi-nicely.

💗ending:

if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it? i think if zoro had to breakup with someone it will probably be over focusing on his dreams of being the best swordsman or if you cheated on him or broke his trust. i don't think he will pursue a relationship with someone if he didn't see it lasting, so, he won't break-up for petty reasons (nor do i think he will ever cheat). i also think he's a practical man. he won't try to sugarcoat or make you false promises. he sure as fuck won't tell you that you both can "still be friends" or some shit (i mean unless you're in the same crew then it kinda goes without saying). he'll probably ask you to come have a chat with him. sit you down and tell you directly and exactly why he is doing it. and he absolutely won't let you have any residual doubts if you "weren't enough" for him or so. just because he has to make this decision doesn't mean he doesn't love or respect you. so, even tho he won't ask you to be friends, if you ever need someone to rely on, he will be there for you. bottom line, he will still be a friend to you (though prepare to ignore each other for a long time after the breakup cause obviously it hurts and you might punch him)

💗fiance(e):

how do they feel about commitment? seeing as his character is super ride or die, he definitely doesn't have a problem recognizing how much you mean to him. but he is pretty emotionally constipated, so, he will take an eternity to actually accept how much you mean to him in a non-friendly manner. how quick would they want to get married? settling down??? no. he's not settling down. not until he's the best swordsman atleast. marriage is lowkey scary to him cause he didn't grow up with healthily functioning relationships to look upto but once he started dating you, he could see it potentially being a "forever" sort of a thing. he's probably not gonna say that out loud tho, thats a topic reserved only for wayward day-dreams or super drunken nights. so, as for the marriage thing he'd want to take his time. he would probably choose to achieve his own goals (and support you to reach yours) and then, think about settling down.

💗gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?):

physically: zoro is acutely aware of his super-human strength but it still comes as a shocker to him to see how fragile, almost dainty you are in compare to him. simple things like comparing hand sizes or how large his t-shirt looks on you when you wear it to sleep genuinely leave him awestruck (and slightly lovesick). so, he makes it his number one priority to always be gentle to you, as if he's scared that you're on the cusp of breaking. and he treats you as such always. (unless you ask with tear-lidden eyes and trembling lips how badly you want him to demolish you because then, maybe he is ready to comply) emotionally: like almost everything else, gentle words come hard to him at the start. all he has known is tough love. so, understanding that making fun of you when you're having your weekly breakdown was the wrong choice took him a while. he's not like emotionally stunted but he still doesn't trust his choice of words to comfort you. rather, he lets the way he holds you against him and pets your head when you sob against his chest do the talking. but if you go out of your way to teach him what he should probably say when you're sad then he might have some luck with it. until then, enjoy the cuddles.

💗hugs:

do they like hugs? after starting to date you, this man realized he loves hugs. and he loves giving hugs. but he's incredibly selective and thus far the only two (2) candidates have been allowed to pass through his tedious selection process. that being you and chopper (both of you are in a binding contract so you cant tell anyone about it either). well, luffy too if you count how clingy he can get 👍🏼 how often do they do it? he does hug you atleast once a day even if it as subtle as holding you from the back, resting his head on your shoulder. what are their hugs like? his hugs are genuinely bear hugs. okay. like he will engulf you and you will stand back and allow it to happen. he doesn't really hold on too long tho, so usually you gotta pull him back towards yourself and hug him tighter when you want it to last longer. pulling him towards yourself usually ends with him smiling and pressing a chaste kiss on your temple as his hands snake around you yet again.

💗"I love you" (how fast do they say the L-word?):

i think he says it fairly sooner than you anticipate. like however long you think he will take, it takes significantly lesser time. this is because (as i said), he probably spent a long time in denial and then in pining, so, naturally by the time you got together, he was sure of his feelings for you. anyways, one of my first fics on this blog was of how zoro probably said "i love you" to you when he was drunk and forgot about it when he woke up the next day. i still stand by that. i think it was a genuine, drunken confession but when you shyly confronted him about it, he just replied, "yeah, i meant that. i love you." his words were nonchalant but you could notice the dusted pink of his cheeks when he admits it and then his unsure gaze as he looks over your face and then the ground. (truth is, he only acted nonchalant. internally he is ready to jump off the ship incase you didn't say it back. thank god you said it back.)

💗jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?):

omg this man is simultaneously the most secure and the most jealous whore in this world. does he know you're not gonna cheat on him and ignore practically any man throwing himself on you? yeah, he knows that. but does he also want to cut off all those guys' heads if they even look at you? kinda, yes. i think he gets really shy to admit he's jealous. like he'd blame his irritable temper on the weather or the fact that he got less sleep last night. but you did notice how he clenched his jaw when a random guy in the market had been ogling you. and so, you tease him relentlessly. "zoro," you laugh, poking him in the chest accusingly, "are you sure? i think there might be something else going on" "like what?" he huffs, "i just got less sleep last night." "babe are you like jealous?" "no-" "you totally are" "stop saying that" "jealoussss" as to how does he deal with it? he fucks you. quick 'n easy. (im so sorry if youre a minor and reading this, in that case he pillow fights you to death.)

💗kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?):

what are their kisses like: after a long day, he always unwinds with you. so, his kisses are usually slow. he relishes in the way your lips feels against his, the way your cheeks feel like under his palm and the way you smile at him when you pull away. there's no haste because he has you right there and you both know you're not going anywhere. but on those nights he's pent up, anger and frustration strewn across his veins, he chooses to kiss you till he forgets just what he was angry about. his kiss-bitten lips are hot against yours, his hand roughly kneading your waist as he pours his anger into your desperate kisses. where does he like to kiss you: in public, his favourite spots are definitely your cheek or your temple as they are relatively tame pda tactics but still gets the point across. he gets to show his affection towards you without making a huge show for it. he also loves kissing on your shoulder as he rests his head on your shoulder and holds onto you. he can feel your pulse under his dull, soft kisses and heard your breathy hums and moans.

💗ittle ones (how are they around children?):

well, i hate kids. so, im gonna be biased. okay i don't hate kids but i hate toddlers. fucking devil spawns. i truly believe they will sacrifice us all for the beginning of the dark ages. anyways, zoro's not great with kids in theory. but somehow, when he interacts with kids he does end up somehow being a good (annoyed) dad figure (remember when he fathered three kids? cause i do)

💗mornings (how are mornings spent with them?):

morning with this green-haired ass start with you pushing his heavy arm off of you. you mumble that you're hot, trying to turn away from him and into the cool sheet. but it's no use because he just traps you against him yet again. zoro definitely doesn't give morning person vibes so i believe you are up before he is. you run you fingers softly against his scalp, bringing down your drumming fingers to his bare shoulders. you press an innocent kiss to his forehead and smile when he leans into your faint touches. when he finally wakes up, he looks up at you through sleepy eyes. he greets you with a tired "morning" before closing his eyes and draping himself you again. "zoro" you whisper half-heartedly, "everyone else is up, come on, we should get up too" he mumbles into your skin, "they weren't the ones keeping a watch last night, were they? come on, 10 more mins." "zo-" "please" he looks up at you, flashing you a soft smile, "10 mins." "10 mins only, okay? then we get up" (well, 10? more like 2 mins. luffy started yelling about breakfast and tried to eat before the food was served. and so, sanji (naturally) kicked him to near-death, so, you both had to wake up)

💗night (how are nights spent with them?):

walking out of the shower, you dry yourself off before cladding yourself in your pajamas. your limbs feel tired, body devoid of any and all energy as you climb into your bed to relax. sometimes you read, other times you just stare at the ceilings and think about stuff (we've all been there). zoro usually slips into the room silently, closing the door behind him. he plops down next to you and you curl up against him. sometimes, you both exchange small talk, if something fun happened while the other person wasn't around or gossip you heard from nami and ussop. but most days, you both simply enjoy the silence in each other's company till you're ready to fall asleep. every once in a while, he slips into the shower with you. (keeping this kids friendly) he gently washes your scalp and you rest your bare back against his chest as you ease yourself into the warm water. you return the favor by giving him a back massage. after this youre both so tired that you immediately pass the fuck out.

💗open:

when would they start revealing things about themselves: i feel like he'd know a lot about you before you find out anything important about him. he wears his loyalty and his dreams on his arms, but you don't find out why his dreams are so important or why he is so fidgety around tashigi until you're a good few days into dating. other small things about him are revealed to you thru his actions as he never mentions them, so, be prepared to be a persistent observer. do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly: he always reveals himself in little ways, never revealing too much. not because he doesn't trust you but because he's never had to talk about anything like this out loud. but anytime he does end up telling you something, it ends up being a heart to heart conversation. also, since he does get very drunk very often canonically, i don't think he's the type to slip up and tell things only cause he's not in the right headspace. so i imagine he only tells you things sober and in solitude, further cementing his trust in you.

💗patience (how easily angered are they?):

in moments of actual anger, as a swordsman, zoro is pretty good while handling his emotions. he knows how to differentiate between irrational feelings and actual solutions needed to get to the bottom of something. so, even when he gets mad he wouldn't necessarily act on it unless and until it is truly something that makes him tick. and things that make him tick includes people talking/doing something wrong to you or anyone in the crew, in that case he's going god mode. that being said, he will get easily irritated if someone is just joking around in the crew (especially sanji). he's incredibly patient with you tho, so, don't even worry about it and just accept him dumb antics for what they are.

💗quizzes:

how much would they remember about you? i see yall sleeping on my man and i hate it. yes, hes kind of an idiot and not the best with memory but if it's anything about you or your relationship?? best believe he knows everything like the back of his hand. but he only claims that kind of power when it comes to you cause he will not really bother to remember other stuff if its not important. do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything? even though he wouldn't outright keep saying he remembers, he will often mention it in passing. like if you bring up someone while recounting a story to him, he will probably remember the last time you mentioned that guy. that being said, his memory is still kinda ass. so, he sometimes mixes things up if they aren't that relevant to the plot. so forgive him okay? hes trying

💗remember:

what is their favorite moment in your relationship? i def feel like zoro prefers the mundane moments with you over any extravagant things. living on sea is insane, it's one thing after the other so knowing he has you to himself even for a few hours and in those hours, he gets to do nothing but love you truly means a lot to him. he isn't a cook by any means but this one time, when the rest of the crew had gotten off at a new island to restock and had only left you and him to keep guard, you had suggested you wanted to bake a cake. "i don't know how to cook" he mumbled softly, trying to convince you otherwise, "i can only do some cutting, slashing yk" "you dont even have to do anything!! just sit there and look pretty, i can do the baking." he eventually caved in. but now the memory of you making batter while he sat on the counter, talking to you is etched onto his every nerve. there had been a little bit of flour on your eyebrow and he used his thumb to clean it away before pulling you towards him and kissing you hard. you looked up at him, "i love you" "i love you too"

💗security:

how protective are they? i feel like zoro isn't as territorially protective as one would assume. like i said in the best friend section, he is more a laid-back "i know how to kill and get rid of the body, do whatever you want" kind of a vibe. that doesn't mean that he isn't gonna be on the verge of pulling out his swords the second someone even utters a word against you (but usually his dirty looks get the job done before he even pulls out the swords) how would they protect you? slash slash, stab stab and cocky remarks at the opponent (sometimes pure, unfiltered rage) how would they like to be protected? he's the roronoa zoro, he doesn't need physical protection. that being said, he wouldn't admit it out loud but just because he doesn't need you to pull out a gun to save him doesn't mean it doesn't give him pesky, little butterflies in his stomach whenever you defend him with your words. even if its something as small as calling out someone else's jokes that were targeted at him (and were just straight up offensive). or getting into actual verbal altercations (it happened once when you were drunk)

💗try:

how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks? not a lot, tbh. look hes tired, you're tired, just cuddle and sleep okay? that being said he does put decent amount of efforts to surprise you every once in a while. he doesn't put on an extravagant show, so, mostly his surprises are just kinda lowkey and sweet. so on your anniversary, maybe he'd finally get the stick out of his ass and accept nami's idea of booking you a table somewhere expensive. but the memorable part isn't that, the memorable part is him asking (almost) shyly if you just wanna walk around town after dinner while he holds your hand and you bitch about your crew (in a loving manner).

💗ugly:

what would be some bad habits of theirs? omg obviously the drinking!!! i know he has high tolerance and shit but bro your liver's practically CRYING RN. please introduce yourself to some healthier coping mechanisms other than drinking and going stabby-stab. i also do think he's egoistic (it lessens with time) but its still a pain in the start

💗vanity:

how concerned are they with their looks? this man does not give two fucks about his looks, like legit couldn't care less. he does know he looks decent tho (i mean casting mackenyu was a choice, i see you oda sensei). but ever since dating you, he has been putting in little efforts. i think partially cause you bully him into having a skincare routine and showering daily and partially cause he just wants to be a pretty boyfriend to his favourite girl.

💗whole:

would they feel incomplete without you? yes and no. this is conflicting cause on one hand, ofcourse your absence will be equivalent to having daggers through his heart. but also, he seems like the guy who hyper-focuses on themselves after a breakup. i don't think he'd feel "incomplete" without you if you both ever broke up cause however dumb he is, he knows sometimes things don't work out and that's that. besides, even if you have to go, he still have people (the crew) to love and care for. but he would feel that glaring absence and it'll take a way heavier toll than anyone anticipated (cue him blasting heavy metal in his room and face-timing perona drunk and (almost) crying. perona suggested she takes care of you which made him actually cry cause perona dont be fucking mean)

💗xtra (a random headcanon for them):

zoro is so good at doing eye makeup specifically. i mean like because of all the sword-training and all, he has really good hand-eye coordination and very precise movements. so, like if you asked him to do your liner and give him specific-ish directions for how you want him to do it, he will 100% ace it. he doesn't really do well in other departments but he can learn (if you can make him learn thru that attitude of his) also, i theorize that he's ticklish but in the randomest fucking places. one time you lovingly ran your hand through his hair, bringing it playfully down to his nape and he fuckING GIGGLED?? another time you offered him a leg-massage cause he seemed to have pulled a muscle and you were working on his calf, trying to help him out and he yelped cause it tickled???? hello what do we do with this info now?

💗yuck:

what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner? he wouldn't like judgmental people or people who are very uptight (cause although his jokes could be hit/miss, he doesn't wanna hear a fucking lecture). also dont be disrespectful to him/his friends. and also, i think he would have a thing against people who are too nosy (pre-dating mostly), like if he wanted to tell you something he would other than those basic things, he's chill.

💗zzz:

he's asleep before you can say "good night" because he's a simple man who needs to sleep 10 hours a day (minimum) see he isn't going off ruining lives, he's not fucking things up for someone else, he's just taking a nap. its like the least horrible thing he can do, let him nap. i do think he should get checked for some vitamin deficiency tho caue uh, just in case. that being said, you go to sleep now. i would too. goodnight!

a/n: loved making this so much that i might make one for literally every character ever once i get the time lol

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