Tumgik
#like sometimes being basic about it gets the point across
mrburnsnuclearpussy · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
#all you have to create is something about skinny white men in love and everyone will care about you and them#anything else is just nothing to you ppl lol#what’s the point of trying to be an artist I swear I just wanna give up coz I can’t create enough finished art in general#WHY CANT I DRAW LIKE I DID WHEN I WAS A KID. it felt so easy and now I’m scared to do it for no reason ugh!!#i wish I was interested in the same things as everyone else coz at least then the quality wouldn’t matter and people would care anyway#sorry I know this comes across as really childish and mean and yeh it is I’m just venting#coz sometimes I look at certain popular profiles and stuff and it makes me ache coz I’ll never be a part of the big club where you can feel#love and I’ll never be able to coz I’m just a robot thing with no humanity!!!#even the LITERAL ROBOT is still reduced in the fandom to being shipped like just fuck off all of you#one of my bigger recent passion Roberts is a story and even when I have some motivation and energy I just remember that literally not a sing#single person on earth has any reason to care about it and why should they! so I just feel like crawling into a hole and sulking like a piss#pissbaby which is what I’m doing lol#just because it’s not about young skinny men and the ‘purity/beauty/divinity/superiority of romantic love </3’ and#and YUMMY SQUISHY ORGANIC RED PASSIONATE things because illl never be a part of all of that anyway#I’m not amazing I don’t have the inherent drama and meaningfulness of romantic love in me as a potential so I’m basically nothing#my life means nothing because i can’t feel the one thing that matters#-(one thing that matters according to the world and like all communities and societies and any place to feel like you’re a part of somethin#)#and if your broken (empty of romantic love) like me you’re told to go play by yourself in the corner and not complain that#everyone else gets to be in the group#‘just do your own thing it doesn’t matter what society thinks’ is well meaning and <3 but for me I just hear ‘don’t be a part of us’#what if I want to be a part of something? what if I want society to know and understand me?
4 notes · View notes
genshin-obsessed · 2 months
Note
Could I request Diluc, Kaeya, and Zhongli trying their hardest -and failing- not to cry after their wife, due to being tired and frustrated during an argument, wonders if they should get divorced because she thinks she's tying them down?
Ooh, ok, I need to sleep BUT the chance to write angst? sleep can wait! I wasn't entirely sure how to end it so I just left it like this. I'm sure this could be much, much longer but I didn't wanna make it too long, yanno? meant as a fem!reader but I don't mentions pronouns, just the term 'wife'.
Tumblr media
▻ Kaeya
He didn't really know when the argument started. He didn't know what it was about anymore either. It was one of those arguments where the points end up getting lost and you're just yelling at one another about something completely unrelated. Honestly, you two were basically screaming at one another. But then he heard that one, awful sentence he never wanted to hear in his life.
"Why don't we just get a divorce and I won't be ruining your life anymore!?" Suddenly, the room's so eerily quiet that you finally realized what you said. Your gaze held Kaeya's and you watched as his usual cocky exterior just melt and tears fill his beautiful eyes. He slapped the back of his hand against his lips to stop but he couldn't. Your words shook him to his core and every thought in his mind was wiped away.
At some point, he didn't even register you trying to calm him down as he fell to his knees, tears flooding down his face. He didn't even register as he wrapped his arms around you in a near death grip, begging for you to stay.
He loved you, adored you, cherished you, worshipped you basically. So... wherever did you get this idea that you were tying him down? That you were ruining his life? Just where did he end up going wrong for you to have such awful thoughts?
Tumblr media
▻ Diluc
Often talking to Diluc was something that was a little touch and go. He didn't talk much and when he did, he usually only talked enough to get the point across and that was it. Even during arguments, Diluc only spoke when he felt it was necessary. To avoid pointless yelling matches, he kept quiet until you were done.
But tonight was... different. Maybe it was a hard day for him, maybe it was something you said, maybe it was that he had a frustrating spat with Kaeya, or maybe that he was dealing with issues at the tavern... but tonight, Diluc was just as angry as you. You two were yelling so much that even the maids heard you outside of the manor. There was no end in sight.
"Then leave, Diluc! Leave me and you can be happy doing whatever you want! I won't be here to tie you down anymore and you can be a free fucking bird!" Diluc opened his mouth to retaliate but nothing came out. It was like the world stopped moving for a second. This uncomfortable pit grew in his stomach and he just knew it was bad. You thought you were tying him down? Never once did such an atrocious thought ever cross his mind. Never during an argument, never during a bad day, not once in his life.
So... why did you? Diluc didn't realize just how much he hated the silence until that moment. He hated it so much, that the tears he attempted to bury just burst out in a loud cry. Anything to stop that deafening silence.
Tumblr media
▻ Zhongli
Zhongli was by far, the worst person to argue with. Why? He just sat there silently until you were done. Zhongli didn't argue, no. He waited, listened, then just explained his side. If it didn't work, he'd step away. But even an archon such as himself had limits. Your arguments never turned into screaming matches, at least not on his end, but sometimes they dragged on.
Today was just one such day. Even with his near impeccable memory, the man couldn't recall what happened to lead you two here. You were so upset and angry and no matter what he did, he made it worse. Truth be told, he was angry and frustrated too. It was like neither of you were listening to each other anymore.
"Well, if it's all pointless then why don't we just quit now?! Let's just get a divorce and you can go on happily without a wife to just drag you down!" That's when everything just stopped. Zhongli slowly looked away as he registered the words, feeling his chest begin to constrict.
Why... did you say that? Why would you think that? Was that his fault? You figure began to blur and he fell to his knees, desperately grabbing the dining table for support. You were at his side and tried to calm him down, desperately trying to wipe his tears but anything you said after just... didn't touch him. The awful reality of his life had his heart in a death grip and he could only listen if he got away from it.
1K notes · View notes
mypoisonedvine · 8 months
Text
𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 (part one) | neil lewis x reader
title comes from the song you already know by bombay bicycle club
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you've been best friends with neil basically your entire life, and secretly in love with him almost as long. will you ever find the courage to tell him the truth?
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 10k
𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut, angst, pining/unrequited love - 18+ only
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | alcohol consumption, 'kid' as a petname, reader being kind of a femcel, jonathan being kind of mvp??
Tumblr media
Neil had asked you to make sure the Thriller section was alphabetized; sometimes you thought he was just giving you tasks to look busy, but then again, you could probably use it since the employees of Gumshoe Video never looked very busy.  You spent most of the day on the couches, watching whatever old bizarre gem Neil put on— sometimes you thought he only had employees other than himself so that he could pay people to sit here and watch this stuff with him.  
But, the point is, you were sorting tapes.  Because everyone needs their VHS thriller movies to be in perfect alphabetical order.
There actually was a customer in the store, for once, so it was better not to be on the couch anyhow.  You hadn’t really noticed him when he came in, but as he wandered around the shelves, he seemed to drift towards you.  
You tried to ignore him when he stopped right beside you— and kneeling to look at the lowest shelf, he towered over you— but when you stood up he got your attention.  
"Need any help, sweetheart?" he asked, leaning in a little too close.  "I'm kind of a movie buff."
He had a frat guy kind of look about him— polo, boat shoes, quaffed blonde hair.  He could be good-looking, you thought, if he didn’t dress like a discount Abercrombie model… and if he didn’t hit on random women at the video store.  "I actually work here," you corrected, barely looking up from your task.  This is why we need uniforms instead of just dressing up to promote specials…
"Oh, really?" he smirked.  "What made you wanna work in a place like this?"
"My best friend owns the place," you explained, "and I'm, you know… kind of a movie buff."
"Right," he said, not seeming convinced.  "You like Kubrick?"
You rolled your eyes so hard you almost choked: Wow, what a deep cut.  But you kept a straight-ish face when you looked at him.  "Yeah, he's pretty good.  Don't care for how he treats his actors, but he was certainly a visionary."
"What are your top five favorite Kubrick movies?"
You knew this guy was a tool, but you were still a bit shocked that he actually had the gall to quiz you.  "Excuse me?" you scoffed incredulously.
"Can you even name five?" he asked, looking horribly proud of himself, and you straightened up as you glared at him.
"You're heterosexual, right?" you asked him, getting a confused nod.  "Can you name five women you've made come?"
Neil watched the guy storm out, Lucien cringed a bit from behind the register— and Jonathan, not seeming as if he had been paying attention at all, kept laying across the couch and tossing a ball up in the air to catch and throw again.
“Okay, that’s gotta be the third this week,” Lucien groaned.  “What are you saying to these guys?”
“Nothing worse than what they’re saying to me,” you assured with a frustrated, sarcastic smile.
“Listen, don’t get me wrong,” Neil began, “that guy totally deserved it— but maybe, you know… work on your demeanor with customers?”
“Wow,” you scoffed as you crossed your arms, “do you think I should smile more, too?”
“Wha— no!” Neil denied.  
“Yes,” Lucien said at the same time, though he changed his answer with an awkward cough and mumble when you both shot him a look.  “No, no— you’re good— you smile too much, even…”
“I don’t mean it like that,” Neil promised.  “But I think half the guys that come here are just coming here to see you!  Nobody even rents movies anymore.”  He groaned a little, dropping his shoulders defeatedly.  “Can’t you… tell them you’ll go out with them if they rent something?”
“What?!” you squeaked. “No!”
“Sales would double,” Lucien nodded.
“No,” you said again.  “I’m not letting you pimp me out to sell tapes, Neil.”
“I just mean— maybe you don’t really go out with them,” he suggested.  “Just… allude to the fact that you’re only interested in guys who…”
He trailed off as he searched around the shelves for a bit, smiling when he snagged a copy of The Maltese Falcon.
“— in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” he grinned, “you know— for example.  Then they rent it to impress you and we make a few bucks.”
“I am only interested in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” you frowned, snatching the tape away and shoving it back on the shelf.  “But that’s not the point.”
“Maybe you have to be more straightforward, you know,” Jonathan butted in as he sat up, “guys are dumb.”
“Yeah!” Neil agreed a little too easily.
“Just say something about how a massive VHS collection turns you on,” Lucien suggested, and you glared at him.
“Jesus!” you protested, but Neil tried to soothe you a bit.
"C'mon, kid, can't you just… flirt a little?  Get our sales up?"
He'd started calling you kid since you two watched Casablanca together— which was especially stupid as you were both twelve at the time.  At first you complained because he shouldn't be calling you kid with you both being kids; then you complained because neither of you were kids; and then you gave up.  You still punched Lucien for trying to call you that once… you only barely let Neil get away with it anyways.
But you let Neil get away with a lot.  It was a side effect of being secretly, but massively, in love with him.
It had been an issue since middle school— that was when the two of you became such good friends.  Technically, you’d known each other since first grade (where you had shared your crayons, a true test of friendship at the time), and you’d sort of had a crush on him as early as elementary school (mainly because he was the only boy you could stand at the time), but it all kicked into high gear in seventh grade.  That was when you became inseparable, when you got in trouble together, when you stayed up all night watching movies, when you went through all of life’s ups and downs together: you even went to prom together, platonically of course.  
As for your feelings, you’d managed to hide them this long and still be his best friend, even when it sometimes felt like letting him stomp all over your heart without even trying.  Honestly, the only thing harder than being in love with Neil was trying not to be in love with Neil: you adored his sense of humor, his generosity, his sensitivity— and he’d been there for you through the things you couldn’t have imagined surviving alone.  That kinda stuff bonds you to somebody… and when that somebody has the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen, it’s hard not to fall in love.
“Maybe I would flirt if I knew how,” you offered.  “But I’m not exactly, you know, flirty.”
“How hard could it be?” Jonathan interjected.  “Just, you know—”
You stared in quiet disbelief as Jonathan attempted to push his chest together with his arms.  It wasn’t quite working, of course, and the rest of you watched on as he fumbled around trying to force some cleavage.  “You look like an idiot,” you finally informed him after letting him do it for a minute.
“But is he wrong?” Lucien wondered.
“So, what, you guys really think that if I just went up to customers and—” you pushed your breasts together with your arms, accentuating them significantly in your tank top.
“That would work,” all three men asserted in unison before you could even finish.
“I fucking hate you guys,” you grumbled under your breath as you walked to the back, deciding to take your break in Neil’s office until these guys got their act together.
You never stayed gone for long, though— as idiotic as they could be, your friends were certainly charming.  They won you back with a promise to let you pick what tape to put on, and the four of you ended up laying on the couches watching Roman Holiday.  
When the movie was almost over, you rested your head on Neil’s shoulder; you guys did stuff like that, it was normal for you, but it always made your heart skip anyways.
~
This time, you were all hanging out at Jonathan’s primary workplace: the club.  In fact, it was a much larger crowd than just you and the guys— plenty of your local friends and loyal supporters of Gumshoe Video, all sitting around a big table while someone’s mediocre cover band took the stage.
"So, uh, me and Denise broke up," Neil said suddenly, going back in for another swig of beer right after.
The others offered their mild shock and half-hearted condolences, but you knew it was going to happen— he'd told you before he did it.  You tried to tell him that paying off a waiter to spill water on her was a weird way to prove what he already knew, but you couldn't disagree with his conclusion.  She was definitely difficult, and shockingly judgemental for someone who managed to date a video store owner for this long.
“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he promised, “I don’t think anybody’s too surprised, right?”
There was an awkward hesitation among the group as they wondered if they should lie, or just fess up now that he was obviously accurate.  You broke the silence to suggest someone go get another round of drinks for the table, and even though that was pretty much a one-man job, nearly everyone agreed and quickly shuffled off— leaving just you, Neil, and Lucien.
“I guess tonight’s your chance to meet somebody new, don’t you think?” Lucien suggested.  “Get over Denise, you know.”
“I think I’m already over Denise,” Neil decided.
“And if I told you that girl back there,” Lucien returned, pointing with the hand still holding his drink, “has been looking over here at you for the past ten minutes?”
You glanced where Lucien was pointing as well, seeing a girl in a denim mini skirt and massive hoop earrings settle her eyes on Neil before looking away quickly with a lip-gloss lacquered smile.
“I think I need some help getting over Denise,” Neil agreed suddenly, patting Lucien on the back before he left the table.  
You wanted to pout, but you were used to this— he was good-looking, he got a lot of attention from women in places like this… it usually didn’t work out for him, though.  Certainly not never, probably more often than most guys, but… definitely not every time.
You tried not to look over too much, you didn’t want to get caught spying or, even worse, looking a little jealous— but you noticed that every time you looked over at them, Neil was talking.  That was his problem, see: he never fucking shuts up.  Guys, girls, anybody who will listen— if you admit to not knowing about his favorite fifty-year-old spaghetti western or the most recent pre-Code horror comedy he watched, he’ll gladly blab to you about it for ages.  The first time you glanced at them, you saw her giving him doe eyes, laughing at something he said— and the last time, those eyes had glazed over and her laugh seemed more nervous and confused; you smirked to yourself.  He’s still Neil…
“So, um,” you struck up a conversation with Lucien, “what about you?  Anybody here catching your eye?”
“That’s actually the perfect descriptor of my type,” he replied.  “Anybody.”
You snorted.  “Then you should go, you know, talk to anybody?”
He shrugged and frowned a bit, and it was a simple movement but you understood completely.
The band started to play a new song, something upbeat and energetic, and you smiled.  “Wanna dance with me?”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m drunk enough for that—” Lucien began to protest, but a minute later you were dragging him up by the stage.  Neither of you were actually any good at dancing, mainly you were just kind of jumping and flailing around together, but it was fun and that was the point.
Eventually, more of your friends wandered in to join you; when the song ended, everyone clapped and cheered, the band bowing in gratitude.  You only stole one more look over at Neil and his conversation partner, watching her interrupt his rant with a hand on his shoulder: your throat felt a little dry.  You just hoped what she was saying was more like hey, my friends are leaving, I’ve gotta go and not hey, wanna come over to my place so you can keep explaining German expressionism to me?
Your heart dropped when he reached for her— what if he kissed her now?  What if he wrapped her up under his arm and they walked out together?  What if you had to spend the whole night thinking about him having sex with her?
“Hey, we should ask them if they know any Strokes songs!” Lucien suggested, tugging on your arm to get your attention, but your mind was elsewhere.
“Uh huh, yeah,” you mumbled blankly, and he frowned at you.
“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to look for what you were seeing; but Neil wasn’t reaching for her, he was lifting his hand to wave goodbye as she left.  You beamed, even though you did feel a little bad when you saw Neil’s shoulders sink— it’s not that you wanted him to be alone forever, you were just relieved that you might have a few more moments to breathe before he got with somebody again.
“Nothing, sorry,” you answered Lucien, giving him your attention again.  “What’d you say?”
“We should ask the band if they—”
And immediately, Lucien lost your focus as you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at Neil again— he was already looking at you, seeing you all on the dancefloor.  You waved for him to join you, and he smiled as he made his way towards the stage.  A new song began, even louder than the last, and you could blame that for not hearing Lucien’s question for the second time in a row.
Although he danced with you all for a few moments, Neil draped his arms over your and Lucien’s shoulders, nearly yelling to be heard over the music.
“You guys are coming over tonight for a movie, right?” he presumed.  “Jonathan’s working ‘til late so he’s out, but—”
“Sorry, I’ve gotta be up early,” Lucien explained, “my brother and his wife are visiting, remember?  We’re getting brunch and—”
“Whatever, party pooper,” Neil frowned, before suddenly smiling at you.  “Guess it’s just me and you, huh, kid?”
You tried not to sigh too noticeably through your smile.  “Yeah, me and you…” you agreed.
~
As you groggily blinked your eyes open, you found Neil staring at you, his face uncomfortably close to yours, with a big smile.  “Mornin’, kid,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
You yelped and nearly jumped out of your skin while he laughed.  “Jesus Christ, Neil!” you shouted, kicking off the blanket on you— and then you began to process where you were and why.  “God,” you groaned as you held your head in your hands, while Neil kept laughing at you, “did I fall asleep on the couch again?”
It was sort of a rhetorical question— obviously you had, it would be much stranger if you woke up on the video store couch without having fallen asleep there.  “Yeah,” he said, standing up and sighing a bit, “but you didn’t miss that much of the movie.”
“What happened at the end?” you asked, stretching your legs and snatching the blanket off the floor to fold up; Neil must have put it on you after you dozed off.
“No, we can finish it later,” he decided, walking up to the register, and you groaned.
“Seriously?  Not even falling asleep gets me out of finishing The Man Who Laughs?”
He smiled a little as he started prepping the store for open.  “Nope,” he said proudly, popping his lips on the p sound.
“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” you assured, getting up and trying to ignore the soreness in your back from sleeping on a ratty old sofa all night— you remembered helping Neil carry this thing from where he found it on the side of the road.  Considering you knew where it came from, it was a wonder you ever sat on it, let alone slept on it… but this happened relatively often.  Sometimes it almost felt like you slept easier here or at Neil’s apartment than your own. 
You stood up and stretched your arms, sparing a glance over at him.
“Can I run home and change?” you asked, and he frowned.  
“We open in ten minutes,” he noticed, “you won’t be back in time.”
“Yes, and who will serve the clamoring crowds that await our open outside?” you rolled your eyes, gesturing out the storefront to the abandoned sidewalk.  “You can handle it on your own.”
“Just go to my place,” he shrugged, “it’s closer.  And I think you left some jeans there anyway.”
Right— you’d borrowed a pair of his sweats to get comfy for a movie night, and forgot to take the jeans back when you left.  You yourself had one of Neil’s short-sleeve button-ups at your place, when you’d both changed there for a costume party, but you let him believe it was just lost… it was too late to tell him now that you had it, ‘cause then he might ask why you kept it so long and then he might, somehow, deduce that you had been cuddling it at night from time to time…
“Right, okay,” you nodded, “but I still need a shirt.”
“Just borrow one of mine,” he said, like it was no big deal at all and didn’t make your heart skip.
For a second you wondered if you should protest— if he was still dating Denise, you probably would’ve said something.  But you decided not to say anything, in case he changed his mind; you nearly bolted out of the store and down the two blocks to his apartment.
Your jeans were on the dresser, draped haphazardly in their same just-peeled-off shape you must have left them in last week.  You grumbled to yourself a little about how he could’ve folded them for you so they wouldn’t be wrinkled… but then again, all his jeans were wrinkled, so he clearly didn’t know any better.
And now the fun part: picking a shirt.  You smiled to yourself as you opened the drawer, perusing through t-shirts with old movie posters and semi-witty slogans… cute, sure, but those were pretty similar to what you already wore.  
But the button-downs?  Those were quintessential Neil, and you'd be wasting an opportunity if you didn't put one of those on.
You felt a little giddy as you opened the next drawer down and found them all folded.  The first one you saw had light blue and white stripes, so you snatched it up and slipped it on.
The fit was definitely off, but you let yourself indulge in a fantasy for a moment: waking up here, in Neil's bed… in Neil's arms.  You'd slip on his shirt while you went to find some breakfast, and he'd hum something about how pretty you look in his clothes, and you'd end up tangled in the sheets again not too much later.  
Sighing to yourself, you buttoned the last button, leaving the two at the top undone so you didn't look too formal, and headed back to the store for opening.
Neil stared at you for a second when you walked in— at the shirt, specifically.  You waited for him to say something, but he didn't.  "What, should I not wear this one?" you asked, looking down at it as well, and he shook his head.
"No, no, it's fine— sorry," he mumbled, "just start sorting out last night's returns, please."
You definitely got a much stronger reaction from Jonathan, as soon as he walked in the door.
(Why was he here when he wasn't even working today?  Who knows— he was just always here somehow.)
“Hey!  You look even more like a lesbian than usual,” Jonathan greeted with a peppy fake-smile as he approached you, and you smirked a bit.
“Don’t blame me, it’s his shirt,” you nodded towards Neil.
“See, I told you you dress like a— wait,” Jonathan stopped mid-insult, looking back at you, then at Neil again, then at you; he pointed his fingers at each of you, crossing them back and forth.  “Did… you two…?”
You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to explain what he meant.
“Did you guys hook up?!” Jonathan accused, wide-eyed.
You felt your face getting warm, and you stammered out your denial; Neil started waving his hands in disagreement as well, but Jonathan was already on a roll.
“Oh my god!” he yelped.  “The one time I miss movie night here and it gets freaky!  Should’ve known better than to leave you two lovebirds alone—”
“Jonathan, we didn’t—” you choked.
“It’s not— it wasn’t—” Neil butted in.  “She just borrowed my shirt!  ‘Cause she— because—”
“I mean, we’ve kinda all been waiting for this to happen— but I never really thought it would,” Jonathan steamrolled along.  “Well, yeah, I guess I thought it would, I just—”
“Wait wait wait, what?” Neil shook his head, stepping up closer to the two of you.  “What does that mean?”
Finally, he seemed to get Jonathan’s attention, who began to nervously backtrack as both of you stared at him.  “W-well, I just mean—” he started.
“And who’s ‘we all’?” Neil noticed.  “This isn’t just you, thinking this?”
“I… I mean,” Jonathan scoffed, “you know— just, just some people… we thought that maybe… that since you two are so close, that you might—”
“Wow,” Neil chuckled, crossing his arms in disappointment.  “You know, that’s so reductive.  For a bunch of progressive, free-thinking hipsters—” he waved his hands as he said it in a mocking way— “you’re really just, like… like… you know, not!  ‘Cause apparently men and women can’t really be friends?”
“No, come on, not like that,” Jonathan denied, “of course we can—”
“I mean, you’re her friend, you’re both single,” Neil noticed, gesturing between the two of you, “why don’t you two, just, you know… hook up!”
You cringed a little as Jonathan tugged at his collar nervously.  “Well, I—”
“Come on, why not?” Neil went on, smiling at the suggestion even though he was clearly unamused.  “I mean, she’s nice, she’s pretty, she’s got a vagina— why don’t you hit on her?”
“Hey, come on, Neil,” Jonathan sighed, “I’m well aware she’s got a vagina—”
“So what’s the problem?” Neil insisted.  “Clearly you can’t just be friends with someone with a vagina—”
“I would really prefer if we didn’t talk about my vagina anymore,” you mumbled nervously.
“— how come you never hit on her, Jonny?” Neil pressed, backing him into a corner metaphorically— but also somewhat literally, he was leaning in and Jonathan was pressing his back more and more against the shelves.
“You really want me to answer that?” Jonathan replied, almost threatening.  That made you furrow your brow a bit.  It seemed like a rhetorical question, Neil trying to prove a point, but you didn’t expect Jonathan to have a literal answer.
“Yeah, sure,” Neil decided, “enlighten us.”
Neil glanced at you, like you were just as gung-ho about this interrogation, but you were feeling a little sick.  You understood the spirit of Neil’s argument— and technically, you agreed with him— but it still stung to see him so incensed at the suggestion of you two together.  You were trying not to take it personally, it wasn’t like he was disgusted by you or anything… he even said just now that you were pretty, and he’d told you that before, but… it still bothered you a little, for reasons you couldn’t quite describe and that you were sure were illogical.
“I never hit on her,” Jonathan answered, lowering his voice, “because I… I figured it would piss you off.”
That seemed to surprise you both, maybe for different reasons; you bit your lip to suppress a smile.  Did Jonathan really think Neil was that protective over you?  “Why would it piss me off?” Neil wondered, but he sounded a little defensive— defensive in a caught-red-handed sort of way.
“I… I don’t know,” Jonathan shrugged.  “That’s just the vibe I got, okay?  That she’s sorta… off-limits.”
Neil hesitated.  “Well… she’s not,” he decided.  “You’re grown-ups.  Whatever you wanna do is none of my business— as long as you’re not being, you know, creepy or an asshole.”
“Of course,” Jonathan agreed, most of the tension settling as Neil backed up a step.
“Okay, well, ask her out then,” Neil instructed firmly.
“I didn’t say I wanted to!” Jonathan sputtered.
��Neil, Jesus!” you complained simultaneously, and he seemed to relent, shrugging as he walked back to the register.
“Sorry, sorry,” he dismissed, “just letting you know it’s… fine with me!”
You rolled your eyes a bit and looked back at Jonathan.  “Sorry,” you offered him quietly, “he’s… I don’t know.  He gets weird about that.”
“Oh really?” Jonathan scoffed sarcastically.  “Didn’t notice.”
“The real reason you shouldn’t be hitting on me is because we’re coworkers, by the way,” you reminded him.
“Hey, I only work here part-time,” Jonathan noticed, “so I think that means it’s cool as long as we only go out part-time.”
You snorted, but he seemed to get nervous.
“You know I’m kidding, right?” he added quickly, and you nodded with a laugh.
~
"You know, I was thinking— we don't have many events at the store these days,” Neil mumbled around a bite of pretzel, watching you play your turn at Skee Ball.  Normally he would put coins in the machine beside yours and try to beat your score, but the other machine was out of order and you decided to take a relay race approach.  “What if we did, like, I don’t know… maybe a double feature for a couple bucks?”
“Neil, we show movies every night,” you sighed, “and we invite everybody, and ninety-nine percent of the time it’s just some combination of me, you, Jonathan, and Lucien.”
“Yeah, but this time we could do movies that more people like— a little easier to watch,” he suggested, “something that would get new people in the store.”
“New people don’t wanna sit on a musty old couch with strangers,” you reminded him, and he nodded as he chewed and swallowed his next bite.
“You’re right,” he agreed, holding the pretzel out towards you.  “Wanna bite?”
You were trying to get through your skee balls pretty quick, so you just leaned your head over and chomped down on the end of one of the twists while he held it for you.  You hummed in appreciation— it was pretty good, fresher than the last one you guys got here.
Visits to the arcade used to be your thing, back in high school (aside from watching movies, but that was a given).  Then you slowed down with the trips, feeling a little old and out of place surrounded by kids— but the problem was, this place wasn’t filled with kids anymore.  It hadn’t changed much at all since you were both in high school, and that was exactly the issue: it was old, run-down, a bit grimey… kids weren’t coming to arcades anymore anyways, they were all on the Internet apparently.  So, while you and Neil sort of appreciated having the place to yourself, it also broke your heart knowing your old haunt couldn’t hold itself together forever… you two visited not just to recapture some old childhood joys, but to try to do your part to keep the business afloat.  
You pretended to like being here— because you really did want to support the place, and Neil wanted to keep coming back— but it actually made you pretty fucking sad.  Surrounded by all the neon, the noisy pinball machines, the Dig Dug machine that had a fifty-fifty chance of stealing your quarters, the photobooth (you still had some strips from that thing pinned to your wall, some so old that they’d faded from the sunlight that came in your window each day); it all felt sort of eerie now.  You would’ve never known all those years ago how little this place would change, even though you never expected it to— you would’ve never known how little anything would change.  Neil was still by your side, but still so far away… if you could talk to that fourteen-year-old girl now, you would warn her that no amount of time spent running around this place and playing Street Fighter was going to make Neil love her, or you.
But here you were anyways.  “Woo!” you cheered when your final score came through: 50,765.  “Beat that!”
Neil set the pretzel down on the bar-height table (on a pile of napkins, don’t worry, neither of you trusted those tables that much) and brushed the salt off his hands with a scoff.  “Oh please, I can beat that with my eyes closed,” he assured as you crossed your arms.
As he put his quarters in and stepped up to the game, you smiled wide.  “Alright, if you say so.”
You came up behind him and covered his eyes with your hands, making him jump and then laugh.  “What are you doing?”
“Just keeping you honest,” you giggled, holding on tight even when he tried to move his head around so that he could see.  
He did his best, usually struggling to even find where the balls were coming down more than rolling them decently— but after the first three went in the gutter without even scoring, you knew he didn’t stand a chance.  He did score a few times, but when the buzzer went off and he lifted your hands from his eyes, he laughed at the pitiful 1,150 on the board.
“Ohh, that’s too bad,” you winced, “guess you’re just full of it.”
Still holding your hands away from his face, he spun around and twirled under your arms like you were dancing for a moment; it ended with him face-to-face with you, swinging your hands back and forth a bit to force you to twist with him slightly.  “Wanna play Street Fighter next?” he suggested quickly.  “I know I can beat you at that.”
The giddy joy of the moment dropped and shattered; if you thought about it too much, you probably could’ve cried right then.  As pathetic, yet oddly aesthetically pleasing, as it would be to cry in an arcade, you swallowed down the emotion and smiled back at him.  “Yeah, okay,” you agreed.
~
You’d been a little antsy all day— Neil seemed to notice, asking a couple times if you were okay, but you just nodded and shrugged it off.  He had a sense for when you were lying; but that’s the thing, you weren’t lying, really.  You just weren’t sure what to say.  You weren’t sure if you should say anything.  And yet, you felt a little guilty not telling him everything that was going on with you— not just guilty, but plain weird.  Because you usually did tell him everything— except, you know, the thing— but you didn’t know if you should talk about this.  Not that you couldn’t— but should you?
So you were sort of gnawing on your lip most of the day, keeping yourself busy with tallying late fees behind the desk, trying to keep conversation light and meaningless: thankfully, in that regard, Jonathan and Lucien made it pretty easy.
“Okay: fuck, marry, kill,” Jonathan began, “Dracula, the Mummy, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
“Dude, I can’t answer that,” Lucien refused.
“Okay, then Neil, what would you do?” Jonathan changed his target.
“Um, well,” Neil pondered, “I think I’d have to kill Dracula— spare the world from that evil, you know— and I guess I’d marry the Mummy—”
“Freud would like to have a word,” Lucien butted in.
“And I’d fuck the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” he concluded, “out of morbid curiosity.”
You snorted, but didn’t look up from your clipboard.  “You come up with one that Lucien will do,” Jonathan challenged Neil.
“Alright, uhh, let’s see…” Neil stalled as he thought, looking up at the ceiling and stroking his chin dramatically.  “Fuck, marry, kill: Sarah Carter, Ripley, and Trinity from Matrix.”
“Okay, see, that’s a real challenge,” Lucien affirmed.  “If I marry Trinity, do I have to live in the post-apocalyptic wasteland or can she live here?”
“You’d have to live in the Matrix,” Jonathan announced, like it was obvious.
“Hm,” Lucien pondered, “do I know it’s a false reality?  Does she know?”
“She knows, you don’t,” Neil decided.
“Is she gonna tell me?  What if she has another guy on the side in the real world?”
“Okay, you’re overthinking this,” Jonathan groaned.
“And is this the Sarah Carter that’s already had John?  ‘Cause if not, I can’t kill her, or the human revolution stands no chance— but if she has him, I can’t marry her, ‘cause I’m not ready to be a stepfather—”
“You’re useless,” Jonathan informed him flatly.
“Well, it’s easy then,” you offered, still tallying fees on the printed table.  “You fuck Carter, marry Ripley and kill Trinity.”
“Yeah, I guess that works,” Lucien shrugged.
“If you’re so good at this game, you should play,” Jonathan decided.  You looked up from your work for once, finding Lucien looking excited at the idea and Neil looking a little nervous but intrigued.
“I’ve got one for you,” Lucien decided, looking concerningly smug.  “Fuck, marry, kill: the three of us.”
Jonathan let out a giddy ‘ooh’ and Neil raised his eyebrows.  “Oh— I don’t know— that’s too weird,” you shook your head, “it’s different, you’re real—”
“Wait, wait,” Neil interrupted, “now I wanna know.”
You froze for a second, wondering if you should double down on not participating, or if you should tell him the first thing that popped in your head: am I allowed to do all three to you?
Instead, you set the clipboard down and crossed your legs, and the men seemed to straighten up as they prepared for your answer.  “Alright,” you said, looking at them for a lingering moment before sighing.  “I think I’d fuck Jonathan, and then kill myself.”
“Yes,” Jonathan hissed, shaking his fist triumphantly.
“Dude, really?” Lucien snapped at him.  “That didn’t sound like a compliment to me.”
“Don’t care, I stopped listening after ‘fuck Jonathan’,” he replied.  “Alright, Neil, you’re gonna have to make good on that ‘she’s not off-limits’ promise you made to me—”
But Neil wasn’t listening to Jonathan, he was still looking at you.  “Wait— you wouldn’t marry me?” Neil interrupted, putting a hand on the desk and leaning in a bit closer— he looked half-amused and half-offended, and your heart skipped a beat.
“Um…” you started to wonder how to defend yourself from that.  What did he expect you to say?  Yes, I’d marry you, I’ve actually been planning our wedding since junior year.
“Hold on,” Lucien stopped you, “if she fucks you and marries you, that means I’m getting killed!”
“Yeah, so?” Jonathan smirked.
“What, you don’t think I’m marriage material?” Neil laughed… but he didn’t seem like he was really joking, per se.  He didn’t seem serious either, of course, but you decided to take his question seriously since he’d dared to ask it twice.
“Well,” you mumbled, “no.  I don’t.”
Then he seemed a bit more serious, adjusting his posture a bit.  “Why not?”
“I mean… you’re my best friend,” you reminded him, “but… you’re not reliable.”
He nodded, pursing his lips together.
“You’re not ready for marriage,” you continued.  “I mean, I think you’re just as sure of that as I am.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“And honestly?  You’re a great friend and all, but… if you were my husband, I don’t think I could really… you know, trust you…”
The silence seemed a little heavy— all the men were sort of frozen for a second, you wondered if you should wave your arm around to make sure time hadn’t stopped.  But they did move, Neil first in fact, as he stopped leaning on the counter and nodded a little.
“I’m just surprised that you didn’t fuck Dracula,” Jonathan said to Neil in an attempt to cut the tension, “considering your massive man-crush on Bela Lugosi.”
“Hey, that reminds me, tonight’s movie is Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla,” Neil announced, apparently shaking off whatever odd energy he’d picked up just before, “you in?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jonathan nodded, “should I bring drinks?”
“Uhh, yeah, why not?” Neil agreed. 
“Is a six-pack enough?”
"Uh, maybe…” Neil considered, turning over his shoulder to look at you.  “Kid, how many beers are you gonna want?”
You swallowed nervously.  “Um, I… well, I’m not coming.  I’ve got a date, actually.”
Of course it was just assumed that you would be there; you felt a little guilty admitting you wouldn’t, to the point that you almost considered just skipping said date and staying to avoid the awkwardness.
“Hey, great!” Jonathan said proudly, throwing his arms out wide.
“A date, huh?” Neil noticed, looking happily surprised.  “Sorry, I— I didn’t know— you didn’t say anything—”
“No, it’s cool,” you shook your head, “it’s kind of a last minute thing… you know how they’re showing Rope at the Palace tonight?  I met this, um, this guy the other day and we got to talking, and I asked him if he’d wanna come with me.”
“Rope, wow, that’s a great first date movie,” Neil nodded approvingly, “that sounds perfect.”
“Yeah— he hasn’t seen it, actually,” you admitted, smiling nervously, “so I guess how much he likes it will kinda be a good judge of if he’s worth going out again, right?”
Jonathan nodded approvingly, but Neil seemed skeptical.  "Well, the showing isn't until nine— you can at least hang out until the movie starts, right?"
"I've gotta get home and get changed!" you explained 
"You can't wear that to a date?" Julien wondered.
"No!" you scoffed, looking down at your ripped jeans and Dracula t-shirt.  "Besides, I have this whole plan of what I'm gonna wear— remember when we did Bonnie and Clyde for Halloween?"
Neil was Bonnie and you were Clyde, in fact; he looked shockingly good in that blood-red lipstick, you tried to convince him to wear it again but he insisted it was a one-night-only situation.  
"I figure if I wear my Clyde suit, I'll look kinda like James Stewart!"
"You're doing drag on a first date?" Lucien pressed, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, lighten up, I'm just dressing up for the movie— I'll still, you know, try to look pretty," you assured.  "What, I don't look good in a suit?  'Cause I got a lot of compliments on Halloween—"
"No, hey, go for it," Jonathan decided, "it's festive!"
"I think it's cool," Neil agreed.  "Have fun, alright?  And if he creeps you out or something, call the store number and I'll come get you."
"I'm not really worried about—"
"You know? Just call the store when you get home," Neil decided, "so I'll know you didn't get murdered."
"Dude, chill," you groaned.  "We're going to the movies, not, I don't know… hiking off-trail in the middle of the night."
You never agreed to call, but you did him one better: you ended up coming back to the video store afterwards, a bit over two hours later.  Of course, the guys were still on the couch— apparently the movie was over but they were watching anime (undoubtedly something Jonathan had brought as a palate cleanser after the movie).
They all looked over at you when you came in the front door and the little bell rang; they seemed excited to see you, and presumably to interrogate you about the date.  You sighed, knowing you couldn't have expected anything else, but you'd come here hoping they'd let you watch something with them so you could stop thinking about the date.
“How’d it go, hot stuff?” Jonathan purred, and you rolled your eyes as Lucien wolf-whistled.
“Oh yeah, it was awesome, best first date ever— I’m at his place having sex with him right now,” you frowned as you tossed your purse down onto the couch, and Lucien chuckled while Neil looked a little defeated.  
“Not that great, huh?” Neil noticed.
“Was he a creep?” Jonathan assumed.
“Did he think the movie was bad?” Lucien pressed.
“No, no, he was great,” you sighed, “he loved the movie.  We talked about it for a bit afterwards and he seemed to really understand it.”
“Okay!  That’s good, right?” Jonathan said optimistically.
“Yeah— so good that I asked him when we could do this again,” you recalled, “and he said that he didn’t wanna lead me on and he wasn’t interested in seeing me.”
“What?!” Jonathan yelped, while Neil winced a little.
“He said I was really cool and funny and easy to talk to,” you explained, “but that he didn’t feel any chemistry.”
“Chemistry?” Lucien repeated, confused.
“He means he’s not attracted to me,” you clarified.
“What?” Jonathan scoffed again.  “Why not?”
“I don’t know!” you whined, but you did know.  “I think I’m just, like, friend material.  I’m just ‘one of the guys’, you know?  Not somebody you actually wanna be with.”
“But isn’t that what every guy wants?  To date somebody who’s just ‘one of the guys’?” Lucien noticed, and then paused when everyone gave him an inquisitive look. “That sounded way less gay in my head.  You get what I mean, right?”
“As much as I would love to never let you live that down,” Jonathan smirked, “you’re not wrong— like, a chick who can hang.  That’s the best.”
“Well, here I am!  Hanging!” you snapped.  “Where’s my harem of suitors just desperate to date one of the guys?!”
“I mean, you are wearing a suit…” Neil noticed, getting a little defensive when you groaned and dropped your head back.  “No, no, you look cool!  I mean, you look really great.  I’m not sure what he wasn’t seeing.”
"Maybe he's got a girlfriend!" Jonathan suggested.  "And he was gonna cheat but he chickened out."
"Maybe he's intimidated by strong women," Lucien added, sounding more like he was quoting a Cosmo than actually thinking that.
"Respectfully, guys aren't that complicated," you assured.  "If he wanted me, he would.  He doesn't.  It's not that deep."
Neil looked away when you said that.
"Well, come take a seat on the losers couch," Jonathan offered, but Neil sitting next to him frowned.
"You think I'm a loser?" Neil protested.
"No, I was talking about that couch," Jonathan said as he pointed to the other one which Lucien was on.
"I'm not even offended," Lucien decided, patting the spot next to him.  "I'd rather be a loser with you than a winner with anybody else."
You smiled and plopped down next to him, pulling your legs up on the old sofa and finding the best angle to see the TV from.  "Okay, catch me up," you requested, bracing for the barrage of borderline nonsensical exposition about whatever obscure anime Jonathan was forcing on the group this time.
~
Since the store closed at eight on Tuesdays, you and Neil decided to go out for a late dinner after locking up— the nearest place you usually walked to was a little hole-in-the-wall dishing out Thai fusion, and even though there were open tables inside, you took your paper boxes outside to eat together on a bench.
You each sat up on it with your legs crossed, facing each other, while he poked at his fried rice with his fork and you stirred your noodles with the chopsticks.
“The Palace is still doing their Hitchcock screenings on Sundays,” you recalled, “I think the next one is Rear Window.  We could make Lucien man the store and go see it together?”
“Yeah, let’s do it,” he smiled.  “But we gotta sneak in the candy, that place is getting so overpriced…”
“Well, that’s a given,” you laughed.  “When I went on my date there I had Sour Patch Kids in my bag, but I was kinda craving Reese’s by the time the movie started.
"That guy sounded like an ass, by the way," Neil announced with a frown.
"Oh, no, it's fine," you dismissed.  "He was really nice, even when he blew me off, and I… I guess I wasn’t really expecting it to go anywhere, anyways.”
“Really?” Neil scoffed.  “Then why’d you ask him out?”
Just in case.  “I… I guess I’m trying to put myself out there more?”
“Huh?  You’re trying to put out more?” Neil joked.
You rolled your eyes and unfolded your legs to kick him playfully.  “You know what I mean,” you groaned.
“Yeah, yeah,” he admitted, “and I support it.  It’s sort of insane that you’re still single.”
“Wow, thanks for the pep talk,” you rolled your eyes before shoving a thick swirl of spicy-sweet noodles in your mouth.
“No!  I mean, like, I can’t believe you’re single,” he clarified, and you smiled somewhat awkwardly while chewing your mouthful.  “You’re smart and fun and cool and pretty—”
Thanks to the food in your mouth, you didn’t have to worry about coming up with a way to respond to that, so you just shrugged.
“Seriously!” he insisted.  “I mean, guys hit on you at the store— I wish somebody who actually deserved your attention would walk in that place.”
The guy I want is already there every day.  Swallowing, you finally got a chance to talk to him again.  “Thanks,” you sighed, “it’s fine, though.  I mean, I’ve been single this long— I think I’ll survive.”
“Keep waiting for the right one, okay?” he encouraged, and your heart swelled.
“I will,” you promised, sounding more wistful than you meant to.
After a brief lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat and continued.  “Hey, um, while we’re on the topic of Sunday, about the whole fuck-marry-kill thing—”
“I’m sorry,” you offered right away, “I shouldn’t have answered that.  I wasn’t being serious, obviously.”
“No, I wanted to apologize,” he returned, “I shouldn’t have pressed you on your answer.  It was funny.  And it wasn’t like you could say you were gonna kill one of us.”
You snorted.  “Yeah, that one was probably the worst of the three.”
“But I shouldn’t have asked you about what you would’ve done to me,” he shook his head, “I was making it weird.  So, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you assured.  “Did you really expect me to say I would marry you?”
“No,” he admitted, “I thought you’d say you’d fuck me, marry Lucien and kill Jonathan.”
“What?” you scoffed, though you were still smiling.  “Why?”
“Well, Lucien would definitely make the best husband of the three of us,” he explained, “and Jonathan was the only one who wouldn’t have gotten butthurt about you saying you’d kill him.  He probably would’ve just asked you to give him a nice send-off, y’know…”
You nodded in agreement, wondering if he was going to address the obviously missing third piece of all this… he sure was staring down into his empty fried rice container with intense focus…
“And, you know, as for me,” he began sort of thinly, “I, um… I guess I just figured, you know, you’re the most comfortable with me.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, “obviously, but maybe that would make it worse?  Like, at least with Jonathan, I know that if we ever did hook up or something, it probably wouldn’t mess up our friendship.  ‘Cause we’re friendly and all, but it’s not so serious.  But with you…”
“Uh huh, well, that’s why it’s good it’s just a game,” Neil finished for you, chucking his trash in the nearest can.  “Don’t have to worry about any of that stuff.  Least of all you and I being married.  Talk about a disaster.”
You choked on your throat.  “Yeah.  No kidding…”
“Well, anyways,” he sighed, standing up from the bench and stretching for a moment, “wanna come over and see if the game’s still on?”
“Oh, um, I’m just gonna go back to my place,” you decided, throwing away the last couple bites of your food on account of your suddenly-lost appetite.  “Kinda thinking I should get my sleep schedule in order.”
“That’s good,” he nodded, “I respect that.  Have a good night, then, kid.”
“Yeah, you too,” you breathed, waving as he turned and walked off into the night, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.  
You looked down at your lap, taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes for a second.  Did he have to be so sweet just to cut you down like that?  Could he have even known how it would hurt you to say that?
It’s not even like he was wrong, but you were dying to ask him why he was so sure that you and him together would be so bad.  What was wrong with you that he still couldn’t see you that way?
Not interested in this repetitive thought cycle anymore, and being very familiar with where it leads, you got up and started to walk down the street.  You didn’t turn to go to your apartment, though; you kept going until you heard live music— scratchy, whiny guitars and throbbing bass drums— seeping out of the club.  You just needed to be somewhere familiar that wasn’t the video store or home; and, this place conveniently also had liquor.
You slipped inside— hit by a wave of sound as you entered— and took a seat at the bar, half-listening to the band that was playing, pretending to be focused at all on what was going on in the outside world rather than just spiraling into your own thoughts inside your head.
“Hey,” Jonathan nodded at you from the other side of the bar, and you nodded back.  He instantly started looking for Neil— of course he would— and you deflated a bit.  “You here alone?” he noticed.
“Yeah,” you shrugged.
“Wow,” he smirked, “it’s like when Peter Pan’s shadow escaped.”
You should’ve probably been offended by that, but it wasn’t worth denying— and you were more interested in getting liquored up than justifying that you did, in fact, have a life outside of Neil.
And, actually, Peter Pan was a pretty good way to describe Neil, too.  Fear of commitment, leader of freaks and outcasts, daydreamer… all he needed was some green tights.  “What are you drinking tonight?” Jonathan finally asked.
“What pairs well with feeling completely unattractive and unlovable?” you sighed.
“Well, that would be my drink of choice: whiskey,” he smiled, setting a bottle down in front of you.  “I’ll do a shot with you.”
He poured you both a shot, and you timed it to shoot it back together; he, obviously, took it better with you, and you cringed from the acidic flavor.  "Jesus, people really drink this on purpose?" you grumbled.
"Yeah, give it a few minutes," he assured, "it's gonna numb all those stupid emotions."
"I don't have a few minutes," you sighed, "do you have anything more fast-acting?"
"Yeah— a second shot," he joked, but you nodded in agreement.  "Okay, shit, you're not messing around tonight."
"Nope," you agreed, watching him pour just one shot this time.  "You're not doing it with me?"
"I need to pace myself, I'm here 'til two," he explained.
He slid it to you and you contemplated it for a moment, before forcing yourself to get it down as quickly as possible to avoid the burn.  You still grimaced, but recovered quickly.
"Is it working yet?" he wondered.
"I guess," you answered half-heartedly.
“Well, you could always gush to the bartender about all your problems?” he offered, but you just shrugged it off.  “Come on, you wouldn’t be the first tonight.  And since I know you, I might actually be able to help.”
“I don’t think you can help with this one,” you assured.  “This problem has been going on longer than you’ve ever been around.”
“Oh?” he pressed.  “Let me guess… boy troubles?”
“Isn’t it always?” you scoffed, irritated that he saw through you that quickly— apparently your reputation of being horrible with men preceded you.
“But this is just one boy,” he presumed.  “One boy who… conspicuously isn’t here tonight…”
“Is it that obvious?” you wondered with a whine, dropping your head in your hand.
“Well, if you weren’t having any issues with him, you’d be with him,” Jonathan guessed— and it wasn’t bad logic.
“But, like, does everyone know?” you wondered.  “Does everyone but him know that I’m in love with him?  Oh god, Jonathan, you don’t think he knows, do you?”
“Wait— love?” he repeated, and you swallowed thickly as you realized the whiskey had already gotten you to say too much.  “You… you’re…”
“Okay, so I guess not everyone knows,” you mumbled.
“No, yeah, I think you managed to keep that under wraps,” he assured with a nod, eyes getting wider.  “Sheesh.  No, I had no clue.  Now it’s even weirder that you guys aren’t together.”
“Well, he doesn’t love me,” you explained flatly.
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, god no— I mean, he tells me he loves me,” you corrected, “but he doesn’t mean— we just say that, you know, like at the end of phone calls or when one of us is sad.  It’s not, like… we never meant it that way.”
“Right, okay,” Jonathan nodded as he wiped a glass— the way bartenders do when they’re listening to people— but he didn’t seem to understand entirely.  “So, you’re not his type?”
“I don’t think I know what his type is,” you scoffed.  “I haven’t really noticed a pattern, have you?”
“You’d have to have a few more data points to really draw any connection between them,” Jonathan laughed.
“Yeah, fair,” you smiled, “he’s only had… I don’t know, maybe four girlfriends since I’ve known him?  One in high school, for a month— then Eva, they weren’t even really serious, just dating for a while.  And then, uh—”
“Tanisha,” he remembered.
“Right!  I liked her,” you hummed.
“What happened to her again?” he wondered.
“Got back with her ex,” you recalled.
“Wow, that blows,” Jonathan sighed.  
“She told me before she told him,” you admitted.  “She wanted me to tell him for her, actually, but I… I couldn’t do that to him.  But I came over right after, you know, and we ate ice cream from the tub and watched movies ‘til we fell asleep.”
Jonathan made a sort of face, one you couldn’t quite interpret, and you tilted your head as he seemed to mumble to himself.  
“What?” you wondered.
“Nothing, it’s just… he’s kind of an idiot,” Jonathan decided.  “I don’t think he gets how lucky he is.”
You wrinkled your brows together, laughing a bit.  “What do you mean?”
“Look, I’m not saying he’s, like, legally obligated to fall in love with you just because you guys get along so well,” he clarified, “even if that’s what Neil accused me of thinking— I really do think it’s fine for men and women to just be friends.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m just saying… like, how do you have someone who cares about you that much, and you end up dating fucking Denise for almost a year?!”
“Well, nobody knows how he ended up with Denise,” you coughed.  “That was a fucking disaster.”
“I mean, not to be crass, but, uh,” he stumbled a little over his words, “I’m surprised that you coming over after that breakup didn’t turn into a rebound, at least.”
“After eating that much ice cream?” you laughed.  “That would’ve been awful.”
“But really, though,” he insisted.  “I have a hard time believing the thought didn’t even cross his mind…”
“I can’t really be sure that it didn’t,” you admitted, “I’m just saying, nothing happened.”
“I guess he’s just known you too long to go for it with you,” Jonathan shrugged.
“It’s not just that— you know Neil, he’s kind of an adrenaline junkie,” you rolled your eyes, “or at least he thinks he is.  He wants adventure, I guess— and he always talks about us doing spontaneous stuff but it never happens— and I’m just too familiar.  Too comfortable.”
“Yeah, he does kinda have something against stability,” Jonathan agreed, “do you think it’s a divorced parents thing?”
“I don’t know, I stopped analyzing that a long time ago,” you groaned, “and I told myself I would stop trying to be what I thought he wanted, but I think I keep doing it.”
“Well, I know you know him better than anybody,” Jonathan countered, “but I know guys, and that guy… there’s no way he thinks of you as just a friend.”
“Why do you think that?” 
“Because he was fucking lying when he said it wouldn’t piss him off if we hooked up,” he insisted.
“You really won’t let that go, will you?” you grinned.
“Did you see his face?  He couldn’t get the image out of his head!” Jonathan assured confidently.  “And then that whole ‘fuck marry kill’ thing— he started getting nervous, I think.”
“Nervous about what?”
“That something could really happen with us!”
“You really think he would care?” you frowned.
“I swear to— to Ash Williams,” he decided, “that if I walked into that fucking video store, and told him that you and I did whiskey shots and you came back to my place and we did the horizontal tango, he would beat me to death with the register.”
“You swear on Ash Williams?” you repeated with a smirk, knowing that meant more than swearing on any deity would mean.
“Him and his chainsaw hand,” Jonathan assured, putting a hand over his heart to add to the bit, and you giggled.
“Well, I don’t think Neil can pick up the register,” you decided.
“In that case, you let me know the next time you wanna get back at him for something,” he offered with a wink, and you smiled at him sympathetically.
“I know you’re trying to be nice,” you sighed, “but you don’t have to do that.”
“Hey, come on,” he frowned, “I know you’ve got this I’m insecure I’m a weirdo nobody notices me thing, but you can’t actually think it would be some kind of charity work for me to sleep with you—”
“No, I don’t mean that,” you sighed, “I know I could get laid if I wanted to—”
“But you don’t wanna get laid,” he finished for you, “you wanna be loved.”
You sighed again, even harder.  “Yeah,” you nodded.
“I know,” he agreed.  “And you know I love you, but—”
“But not like that,” you took your turn finishing his sentence.
His only reply was raising the bottle of whiskey with a sideways smile, a silent offer to pour another shot— for both of you this time.
“Yes, please,” you hummed, watching him fill the miniature glasses with a sigh.
part 2
2K notes · View notes
astroph1les · 6 months
Text
falling behind [h.c]
Tumblr media
summary: feeling like you’re never going to experience the normal dating experience, you turn to your friend, hazel, to teach you how to kiss. friends help each other out like that, right?
pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader
contains: mature language and content, hickies (r!recieving), heavy making out, causal dominance from hazel, sort of player!hazel, cocky!hazel, josie & isabel being all over each other, hinting that hazel and birttany are bffs, inexperienced! reader, slight insecure! reader, reader is mentioned to have multiple sisters, hazel being so sweet and reassuring to reader.
word count: 2.6K
a/n: based on this request, by @toritea (i hope you enjoy it! xx) i actually had too much fun writing this. need me a hazel :/ also how am i at over 200 followers already?? you guys are insane. but i love you all for it. enjoy! <3
Tumblr media
You were really happy for Josie and Isabel. You really were. You knew Josie had had a massive crush on Isabel for years now and they finally got together. But, it was moments like this where they were making out, borderline about to fuck against your and Josie’s shared dorm room door, that made you want to rip your head right out of your head.
“Okay, guys,” you speak up, trying to reach for the handle that was underneath their hips.
There was a moan at some point and you decided that you were going to Brittany and Hazel’s dorm room since clearly yours and Josie’s was going to be occupied. You backed away and marched down to the almost identical door except Hazel and Brittany’s names were scribbled on the dry-erase board.
You knocked on the door with a sigh, the image of Josie and Isabel still fresh in your mind. The door opened to reveal Hazel with squinted eyes. She had on a gray hoodie with a pair of what you think of boxers or shorts that look similarly to boxers.
“Hey, did I wake you?” You glance at her attire.
“Uh, no, I just woke up from a nap,” Hazel furrowed her brows, “is everything okay?”
You sigh, shaking your head. “Josie and Isabel—“
“Oh, okay, yeah. Come in,” Hazel moved out of the way to let you into the dorm room.
You glanced around the room, smiling at the obvious difference between Brittany and Hazel’s beds. Brittany had one of those neon wall lights of a sun with baby pink and white sheets. Hazel had basic different shades of gray comforters and sheets along with a few throw pillows.
“I love them but my god, they never stop. I was just trying to stop by to change,” you sigh as you walk over to sit on Hazel’s bed.
Hazel smacked her lips together with a shrug, adjusting her hoodie on her head.
“Well, I mean, that’s what it's like to have a girlfriend. It’s the ‘honeymoon’ phase.” Hazel explained before adding, “kissing and fucking is fun, though.”
Your cheeks burn at her words. Being the only person you know to not have any sexual experience—let alone kiss—made you feel like you were falling behind. Sure, it was only freshman year of college, but it didn’t help the longing of wanting to get this sort of shit over with.
Hazel was the one that you envied the most. Or at least, the girls she was hooking up with. After high school, Hazel became a bit of a heartthrob. Brittany had told you about how she had passed by their room sometimes and would hear almost-porn-like moaning and panting. You would be lying too if you said that you’ve never heard these noises too come from their room.
In simple words, Hazel fucks and fucks good.
“Still, I don’t need to see it happen, Haze,” you emphasized.
“Maybe you need to go and get some then,” Hazel remarks with a cheeky grin, walking over to sit across from you on Brittanys bed.
“Um, no. I can’t do that,” you shake your head and hope that she doesn’t press or ask more questions.
Hazel furrows her brows as she watches the way your body language shifts as soon as the subject of sex comes up.
“Why not? You’re gorgeous. I’m sure someone wants to fuck you.” Hazel states as if you should’ve been aware of this.
It was definitely a bit of a confidence booster that Hazel found you attractive.
“Thanks, Haze but it’s not like people are lining up to be with me unlike some people,” your eyes stare into hers, raising your brows. “I wouldn’t even know what to do anyways.”
Hazel tilts her head and purses her lips together, unclear to what you meant. She meant it when she said you were gorgeous. Even now in your day to day outfits of tees and baby tanks with jean shorts. She’s always thought this way about you but had to push it deep down to keep your friendship intact.
“Wait, have you not…?” Hazel trailed off to see what the limit was of experience that you may or may not have had.
“I’m a virgin and have never even kissed anyone before except for, like, once in 4th grade over a dare,” you spat out, feeling the ever most embarrassed.
The question made you irritated. Why? You couldn’t tell the exact reason but it was definitely a combination of stress and lack of sexual activity.
“Hey, hey,” Hazel stood up and off Brittany's bed to sit next to you on her bed. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you know?”
“No, I know that. It’s just annoying sometimes to not have someone in that romantic way.” You tell her with a forced grin.
Hazel nods in agreement. Silence takes over you two until you get an idea. It was risky and could possibly change everything about your relationship with Hazel if she says yes.
“Haze? Can you,” you sigh and look at her slowly, “can you teach me how to kiss?”
You wince as you prepare for the immediate rejection from Hazel.
“You want me to teach you?” Hazel adjusts her position on her bed so that she has one leg curled on the mattress and the other hanging off.
“Well, yeah, if that’s okay. I know you’ve been with a lot more girls than I have so I assume you know what you’re doing,” you state simply, blushing at the memories of the muffled moaning you’ve heard through the door.
Hazel chuckled at your words, removing her hood from her bed head. You watch her carefully, all of a sudden aware of every move you both made. You took notice of her chains that rested at the bottom of her throat probably from being tossed in her sleep.
“Are you sure? Like, 100%?”
You nod, eyes flickering to her lips. Hazel had done the same and scooted back from you as she was 10 seconds away from kissing you feverishly, but she had to hold back. You had never kissed before, she reminded herself.
“Okay, well, the first thing is comfortability. Are you comfortable sitting like this?” Hazel motioned around you two.
You think about it for a moment before questioning: “Is there a better way to sit when kissing?”
“Some girls like to sit on my lap, some like me to be sort of hovering over them. Even like, laying down and we’re making out is always comfortable too,” Hazel explains, all of a sudden feeling very nervous talking about all of the things she’s done with these girls that weren’t you.
You contemplate for a moment, mentally trying to ignore how Hazel had said ‘some girls.’ It just reminded you that this can only be a ‘friends helping friends’ situation. Laying down might be comfortable but to you, that sounded like a more experienced position. The idea of Hazel hovering over you would cause you to go actually insane.
“Can I be on your lap? I-If that’s okay?” You ask, glancing down to look at Hazel’s lap.
“Yeah, yeah, just— yeah,” she began to adjust herself so that her upper back was up against the headboard with her legs spread out. “C’mere, honey.”
You’re a horny idiot, you scold yourself internally as you inch over to Hazel, your thighs straddling her upper thighs. Her hands rest respectfully on your lower thighs, just above your knees.
This position felt so intimate now that you were here. You could see every speck of blue in her eyes and the slight bags from lack of sleep. You could just stare at Hazel like this and be content.
“You okay?” Her voice is gentle.
“Yeah, just a little nervous,” you admit truthfully.
“I get it, it's okay. Nothing’s wrong with being a little nervous,” she reassures you and the way she was rubbing her thumbs across the bare skin makes your head fuzzy. “Just take a deep breath in and out a few times.”
You do as she asks of you, your previous rapid heartbeat coming to a decrease in speed. Hazel seems to take notice of your chest slowing down.
“There you go. Good. That’s good, honey.”
Hazel praised you, a rush flooding to your brain. You gave her a shy smile as you tried to focus on what the whole point of this was. Kissing.
That’s it. It’s just kissing.
“So, now what?” You hum, fiddling with the end of Hazel’s gray hoodie.
“Let’s do one so I can see how you kiss.” Hazel rose a hand to cup your cheek, watching your breath hitch ever so slightly.
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry about kissing ‘bad’, okay? Go with the flow,” she reassures you once again.
You nod, muttering one final ‘okay’. Hazel leans her face towards yours, slightly brushing her lips against yours. From this soft touch alone, you could tell that you were going to fuck this up. Hazel closed the gap by tugging you by your cheek, locking your lips together.
You attempt to follow her slow rhythm as your hands grip onto the cotton of Hazel’s hoodie. This is going well, you think until Hazel pulls away. You instinctively try to chase her lips, but she chuckles softly at your attempt. Her hot breath brushes past your own slightly parted mouth.
“Getting eager, huh?” She teases, brushing her nose against yours.
“Shut up.” Your cheeks flush at her words.
That same flush spread to your chest and the depths of your stomach. All you wanted to do was jump her bones. Now, you understood why she had girls moaning so loud that there would be complaints from the neighboring peers.
“You did good, though. You really don’t have anything to worry about.” Hazel patted the side of your thigh like it was nothing.
“Really?” You furrow your brows, confused as to how you who had no experience could actually kiss well.
“Mhmm. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, honey. You’re a natural,” she glanced down at your lips with a smile.
“What about, like, making out? Like with tongue?” You were really pushing your luck now. There’s no way she was going to agree to doing more than just basic French kissing.
“Oh, yeah, that’s a little more complicated. There is such a thing as too much tongue. That’s how people get mono. It also just feels fucking gross.” Hazel explains with a grimace.
You copy her disgusted face as one of your sisters had gotten mono before and she couldn’t properly swallow anything for about a week. You remember her constant complaining, saying that she wouldn’t kiss anyone for the next year.
The following month she had gotten a boyfriend so clearly, she was a shit-faced liar.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard,” you reply back with an awkward chuckle.
“That’s a worse-case scenario, though. It’s supposed to feel good like everything else that’s as intimate as this,” Hazel is quick to reassure you, her hands squeezing and rubbing at your thighs.
“Right. Got it. So, how is ‘good making out’ supposed to feel?” You held up your fingers to copy the quote motion. “I’ve heard you’re mind blowing at it so…”
“You really are boosting my ego here, honey,” Hazel shook her head slightly as if she was being bashful about her experience. Her cocky ass smile said otherwise.
“Like it wasn’t already up there,” you quipped back with a pointed look but your lips were curling into a giddy smile.
“Y’know we can’t make out when we talk, right?”
Hazel’s painfully attractive smirk forms on her lips.
Her hands grasp onto your waist, her thumbs digging into your lower ribs. The cold feeling of her silver rings caused you to gasp as her lips were against yours once again.
You hum against her lips, your hands cupping both sides of her face. From what you’ve seen in movies and shows, usually there’d be a hand through someone’s hair. You test it out and run one hand up the back of Hazel’s head, her soft hairs brushing in between your fingers.
Hazel’s tongue swipes past your bottom lip and you try to welcome it into your mouth. It feels… weird at first but when Hazel tugs you in closer with her tight grip, it heightens the pleasure for you. You suck on her tongue for just a moment before letting her take the reins once again.
You feel her pull away and you think she’s going to say that you did something wrong. No, her lips begin to trail down to your jaw. She made sure to leave a hot kiss on your cheek and jaw before latching yourself onto your neck.
You pant softly, a soft whine leaving your lips. Hazel’s tongue peeked out to lick across a sensitive spot on your neck that you didn’t even know about. How the fuck did she figure that out? She rolled the skin in between her lips and sucked softly.
“Haze,” you breathe out as you tilt your neck back.
This pulled Hazel out of her hungry-lust driven state. She didn’t ask if she could do that. You didn’t ask for a hickey. Fuck.
Hazel paused her movements, detaching herself from your neck. The skin glistened slightly with spit, highlighting the deepening blush color that had raised to your skin.
“Oh, fuck. Shit, I’m sorry,” Hazel rushed out as she examined the forming hickey.
“What? What is it?” You furrow your brows in a panic as well.
“This is gonna be a dark hickey later. Fuck, honey,” her thumb rubbed over the raw skin.
You stay silent. You didn’t want to admit that being covered in her hickies was something that you’ve wanted for a while now. Just friends, you reminded yourself. Just friends.
“It’s okay. I liked how it felt.” You suck in a deep breath, trying to calm your rapid heart rate.
Hazel’s alluring blue eyes flicker from the spot on your neck to your flushed face. It took everything in her to hold back the urge to kiss over it as an apology for what she did.
“Still, it’s not what you had asked to do. I should’ve,” Hazel paused to remove her hands from your waist. You already missed the warmth dearly. “I should’ve asked first.”
“Haze, it’s really okay. I felt…” Horny. Just horny. Desperate. Horny for a third time.
“Good?” She answered for you as you still hadn’t said anything.
You hadn’t realized that you had paused in real life instead of just in your head.
“Yeah, yeah, good. I promise,” you tell her with a soft smile.
“Well, it sounded like it was good,” Hazel quipped with a cocky smirk on her face before smacking her clothed shoulder.
“God, I’m regretting this already,” you half-lie.
You regret asking Hazel to be the one to teach you but you don’t regret her kissing you and giving you a hickey.
Oh, god.
How were you going to explain the dark mark on your neck to everyone? You never curled your hair so it’s not like a burn could be an excuse.
You were about to ask Hazel how you were going to cover it up when the door opened. Brittany stood at the door sporting a cropped black tank with a gemmed red heart and a pair of low-rise blue jeans. Her brows raised at the sight of you and Hazel before she pursed her lips to hide her obvious smile that was creeping onto her lips.
“I’ll just come back later,” Brittany gave Hazel a look that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Okay so everyone but Brittany.
Tumblr media
taglist: @imjustapearl @beabeebrie @curiousshifter101 @seethesin @matchamilkislover <33
2K notes · View notes
myfictionaldreams · 6 months
Text
Day 1: Pegging - Mafia!Stucky
Tumblr media
Summary: Steve had once instructed Bucky how to pleasure you, but what happens when you’re the one being given the instructions?
(this is basically part 2.5 to my fic 'Steve's Birthday Wish') Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, threesome f/m/m, polyamorous, pegging, strap-on, size kink, dom/sub, pet names, scratching, kissing, handjob, blowjob, anal fingering, anal, vaginal sex, creampie, praise kink
masterlist 📚 
kinktober masterlist😈 
AO3 Link
Tumblr media
Steve Rogers, the leader of the Rogers Mafia, the most renowned organisation throughout Brooklyn, was a highly inquisitive gang member. He had to be in his line of work to continue deceiving the cops or work with people who were so dangerous he didn’t dare to even blink more than necessary whilst in their presence.
Due to the threatening line of work, Steve had to be prepared for anything, making quick decisions to protect his friends, family and business in the heat of the moment. Over time, this could strain him, verging on feeling burnt out; therefore, he needed others to cling to and help unwind, where you and Bucky would always thrive.
However, it wasn’t so much that Steve would lie down and expect the two of you to care or pleasure him; it was quite the opposite. His ideas usually consisted of kinky scenarios you would never even dream of thinking about.  For example, the only reason Bucky was in the relationship now was that Steve had suggested that his second-in-command fuck his girlfriend whilst following his instructions with where to touch you. Never would the thought have crossed your mind to include Bucky in a sexual situation as not only was he your bodyguard but Steve’s best friend, but now, the three of you were inseparable, and you couldn’t imagine it any other way.
This all leads to a dark autumn night, the leaves covering the ground in a sea of burnt orange and brown shades, the sun having set hours ago over the tall Brooklyn buildings as the weather changes. These earlier nights, however, did nothing to stop Steve with his intense working schedule, and neither did it for Bucky, as they both had been in the office at your home for hours on end. Even as you wished them a good night did neither man stop to have a break; only when Bucky glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearing midnight did he mutter that he was going to join you in bed, kissing Steve’s temple tenderly and murmuring for him not to be long. He all but collapsed into bed, only just managing to strip down to his boxers before wrapping his body around yours, his metal arm sliding beneath your head as the other cocooned around your chest and hand resting over your heart, his face nuzzling into the back of your neck as the feeling of your heartbeat lulled him into a deep sleep.
Sometime later, you found yourself waking, detecting warmth behind you but not in front, which felt unnerving and like something was missing, which happened to be Steve. Carefully reaching across the bed, you grasped your phone and clicked the button to see the time was nearing 3 a.m. and still no sign of your blonde boyfriend.
“Is he still working?” Bucky’s voice croaked, startling you, having not realised he had woken from your slight movement.
“Yeah, I’m gonna go and find him”, you respond whilst untangling your limbs from his. Bucky sighed away, the sleep still settled heavily in his body, before following you, not bothering to pull on any clothes as you’d stolen his oversized shirt from where it lay on the floor. It took only seconds to walk across the hall and find Steve in the same position as hours ago. Your voice was soft as you explained, “Steve, you can’t work 24 hours a day; you must sleep at some point. The bed’s getting so cold without you.” Your bottom lip pouted dramatically as you stood on the other side of his desk, looking at him with wide, sad eyes and fingers teasingly stroking the edge of the oak surface.
The corner of Steve’s lips turned up as he took in your sleepy appearance and then over to his just as tired boyfriend over your shoulder. “Is Bucky not keeping you warm?” he asked, his voice deep and full of jest.
Bucky rushed up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him as you squealed in surprise, “I’m doing a perfect job, actually”. You melted into the embrace, tilting your head to the side so he could dramatically kiss your cheek with an audible smooch noise.
The brunette man dropped into the leather chair behind him, pulling you with him. You laughed at the sudden movement but quickly righted your position to feel more comfortable, turning slightly so that your legs were slung over his lap, hands resting against his toned shoulder and face resting on his chest.
Steve watched you curiously, especially the skin of your bare legs as he rested his chin on his closed fist, the material of his black button-up shirt straining to keep his muscles contained. You noticed the look and gave him a flirtatious smile whilst reaching up to scratch your nails through Bucky’s buzzcut hair. “What’s going on that’s keeping you up for so long and can’t wait for the morning?”
Steve sighed and leaned back in his bulky leather chair, causing it to squeak under the strain of his massive muscular body. For once, Steve looked to be contemplating something and being careful how to phrase his words before explaining, “I’ve actually been thinking about you two and distracting myself with work”.
You could feel Bucky adjusting his position as he frowned, “What about us, Stevie?” His tone was calm, but you became more aware, fingers pausing with their idle distractions as your attention fixed completely on Steve.
“I’ve bought you both a present”, Steve simply explained, offering no further description and leaving you both with more questions than answers.
“Are you going to tell us, or will we forever remain in suspense?” Bucky drawled tiredly, his hand beginning to stroke a swirling pattern against your ticklish thigh.
You yawned from the comforting touch, leaning further into Bucky again, eyes feeling increasingly heavier with each passing second as you struggled to stay awake. 
Steve’s ocean-blue eyes flicked between his two lovers as he continued to be careful with his wording. “I’m not being upfront about the gift because I’m unsure if you’d be into it. Wait, let me rephrase that, Bucky, I know you’d be into it, and I sure as hell would be, but little miss Sleepy head over there is the one I’m not sure about”.
Your posture straightened as you pushed off Bucky’s chest to give Steve a toothy grin, “I’d be up for whatever you have bought us!” you say happily, being a people pleaser and automatically agreeing to it.
Steve smiled, knowing you’d already give this sort of response. “You don’t even know what it is yet, baby”, he laughs under his breath before reaching next to his chair and lifting the gift onto the desk.
A confused frown settled on your expression as you visually inspected the boxed gift. “You want to fuck me with a dildo? But you’ve both done that in the past anyway-” Steve’s shake of his head stopped your words.
The man then looked away from you towards Bucky and asked, “Do you remember the first time Bucky touched you? I want to do something similar, but I want you to touch Bucky while I tell you what to do. How does that sound?” His eyes flicked back to you, waiting for your answer.
“Good. It sounds good.” Your words came out with a rushed, warmed breath as your body heated from head to toe; all lingering exhaustion suddenly disappeared. You thought more on it; you were always the submissive one in the relationship, so at least Steve was still technically in charge of the fucking, but the thought of Bucky lying down with you pleasuring him in such an intimate and dominant way, him allowing you to fuck his body, would he even want that? Sitting in Bucky’s embrace, you turned your full attention to him. “How do you feel about it?”
The handsome smirk already displayed across his face was answer enough, but then he readjusted in his seat so that his half-hardening cock brushed against your lap. Bucky leaned his face closer to yours, confidently stating, “I’d want anything you’re willing to give me, mama”.
And this was how Steve’s latest idea had you standing in your bathroom at 3:30 am, completely naked and stepping into a harness as Steve crouched down to help you into it, tightening the straps until comfortable. You were surprised just how cosy it was as the straps wrapped around your hips and between your legs, resting over your cunt without irritation.
Looking down, you couldn’t help but giggle at seeing the dildo pointing out from between your legs. It was thick, probably the same thickness as Steve, which you had a secret suspicion was on purpose; it even had veins along the shafts and balls beneath. Almost on instinct, you gripped it, running your hand up and down just to feel what it was like, but then the searing gaze of Steve’s caught your eye as his hands rested on your thighs.
“Why does that turn me on so much?” Steve mumbled as he stood, dipping to kiss the pulse point on your neck. You lean into the touch, especially as his hands grasp your waist and pull you closer to his naked body, his cock already hard and flush against your abdomen. “I’m half tempted to just ask you to use it on me”, Steve suggested, leaning back to look down at your body to stare at the toy that rested against his thigh.
Before you could ponder over his words, he gently directed you back towards the bedroom where Bucky was naked and lying in the middle of the giant bed, his metal arm casually under his head as he waited for you both to return.
Bucky’s cock was already hard with anticipation and resting against his abdomen, red and visibly pulsing with desire. His eyes darted from your fake cock to Steve’s real one, a smile brightening his handsome face as he sat up on his elbows, announcing, “I can’t fucking wait for this”.
The warmth behind your back disappeared as Steve dragged a cushioned chair to the side of the bed, extending his arm towards Bucky to encourage you to approach your boyfriend. Bucky licked his lips, sitting up fully to help you climb onto the bed and straddle his lap, hands resting on his shoulders and the dildo awkwardly hitting Bucky’s chest as you hadn’t been careful where it was positioned.
You giggled, flustered, hiding your face behind your hair to avoid ruining the moment, but Bucky tilted your chin up so your eyes met his bright blue orbs. “Don’t hide that pretty face from me, Doll”.
The tension that you hadn’t realised was thick in your shoulders loosened as you relaxed further into his touch, fingers caressing his cheeks and gliding over his stubble as his cold and warm hand smoothed over your hips, pulling you closer over his thighs as your dildo brushed his cock. The two of you simultaneously turned towards Steve, waiting for instructions. Still, all he was doing was looking happily and lovingly at you both before he decided, “Kiss each other, make sure you tease him real good, Baby”.
You looked from one man to another and didn’t waste another second before pulling Bucky in for a heated kiss. Lips slid and massaged against each other as he tilted his head first, deepening and thrusting his tongue into your mouth to taste you, moaning as he did so. It was an automatic response to roll your hips and then brush your breasts against his chest, your nipples pebbling at the contact.
Then there were your fingers; you didn’t know where to touch him first because you wanted to touch him everywhere. But you remained on his face for a moment, over his cheek, his jaw, pulling him closer and holding him there before moving to other areas. Your nails scratched over his shoulders, careful not to irate the joining between his flesh and metal arm before running your fingers down each of his muscled arms, enjoying the contrast of the metal components and then the warmth from his muscles on the other arm.
You were loving every hitch of his breath against your mouth, the throb of his cock that brushed against your thigh, but then, Bucky was doing his own teasing. His large hands cupped your arse, massaging the cheeks and pulling you closer until there wasn’t a gap between your fronts. Both of you were grinding against each other, releasing sweet little moans to show how much you were adoring the other.
In fact, the two of you were getting so into it that the whole notion of the strap-on was a distant memory until Steve’s voice interrupted as he instructed, “Bucky, why don’t you touch her cock”.
You couldn’t feel anything at first because it was a sex toy, but then the harness straps tightened around your hips and between your legs, as Bucky's metal hand moved up and down your thick shaft. You broke the kiss, desperate to see the sight as you looked down between your bodies as he even brushed his thumb over the tip as if he was spreading the precum over the dildo. You were mesmerised, moving your hips in a way that the cock brushed into his circled fist.
Bucky was breathing heavily as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses and then scraping his sharp, straight teeth against your pulse point, making your moans deepen in pitch, more wetness forming between your legs and soaking the harness strap.
It was a new form of erotism to see Bucky jerking off your fake cock, as if it was a real one; even though you had seen him doing the same movements to Steve, it still made you feel hot under the skin. Especially when you could see how much he was being turned on by it all, his precum coating your thigh from where you were grinding against his shaft.
Steve was leaning forward in the chair, his hands clasped together as he rested them on his knees, his eyes moving up and down your bodies as he tried to not touch his cock for as long as possible, playing his own erotic game. “Think he needs some stretching now; why don’t you lie Bucky back and work your magic. Remember, don’t listen to his whining; just listen to me, Baby Girl”, Steve continued to instruct.
You pushed lightly against Bucky’s shoulders, and he lay back against the soft sheets; you took a moment to take in the beauty of his swollen lips, glazed-over bright eyes and his chest broad and decorated with red lines from where you’d been scratching him.
Trying to maintain confidence, you smiled seductively down at him before beginning a taunting crawl backwards down his body, not keeping your eyes off of his as you stroked the tip of your cock along his lean muscles as you moved.
Settling between his heavy thighs, you didn’t start immediately stretching him, instead continuing to arouse him further by starting with your tongue licking up the entire length of his cock, feeling the soft yet hard member as it throbbed. Bucky gasped, looking down his body to you on your knees, sucking him off, starting slow, tasting the salty clear juices bubbling at the tip before letting the tip rest heavily against your tongue. You sucked him gently at first, the mushroom head of his cock sensitive from the gasps and groans coming from the man beneath you. Further, you took him into your mouth until he tickled the back of your throat.
Only you didn’t stop there as you pulled off the tip with an audible pop before delving south, sucking his balls into your mouth, a move that you knew drove him insane, and you were greeted by his hips thrusting into the air, his cock throbbing, begging to be touched again.
“You’re doing so well teasing him, Sweetheart”, Steve suddenly mumbled from beside you, still on the chair but finally giving in to his internal game as he was stroking his own cock slowly, his hand squeezing and tugging on the end and then down the length.
Seeing the glorious sight beside you of Steve masturbating and Bucky led out in front of you, the ache between your legs was now becoming nearly painful. You were absent-mindedly rutting your hips onto the mattress, letting the strap of the black harness push against your cunt, trying to relieve some of the need.
Reaching over Bucky’s hairy thighs, you fumbled around on the bed from where you’d caught sight of the bottle of lube hidden within the sheets. Finally, you found it and quickly squirted some on your index finger.
Bucky heard the cap of the lube opening and immediately opened his legs to give you a little more room and better access to your finger's intended goal. Releasing your mouth’s grip on his balls, you licked his inner thighs, teasing him further before stroking the lube around his asshole, ensuring it was thoroughly covered before applying some pressure.
Quickly you could breach through the ringed muscle, and simultaneously, you sucked his length back into your mouth. You worked your digit in and out for a minute before adding another finger, angling and curling them until you massaged his prostate.
“Fuck, that feels so good, Doll, don’t fucking stop; you’re doing so well”, Bucky praised, which pulled a smile to your lips as you were still sucking him off. You moan to add more stimulation before adding a third finger. Bucky almost whimpered at the intrusion, more precum leaking onto your tongue as he begged, “More, I want more”.
Steve’s chair creaked as he leaned forward again, and his voice drew your attention to him as he demanded, “Remember, don’t listen to him. Just listen to me”. So this is what you did, as you didn’t rush to do anything further to Bucky, making sure his hole relaxed around your fingers. Bucky sometimes liked to rush moments like this to get to the main event, not caring about the burn from the stretch or any discomfort as he only needed and wanted to be fucked so Steve usually had to be firm with him to make sure he was thoroughly prepped before continuing any further.
You were thankful for Steve’s directions, even though you did all the movements. It was nice that Steve could still tell you when and how to touch Bucky, and now you had a slight inclining as to how Bucky felt all that time ago when he’d first touched you with Steve’s instructions.
“Add another finger”, Steve encouraged, his hand returning to his own cock, never taking his eyes off of every little gasp that Bucky whimpered. Your fourth finger inserted into Bucky as your mouth continued to tease and tempt Bucky closer to the orgasm that you knew he was dangerously close to. You were shocked to have so many fingers into his hole, having never usually been the one to stretch him out, but then you remembered just how big Steve’s fingers were, and he usually prepped Bucky with more force than your dainty fingers were doing.
The mafia leader finally stands up from his perched position, but only so that he can sit next to Bucky’s head, his hard soothing over the man's throat and forcing him to look up at him. “How does she feel?”
“So fucking good”, Bucky groaned as he began to rock his hips to push your fingers deeper. “But”, he continued, “if she keeps sucking me off like that, I’m going to cum before we even get started”.
You pull off with a sheepish smile, looking between your two boyfriends, but you keep your fingers inside. Steve smirked at you briefly before dipping his face to kiss Bucky, holding his hand around his throat and forcing his tongue into the other's mouth. You watched, all hot breaths and swapping saliva, battling for dominance that both wanted and neither would be willing to succumb to. Only as you removed your fingers from Bucky did the man force his head away from Steve to look down at you.
“Please, fuck me already, hot mama”.
You looked towards Steve, waiting for him to tell you to do as Bucky wished verbally but instead, he moved off the bed and came up behind you, kneeling on the bed. Without a word, he helped you to your knees, pushing back Bucky’s legs even further so that you had better access to move forward. With further lube coating the dildo between your legs, Steve pointed the toy towards Bucky’s prepped and begging hole.
Gently, Steve nudged you forward, slowly and watching Bucky’s expressions over your shoulders as inch after inch of your cock stretched the man’s asshole. You were in awe at seeing Bucky’s reaction, the way his fists gripped the sheets beside him, his cock dribbled with his juices and was red and aching against his abdomen. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his mouth gaped open so that all his gasps were unfiltered.
The man behind you moved his hands to your hips, where they rested warm and heavy against your skin, pushing you further and further until your hips were flush against Bucky and the length of the blue dildo was penetrated within him.
It took a couple of thrusts to know how you were supposed to move, finding the right rhyme that felt good for you and Bucky, who was an absolute mess beneath you. You started slow and shallow, knowing that the dildo was moving deep and stretching areas your fingers couldn’t reach.
You were also distracted by Steve, who had begun to kiss along your bare shoulder, up the length of your sensitive neck and to the shell of your ear, where he nibbled on the lobe. “Do you like seeing Bucky like this beneath you? Do you see why we both love being dominant? There’s nothing better than seeing your lover sprawled beneath you, responding so well to your touches, until they're sobbing with need, their thoughts only of you and nothing else. I love it so much, making you feel good and seeing you make Bucky feel good”.
You’d begun thrusting harder, driven by Steve’s words and moaning yourself at his explanation. But then you’re halting as Steve starts to move your thighs apart so that he can slip his fingers from your hips, over your mouth and between your legs, pressing on the harness directly over your clit.
“Let me just move these out of the way. I bet you’re dripping, aren’t you, baby?” Steve mumbled against your neck as he moved the straps to the side to caress his fingers through your drenched folds. He chuckled as he confirmed his suspicions, “Always so wet for us; you’re just such a good girl. I think it’s about time to treat our good girl; what do you think, Buck?”
“If you don’t fuck her, I will”, Bucky decided as his hands released their grip on the sheets to begin fondling your tits, twisting and flicking on your nipples and making your hips snap forward harshly.
Steve shifted once again behind you, and before you could even moan his name, his cock slid between your legs and pushed into your soaked, aching pussy. Your hands reached out to grab onto anything and ended up grasping Bucky’s wrists, your eyes shutting and hips pausing as you thrived at the stretching from the Blonde’s cock.
Bucky readjusted his hands so that both of your fingers were linked together, holding you up as you took a moment to get used to the size of Steve as he kissed along your neck to help soothe you. “Feeling good, Sweetheart?” Steve asked, smugness evident in his tone.
“So-... So good”, you stuttered over your words as you tried to accommodate his length, groaning as he finally bottomed out and his tip pushed into your cervix.
“Now the real fun begins”, Steve grunted as he pulled out and pushed back in, causing your hips to snap forward and fuck into Bucky. The two of you gasped at the movement, and then you truly realised Steve’s plan. In this position, as Steve fucked into you, it caused you to thrust into Bucky so effectively; Steve was fucking both of you at the same time, which was probably why he had found a dildo that was similar in size to his own cock.
“Holy shit!” Bucky groaned, his back arching as his hands gripped tightly around yours as Steve began to move faster, the wet sounds echoing around the bedroom as the morning sun began to seep through the gap in the curtains.
Steve rested one hand against your hip, and the other reached around your body to grab your hand, pulling it out of Bucky’s grasp but only so that he could move it down to the man’s cock, wrapping your fingers around his shaft and then covering your hand in his. Matching his thrust, Steve used your hand to jerk off Bucky, and this only made your walls tighten around Steve at seeing the man beneath you crying out.
You knew Bucky was trying not to cum, Steve knew Bucky was trying not to cum, and Bucky was desperately in his own world of attempting to prolong the pleasure. He never wanted it to end. Even as his shaft hardened and his moans became more urgent, he still tried to will his body to not orgasm.
However, this all went out of the window as you had the sudden confidence to say, “I want you to cum for us, Bucky; I know you want to”.
It was almost instantaneous. Bucky’s eyes shut as his back arched further, his hands falling back to his side as long streaks of hot cum lathered up his chest as he came hard, his hips thrusting around your dildo and his cock into your hand.
Steve grunted over your shoulder, his movements quickening as he reached his peak, but he, like Bucky, tried to hold it back. Releasing the grip on Bucky’s spent cock, he reached between your thighs and stroked against your clit, pressing harshly and snapping his hips into yours.
It was like a burst of warmth and tingles spread from your abdomen, over your pussy and down your thighs as you came, slumping forward against Bucky’s chest as you lost any energy you had. Your pussy spasmed around Steve and he heaved a finally harsh thrust into you before he was pouring his seed into your hole, seeping out of the edges and pooling onto the sheets below.
The three of you tried to catch your breaths, not rushing to move as you each kissed random body parts lovingly, not quite having the energy to express how much you loved each other, but the touches conveyed the message thoroughly enough.
Steve was the first to move, kissing between your shoulder blades once before pulling out and then carefully beginning to help you ease out of Bucky, who gasped at the loss of the dildo. Next, Steve helped you stand on wobbly knees, only briefly so that he could clean between your legs with a warm washcloth and remove the harness from your body.
You then turned to Bucky and helped to clean all the cum and lube off of his body and then collapsed onto his chest, cuddling close as his arms wrapped around your shoulders as he kissed the top of your head. Steve did the same on Bucky’s other side, kissing your head and then Bucky wrapping his big arms around the man's abdomen and laying his hand over yours. No further words needed to be said; Steve finally found the calm that came from being with you and Bucky, the ideas and thoughts quietening in his mind as he found the peace he’d been craving all night.
1K notes · View notes
wheresarizona · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media
Bluebonnet
summary: Is Joel Miller your friend? No. You’re not even sure if he actually likes you or just puts up with you because of his kid. Then he kicks some guy's ass in a bar for getting handsy with you, and you’re starting to think maybe he might like you a little…
rating: E (18+!! No y/n, Grumpy Joel Miller, Protective Joel Miller, Soft Joel Miller, age gap (unspecified but reader was born before the outbreak), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), creampie, oral sex (f + m receiving), 69 position, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, spit mention, slight breeding kink, Joel has a big dick, Joel being kinda a dick, a random guy harassing you then getting beat up by Joel, canon typical violence, icing Joel’s knuckles, feelings confessions, Ellie being Ellie and the star of the show, AU where Joel doesn’t lie to Ellie and their relationship is still good)
pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader
word count: 5.5k+
a/n: Literally, a scene in this woke me up from dead sleep at five in the goddamn morning, and I spent thirty minutes plotting the whole one shot while barely awake. This fic was very spur of the moment that I wrote in less than two days, so it’s unbeta’d. All mistakes are my own. Please be horny about Joel protecting you with me.
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
Masterlist
Tumblr media
Is Joel Miller your friend? 
No. 
Are you on friendly terms?
You thought so. 
Joel isn’t the most social of fellas—he’s basically a feral cat that wants to be left alone.
If you aren’t friends with him, then how did you become the regular occupant of the seat across from his in the Jackson mess hall every breakfast and dinner? 
The answer is simple: Ellie. 
It all started months ago when you first got to Jackson and met the teen after being assigned to a job rotation with her. She was so excited about finding out you lived in Texas for many years before the world went to hell she invited you to eat dinner with her so you could meet someone, and that’s how you were introduced to Austin-native Joel Miller. 
He’s a bit older than you, never smiles, and isn’t much of a talker but still polite enough to answer a question if you ask it, even if it’s more of a grumble at the start of the day. With Ellie, though, it was different. He talked to her, and his voice was like coming home after a long day and settling in on the couch—that familiar Texan accent making you feel all warm and comfy, his words wrapping around you like a tight blanket and taking you back to a time when things were good and safe. 
The morning after the first dinner, Ellie had called you over to sit with them for breakfast, and again that evening, little bits of conversation happening between bites as you got a grasp on what the relationship was between this young girl and man—it was clearly father-daughter in nature even if she didn’t call him ‘dad,’ and you savored every word she wheedled out of him. 
It got to the point where the teenager didn’t have to beckon you over, and you just knew to set your food down in the seat in front of Joel to eat with them, always smiling at Ellie giving him so much shit, chatting with them or more the young girl, with Joel occasionally offering clipped anecdotes, and you trying not to acknowledge his handsomeness—you weren’t sure if he even liked you or if he was just putting up with you for the sake of his kid.  
He does have a lovely voice and is very attractive with those expressive chocolate-colored eyes that sometimes soften when he looks at his daughter; you could imagine his grey hair would be soft to the touch, and it’s obvious those full lips of his are kissable. Honestly, it’s surprising he’s not seeing anyone that you know of or Ellie is aware of, with how damn pretty he is.
His broad shoulders and how his flannels stretch over his chest. 
His neck. 
God, he’s sure nice to look at. 
And Ellie is a great kid who trusted you, coming to you anytime she needed advice or wanted to talk about something, and you were happy to be there for her. 
The breakfast and dinner routine had been going on for so long that even though Joel didn’t talk at length to you, you’d managed to learn quite a bit about him from questions he’d answer or conversations he had with his kid or brother in front of you. He definitely knew a lot about you, too. 
Now, back to why you’re not sure if he likes you. 
That morning when you went to breakfast, you were running on autopilot—piled your plate with food, grabbed your cup of shitty coffee that made you want to cry with how much you missed Starbucks, and set it all down in your usual spot, where you started to eat. 
When your brain finally began working, that’s when you realized it was abnormally quiet at your table, and you looked up to realize Ellie wasn’t there—it was just Joel. He must have seen some kind of look on your face since he grumbled out she was with a friend. Then when you asked if he wanted you to sit somewhere else, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he told you no before going back to eating in silence.
That put a point in the maybe he wasn’t just putting up with you for the sake of his daughter column and made you smile a little the rest of the meal.  
She wasn’t at dinner either.
This had you standing near your seat, chewing on your lip, debating on sitting elsewhere until Joel sighed loudly, setting down his fork to tell you in a tone that brokered no room for argument to sit, so you did. 
After a few bites, you almost choked to death when he asked how your day was. 
There was actual back and forth between just the two of you, and you were in heaven at how much he was speaking, another point going toward he might like you. 
Those interactions had you feeling really hopeful, and you were excited for breakfast the next day, wondering if he’d try to talk to you more. 
It’s been over half a year since you arrived in town, and you have managed to make some friends, who you knew for sure were your friends, and also closer to your age. When a couple of them asked if you wanted to get a drink that night and play some pool, you happily agreed. 
The place is practically empty when you arrive. 
Standing at the bar, chatting with your friend Mathias as you wait for the bartender to make your drinks, you can feel someone staring at you. Doing a quick glance of the room has your stomach dropping and is the reason you’re pretty fucking sure Joel doesn’t care for you; he’s sitting across the room at a table in the corner, glaring at you—not just glaring, if looks could kill you’d be deader than dead he looks so pissed off, and you’re about to go find out what his problem is when two things happen:
Mathias excuses himself to the restroom, and some man you’ve never seen, let alone spoken to, gets your attention on your other side. 
“Hey.” The interloper squeezes your arm, which makes your head turn toward him, shaking him off.
“Don’t touch me,” you reply. 
There’s nothing special about the guy—he’s probably younger than you, has floppy blonde hair, and a clean-shaven face, but something in his eyes made you feel uneasy. 
“My apologies,” he says, putting up his hands placatingly. “This is my first night here, and I’m just trying to make a new friend. Have a drink with me.” 
“Welcome to Jackson, and no, thank you, I’m here with friends.” 
“I’m sure they won’t mind if you have one drink with me.” His voice goes lower, “We could have some real fun together.” He has the audacity to grab your ass, and you step out of his reach. 
“I said don’t fucking touch me.” 
The bartender has gone into the back, Mathias is nowhere in sight, and your other friend is in another room where the pool table is with the jukebox playing. 
Something flashes in his eyes, and it has your heart pounding. 
“Don’t be like that. Just one drink,” he says, coming closer. 
You are readying to fight the bastard when all of a sudden, someone is grabbing his collar, and you see a fist connect with his face in a sickening crunch that makes you gasp. 
Joel yanks the guy in front of him. 
“She said not to fuckin’ touch her,” he grits through his teeth. “And that she didn’t wanna have a drink with you.” 
“I’m sorry,” the other man wheezes, blood oozing from his clearly broken nose. “I’ll leave.” 
“Yes, you fuckin’ will—after I teach you some fuckin’ manners.” 
With that, he punches him again and again and again.
You’re no damsel in distress—you’ve survived the fucking apocalypse for the last twenty years practically alone and could easily fight your way out of dangerous situations. But having someone stand up for you and protect you? It’s really doing it for you, except you’re genuinely worried Joel will murder this man, so you move toward him. 
“Stop, Joel!” you shout, pushing on his shoulder, and he does immediately, his eyes meeting yours. “He’ll leave; toss him out. Please, Joel. Don’t kill him.” 
His chest rises and falls as he pants, nodding his head once before hauling the groaning man to the door and throwing him out. The bartender chose that moment to come back, as well as your friend. 
There was a worried expression on Mathias’ face. “Is everything okay?” he asks. 
“Yeah,” you answer. The drinks are sitting on the bartop, and you gesture toward them. “I’ve got something to do, so take those for me, okay?” 
Confusion is etched on his brow. “Okay…?” He strategically picks up the three glasses and heads for the other room with the pool table. 
Your attention moves to the man behind the bar. “Hey, can I get some ice in a rag?” 
“Sure thing,” he replies, going to the block and using the ice pick. 
Joel didn’t return to you. Instead, he went back to his table like the last however many minutes didn’t happen, and it makes you sigh. 
His mixed signals have you so confused you’re ready to just get it all out in the open. 
The bartender hands you some ice wrapped in a towel, and you walk over to Joel, having to drag the seat across from his around so you’re next to him, seeing his right hand shaking around his glass with bloodied knuckles. 
He won’t even look at you. 
“Give me your hand,” you order him. 
“I’m fine.” 
“No, you’re not. Give me your fucking hand.” 
“No.” 
“Stop being a stubborn asshole, and let me ice your fucking knuckles.”
“I said I’m fine.” 
He won’t give you his hand, so you do the next best thing and press the ice against them while they hold his drink, Joel hissing at the coldness. 
His head turns to glare at you. 
“Don’t give me that look.” You glare right back. “I’m helping you.” 
“I don’t need your help,” he practically spits out. 
Taking a deep breath, you ready yourself for what you’re going to say. 
“We had a nice dinner,” you tell him. 
His eyebrows furrow. 
“What?” 
“We had a nice dinner with just the two of us where we talked—you didn’t smile, but it was the most you’ve ever said to me, and this morning, you let me eat with you. You’re not a people person, and I wasn’t sure if you liked me all that much, but our meals today made me think you might. Then tonight you were glaring at me—”
“When was I glarin’ at you?” he interrupts. 
“Before that creep started getting handsy.” 
“Oh, I wasn’t lookin’ at you…” His eyes dart away. 
You’re confused. 
“There’s like no one here. Who were you looking at?” 
He sighs loudly. “Your boyfriend,” he mumbles. 
“Huh?” 
“Your boyfriend—the guy you’re here with.” 
“Oh, Mathias? I’m not his type, and he’s already in a relationship. I don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, or a partner—I’m not seeing anyone. You should know this.” 
“Oh.” 
“Okay, so you weren’t glaring at me, you were glaring at my non-existent boyfriend, and then you came in hot like some knight in shining armor and beat the shit out of that asshole for doing me wrong. Sooo, you maybe like me?” 
He looked at you with a squinted gaze, like the answer was obvious. 
“I more than maybe like you,” he replies. 
That has your eyes widening. 
“Wait, in the romantic or platonic sense?” 
“There’s no point in talkin’ about this,” he sighs, looking down at the amber liquid in his cup. 
“Um, yes, there is because if I have a shot at breaking off a piece of this Kit Kat bar, I’d like to take it.” 
His gaze met yours, and you could see the hope swirling in the dark pools. 
“In the, uh, romantic or platonic sense?” 
Smiling, you answer, “Romantic—I’ve basically been crushing on you since I met you. We’ve known each other for months, almost a year. You’re such a good father to Ellie, a hard worker around town, and you let some random person sit with you during your meals—”
It takes your breath away when he smiles softly and talks when you pause, “You’re not some random person, and I would’ve been stupid to turn away such a beautiful woman.” 
“Oh, god, you’re hot and charming.” He chuckles, and your heart picks up in pace. “How are you making me like you more?” 
“I don’t know, Blue.” 
“Blue?” 
“As in Bluebonnet.” 
Which was Texas’ state flower and makes you feel so soft at how sweet the nickname is. 
“I love it.” 
The smile falls from his face. 
“You, uh, don’t mind my age?” He scratches at his mustache. 
Ellie had made you very aware of how old Joel was. 
“No? I think you’re extremely attractive. Does the age difference bother you?” 
“No.” He shakes his head. 
“What now?” you ask. 
“Jesus, it’s been so fuckin’ long,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I guess I’ll court you—take you on a proper date.” 
“Second option, that’s more immediate, and we can go with your plan tomorrow.” 
He looks at you. 
“Yeah?” 
“Is Ellie home tonight?” 
His eyebrows dip together. 
“Yeah?” 
Smirking, you say, “Okay, so why don’t we go back to my place, and I properly thank you for what you did tonight.” 
You see his throat bob as he swallows, his voice going deeper when he asks, “How do you wanna thank me?” 
A smile pulls up on your lips, moving forward to whisper in his good ear, “I was thinking I’d suck your dick.” His breath stutters. “Then have you fuck me however you want.” That makes him groan, and you grin. 
His hand moves out from under the ice and up to cradle your face, along with the other, when his body turns, making you look him in the eyes.
“I was stupid for leavin’ you alone ‘cause I assumed you wouldn’t want anythin’ to do with someone as old as me.” 
You snort. “Uh, yeah. You went a little hard with the leaving me alone, but I’ll forgive you if you kiss me right now.” 
No other words are said. His mouth crushes against yours, swallowing your surprised sound as he kisses you hard. Your fingers end up tangling in his grey waves of hair, your heart hammering in your chest and pulsing at the apex of your thighs. It’s obvious he hasn’t kissed in a while, and you’re in the same boat, both of you figuring things out until there’s a rhythm, and things are heating up with a slip of your tongue into his mouth to slide along his. The need inside you builds and builds until your lungs start to ache for oxygen, and you break apart, his nose nuzzling yours as you both pant with a smile on your lips. 
“Let’s go,” he says, and you don’t have to be told twice.  
He washed his hands before you left the bar, so it wasn’t obvious he’d just been in a fight. 
Having Joel lead you through town is like having a big, scary dog on a leash with how people get out of his way. It’s a little surprising he even knows where you live when you find yourself walking through your front gate. 
“How—”
“Ellie,” he answers before you even ask the question, his feet stomping up the two porch steps and you following. “She’s free to hang out with whoever and go wherever. I just ask she tells me where she’ll be.” 
“That’s very ‘cool dad’ of you.” 
You’re standing at the front door, him out of your way. 
“She’s not allowed to leave Jackson without me. If I tell her to stay away from someone, she stays away from them. I expect her to be a model citizen and do the jobs she’s required to do. Unless we talked beforehand, she must be home in time for breakfast and dinner.” 
“So, today, you knew it’d just be the two of us?” 
“She asked last night to stay at Cat’s house.” That’s Ellie’s best friend. “They’re staying over at our place tonight.” 
“Probably won’t even notice you’re missing then,” you say with a smile. The door’s unlocked, and you push it open before turning to grab Joel by the collar, pulling him in for a kiss as he walks you backward into the house with his arms wrapping around your back. 
It’s a tangle of tongues, a clash of teeth, one of Joel’s hands moving to massage your breast while your fingers worked open the buttons on his shirt, him shrugging it off by the time you make it to your bedroom door you led him to. Once inside, he strips you first, spending quite a bit of time licking and sucking on your tits when they’re bared and stopping you when you try to work open his pants, learning he’s really fucking strong when he easily tosses you onto the middle of the bed. 
Quickly, you’re sitting up on your knees, and you get a good look at the sizable bulge at the front of his jeans; Joel standing there with his hands on his hips, staring at your body with a hungry gaze, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. Scars are littering the golden expanse of skin on his front and arms of varying sizes, a newer one you spot on his lower torso, all of them telling you he’s fought like hell to make it to this point. 
Shuffling forward, you’re tired of waiting, your hands going to the button on the front of his pants. Joel’s palm engulfs yours to stop you, his head tilting down to meet your confused eyes. 
“You don’t need to suck my dick for what I did,” he says. 
“Okay. What if I just want to suck your dick for the hell of it?”
His lips tip up in a crooked smile, and you’re enjoying seeing his different smiles. 
“Then have at it, but I wanna lick your pussy until you come on my tongue.” 
You suck in a breath, your cunt clenching hard around nothing. 
“If you can get me off with your mouth, you’re not gonna be able to get rid of me.” 
His eyebrow arches. “Is that so?” 
“Yeah. You’ll be stuck with me.” 
There’d been enough talking, so you deftly popped open the button and pulled down the zipper, grabbing the waistband to tug his jeans down his thighs. You’re pleasantly surprised he goes commando, and then you get a good look at his hard cock, and it’s glorious. 
He’s thick, long, with a nice curve upwards, and you’re wondering if you’ll be able to fit him in your mouth—you’re definitely up for the challenge, licking your lips at the thought. Your fingers don’t even wrap all the way around him when you take him in hand, giving him a few quick strokes. 
“Wait,” he says, stopping your movements. 
“What?” you ask, looking up at him. 
“Hold on,” is all he replies, getting his pants the rest of the way down, kicking them off, and removing his socks. Walking around the side of your queen size bed, you’re turning in place to follow his movements as he gets on the mattress with a groan and the springs squeaking as he moves to the middle, his legs on either side of you, grabbing one of your pillows to put under his head that he lifts to look at you. “Sit on my face.” It’s an order, and he pats his chest to show you he means it. 
“I thought I was giving you a blow job…?” You point at his dick resting against his stomach. 
“You are,” he replies. “We’re doin’ both. Now, get up here,” he orders again, his face grumpy, patting his chest once more. 
“Sheesh,” you say, moving over his leg and up the bed, thankful you showered before you went out. “You’re really bossy when you’re horny.” 
When you’re within reach, he replies, “I’ll show you fuckin’ bossy,” and he puts his strength to work again, grunting while hauling you onto him with your back to his head and legs along his sides. His hand lands on the side of your ass in a sharp slap that makes you gasp, feeling the wetness between your legs, coating your inner thighs. “I’m eatin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he says, positioning you over his face, his hand giving your asscheek another hard spank causing you to clench. “And you’re gonna wrap that gorgeous fuckin’ mouth around my cock.”
You can’t respond because all train of thought leaves your brain when his mouth latches onto your cunt, feeling him groan into your sensitive skin, the sensations making your toes curl, and fire erupt in your center. 
“Oh my god, Joel,” you moan. “It’s so good. It’s so fucking good.” 
It takes a deep breath for you to focus on your task, spitting on your hand before grasping his hard dick in your palm, the tip red and shiny with his arousal, lowering your face to take him into your mouth. He’s salty on your tongue, your jaw open as wide as it will go as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head, stroking the considerable amount that won’t fit. 
His hands have a firm grip on your hips, pulling you farther down on his face, and you’re really worried he’s going to suffocate while he eats you out like a man starving. Pleasure in winding in your belly, tighter and tighter, with how he’s licking at your folds, your eyes rolling back in your head when he sucks your sensitive little clit between his lips.
He’s really going to make you come, and it feels so fucking good you’re having a hard time sucking his cock, so lost in what he’s doing to you—saliva is dripping out of your mouth and down his shaft, making your hand slide easily along him while you have half a mind to suckle on the head of him. 
You hit your breaking point suddenly, the coil inside you snapping, your body tensing up as you come with a loud moan, euphoria spreading out from your core. Joel groans into your cunt, his tongue pushing inside your sopping entrance to taste your release straight from the source, his hands grabbing handfuls of your ass and squeezing hard.  
He must get his fill because he moves you off his face, hearing him take a deep breath. 
“My good fuckin’ girl,” he says through panted breaths, rubbing your hips, his words causing a shiver to move down your spine. “Am I stuck with you?” 
You’d given up on blowing him, your forehead resting against his thigh. 
“Yeah,” you slur, sounding drunk. “How are you single?” It’s been a while since you’ve had that good of an orgasm. 
He sighs and taps your hip. “Turn around, baby.” 
Doing your best to turn, Joel helps you, getting you to straddle over his lower torso, your hands finding their place on his warm, flushed chest, seeing the grey hairs of his beard shining with your arousal and his lips frowning. 
“Like you said earlier,” he says. “I’m not a people person.” 
Your eyebrows knit together. 
“I’m people…” 
“No, you’re not. You’re my Texas Bluebonnet—my Blue.” His large palm comes up to stroke your cheek. 
You’re wondering something. “Why did you talk to me at dinner?” 
A sheepish look comes over his face. “‘Cause we were alone, and I didn’t have to worry about Ellie teasin’ me in front of you about my crush.” 
“She knows?”
He grimaces. “Suspects. Since there’s only three people on this godforsaken planet I like, and you’re one of them.” 
“And I’m the only one who’s not family—oh, that’s obvious.” 
“Yeah…” 
“Well, how do you want me?” 
He looks confused. “Huh?” 
“I said you can fuck me however you want,” you answer, sliding your hands up his pecs. “How do you want me, babe?” 
When he smiles this time, you get a glimpse of his teeth. “Ride me.”
His answer has you grinning. “Cowgirl, like a true Texan.” 
“I just love your tits,” he says, his big hands palming them. 
“Good to know,” you reply with a wink. 
Sitting up on your knees, you scoot back to get over his hips. His dick is still wet with your spit when you grab it and slide it through your folds before positioning him at your entrance. 
There are nerves swirling in your belly, your eyes landing on his dark ones as you slowly start to drop down, seeing his mouth fall open with a gasp, his hands grabbing onto your thighs. You knew there’d be a stretch, but he’s bordering on uncomfortable in how your walls have to expand for his size, feeling the slight burn. When you finally bottom out, you’re beyond full—you’ve never felt fuller, and it takes your breath away. 
“Jesus Christ,” his words are said through his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t move.”
His hard cock is throbbing inside you. 
“Been a while?” 
“Yeah.”
“Same. You’re so fucking big I’m gonna be sore after this.”
His dick jerks as he groans, “Don’t say that.”  
“Damn, you’re that close?” you ask, soothingly stroking your hands over his chest. 
You watch as his eyes blink open, the grumpy expression you’re used to appearing on his face. 
“Don’t make fun of me.” He slaps your ass. “I haven’t fucked in a long time, and now I’m inside the perfect pussy—you’d be strugglin’ too if you were me.”
“I’m not making fun of you, Joel.” You lean forward to cup his cheek, feeling prickling stubble under your palm. “I think it’s hot. Like, you have no idea how flattered I’d be if I made you come right away—talk about an ego boost.”
He doesn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing.  
“Are you just sayin’ that to make me feel better?”
“Nope.” To prove your point, you sit up, bracing yourself with your hands on his chest as you start circling your hips. 
His mouth goes slack, his eyes widening, a choked noise pulling from his throat that makes you smirk. “Fuck,” he pants. There’s sweat beading on his forehead, his cheeks a rosy pink. “You fit me like a fuckin’ glove.” 
You’re slowly building into an up-and-down motion, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock rubbing against spots you didn’t know existed, sparks of pleasure igniting in your center as you throw your head back. 
He must get a hold of himself because both of his hands come down on each of your asscheeks in loud, resounding smacks before he’s gripping them to help you move. 
Looking down at him, there’s concentration on his brow. 
“Your tight little pussy is takin’ me so fuckin’ well,” he says, hearing the wet sounds where you’re joined. “You love how I stretch you open?” 
“Yes,” you moan. 
You’re moving a little faster, moving up, and falling down a little harder, making the fire in your belly get hotter and hotter. 
“Lean down.” 
Doing as he says, your hands are on either side of his head while he continues helping you ride him. He lifts his face to pull a pebbled nipple between his lips, and the pleasure shoots straight to your pussy, making you gasp and more arousal spill around his length. 
He laves at one bud, then the other as you work yourself up, the new angle allowing the coarse hairs at the base of his cock to rub deliciously against your clit, and you know you’re close.
Joel is groaning loudly, clearly in heaven, with his dick inside you and his mouth on your tits. 
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he says around your hard nipple. “You gonna let me feel you squeeze my dick? Let me fuckin’ have it. Be a good fuckin’ girl and give it to me.” 
It’s all too much, everything coming to a head as you fall over the edge with a cry of his name, clenching so hard around him, you’ve stopped moving with his cock buried to the root, pleasure radiating through your body. 
Joel’s breathing hard under you, and you don’t sound any better while you come down from your high. 
His arms suddenly hug you close to him, and you squeak in surprise when he flips you onto your back with his dick still inside you and his hips nestled in the cradle of your thighs. Lips find yours in a searing kiss, moaning as you taste yourself, welcoming his tongue when it slips into your mouth to tangle with your own. 
He starts moving to chase his high, his thrusts hard and fast. 
The bedsprings are squeaking loudly, the headboard banging into the wall, hearing the wet suck of your pussy taking his cock and your muffled moans paired with his muffled groans. There’s no mistaking what’s happening in this bedroom, and you just hope your neighbors don’t complain in the morning. 
Your fingers have threaded into his hair, your bodies sweaty, his lips leave yours, opening your eyes to see his face screwed up like he’s in pain. 
“Where do you want it?” he grits out. 
If he’s asking, then he knows the risk. 
“Inside.” 
He opens his eyes wide. “Are you sure?” 
It is a rare thing to want these days. 
“Yes.” 
His pace speeds up, grunting as he pistons into you, resting his head in the crook of your neck, feeling his hot breaths. 
“You can fuckin’ have it,” he grunts. “Fuck you full of me—milk me fuckin’ dry. Fuck, you’re perfect.” 
You know he’s close when his thrusts get jerky, then he’s pushing in hard one last time with a guttural groan, feeling the hot spurts of his come filling you, his hips continuing to roll until they finally come to a complete stop. It’s obvious he’s wrung out with how he practically collapses on top of you, but you welcome the weight, pushing your fingers into his hair and scratching at his scalp, which receives appreciative hums. 
Minutes pass that neither of you speaks. 
“‘M sorry,” the words are murmured into your neck. 
“For what?” you softly ask.
“Makin’ you think I didn’t like you.” 
“It’s kinda my fault, too. I mean, I am aware you don’t like people but you’ve eaten two meals a day with me for almost a year, so obviously you must like me somewhat.” 
His head comes up with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips frowning. 
“I like you more than somewhat.” 
You smile. His hair is a mess, and you go about combing your fingers through it as you say, “Yes, I know that now. You like me.” 
“I do.” 
“And I like you.” 
“Good.” 
“I said you’re stuck with me, so can this be more than a one-time thing?” 
His eyes squint in that same way where he thinks something is obvious. 
“What?" he says. "I’m not lettin’ you go anywhere. You’re mine—my Blue.” 
“Good. ‘Cause you’re mine, too.” 
He kisses you passionately, and you lose yourself in it for a second until a thought has your eyes flying open and you pushing his face away. 
“What?” he asks, bewildered. 
“How are you going to tell Ellie?” 
“Shit. Uh, we can sit her down tomorrow night—”
“No, this is a conversation you need to have with her alone.” 
He winces. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow night after dinner...” 
Tumblr media
Is Joel Miller your boyfriend? 
He absolutely hates you giving him that label, grumbling he prefers partner, but yes, he is your boyfriend. 
Did Joel sneak out of your house in the early morning hours to his own so Ellie wouldn’t know he was gone all night?
Also, yes. 
It’s the morning after, and you’re trying to act normal, ignoring how nervous you feel and the soreness between your legs as you sit down in your usual spot in front of Joel with your plate of breakfast. He’s changed into clean clothes and looks like he hasn’t slept, sipping on one of the two cups of shitty coffee in front of him, Ellie next to him already digging into some oatmeal with her spoon, which makes you realize—
“Ah, fuck,” you say, both of them looking at you. “I forgot to grab a fork.” 
“I’ll get you one, baby,” Joel says as he sets his coffee down and starts to get up.
The three of you go completely still. Your eyes are wide, Joel’s close in regret, his cheeks turning pink, and Ellie looks like she’s going to explode with excitement until—
“You guys FUCKED!” she shouts. 
People around the mess hall turn to stare. 
“Ellie,” Joel hisses, his head whipping toward her. 
“Sorry, sorry,” she says in a quieter voice, the rest of the room returning to eating. “I knew it! It’s about fucking time! So when are you getting married?” She’s looking between the two of you. “You know, I’ve always wanted a mom! And a brother! I’ll settle for a sister, though. Is she moving in with us, Joel?” She’s staring at him expectantly with a grin. 
Joel’s face is bright red. “I’m gettin’ the fuckin’ fork,” he grumbles as he gets up from his seat. 
Tumblr media
Masterlist
Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 
Tagging: @theorganasolo @absurdthirst @littlemisspascal @pedrostories @katareyoudrilling @iamskyereads @thefictionalgemini @lol-im-done @koryianders @flyingmushroomss @abbyhaslongshorts @savage-aespa @sofietargaryen @kpopslur @superflymaterial @virtuallia @shaunthesheesh @marsroxx @whore4dilfs @majdoline @mandowhatnow @autobotgirl15-blog @lentil-s0up @myloveistoolittle @squirtlebob @joliettes @aonungs-tsahik @javierpenasimp @thewayiknowyou @magic-magnoliaa @vanemando15 @eddiemunscns @gracie7209 @fan-fiction-floozy @butterscotch-mafia @deliriousfangirl61 @khaylin27 @notyourlovemonkey @a-wild-haggis @scorpiomindfuck @fandomandotherthings @seitmai @myswficlist @call-me-doll-face @fictionalmenloversblog @addisonnie @shaekirk @bitchwitch1981
1K notes · View notes
whiskersz · 1 month
Text
Hello all, I wanted to dedicate some time to writing some self indulgent stuff, so here's some Adam dating HCs! Do tell me if you'd like more ^o^ Also I'm trying to play around with the format of my posts.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
Adam x Reader - Dating Headcanons
Tumblr media
✦ Adam undoubtedly has a soft spot for you; from refraining to call you distasteful nicknames to trusting you to preen his wings, many are the ways in which he demonstrates that you’re special to him, not just another Angel. You’re one of the few souls who willingly shows him kindness after all, so how could he ignore that? Despite acting like a jerk most of the time, he really can’t bring himself to be that way around you.
✦ To get someone like him to fully respect you takes a lot of time and patience; just ignoring his unpleasant comments and jokes alone won’t do, you’ll sometimes have to retort with a joke of your own, or even laugh at them. If you do it’ll boost his confidence stratospherically, it’ll make him full on puff up his chest and give one strong flap of his wings to hear you laugh at something he just said.
✦ Something that I also mentioned in another one of my headcanons posts is that he loves naps; he’s a pretty lazy guy in general, so between meetings and training he’ll surely want to relax, even better if he gets to do that with you. He likes lying on his couch with you wrapped up in his arms and wings - bonus point if you’re peacefully sleeping – with his TV playing in the background. If you’re in bed though, expect him to move around a lot as he does so unconsciously in his sleep, unless he’s holding you...in which case his arms will practically trap you and you won’t be able to leave without waking him up.
✦ Another thing he quite enjoys doing with you is playing videogames, just to chill a bit together, and if drinking was allowed in Heaven I feel like he would be the type to play drinking games. He surprisingly doesn't need much to have fun, even in the house.
✦ Adam loves eating ribs, but he can’t cook for shit. He’ll always order those or takeout on a daily basis, so you decide that it’s a good idea to teach him at least the basics. He’s very clumsy in the kitchen, doesn’t really understand how most things work but hey, at least he can tell when the water’s boiling! So teaching him how to cook his own ribs is a bit of a process, but eventually he learns and takes pride in knowing how to make his favorite dish on his own. Give it some time and he’ll be parading around and telling anyone who asks about how his ribs are way better than the ones you can get at a restaurant.
✦ Speaking of food, he’ll almost always take you somewhere to eat if you’re on a date. Even if you’re just getting fries from some stall on the side of the street, he’ll make sure you’ve gotten a treat at the end of the day.
✦ He’s a big show off too, so he’ll 100% propose you to try playing guitar only to exhibit his own skills. If you compliment him enough and you appear to be genuinely interested in learning though, he will gladly be your teacher. He will show you how to play the songs he likes them most – his own – and reward you with a ‘You rock, babe!’ or something along those lines and a kiss whenever you get something right. He’s really, really proud of you and of being able to teach you something.
✦ Adam loves casually calling you pet names. He won’t use extremely cheesy ones, but things like babe/baby, sexy and hon. He’ll use them in sentences where they don’t even really belong, even, just because he’s willing  to show you this sweet side of him that nobody else gets to witness. The one thing he will never call you is shortened versions of your name; he finds those extremely corny.
✦ He’s also not really afraid of showing his love in public, PDA is very much his thing when you two are together. Hand holding, a wing draped across your back, an arm around your shoulder...careful not to do too much though, he’s not really a fan of kissing in public or anything on the more intimate side like that. If this happens he won’t deny you a kiss or a hug but you’ll have to deal with his attitude for a while.
487 notes · View notes
cozage · 9 months
Note
Hi hope you are having a good day
I wanted to know what would it be like if, Mihawk, Shanks and Buggy had a female s/o that was basically like inosuke from demon slayer, they are a bit dumb but will pick a fight with everyone, and they only wear a bandaged top with like shorts or smt.
You guys have been asking me lots of questions and making me feel loved so here is this!!! (And maybe more spicy things to come later this week 👀)
Characters: female reader x Mihawk, Shanks, Buggy Wordcount: 850 CW: the last bullet point in all of them that are a little spicy
She’s Kinda Stupid, but…
Mihawk
This man is literally so tired. He’s so tired. 
Will very often say things like “I didn’t know I was in charge of three children.” (yes Perona and Zoro are his CHILDREN okay) or “Are you acting your age today, or are we pretending you’re six years old again?” or “I’ve met dogs more behaved than you.” (it’s all coming from a place of love and he knows you won't take offense because you don’t take offense to anything)
You’re a brat and he knows it (and loves it). He loves you but god you are so much work when the two of you are out in public. He feels like he can’t take his eyes off you or you’ll end up in a fight with some random guy because he looked at you funny. 
Most of the time he doesn’t acknowledge your shenanigans. When you fight with someone, he’ll grab your wrist and physically pull you away from them, usually with some kind of snide remark. 
Sometimes you’re justified, though. And when that happens, he gives the guy who wronged you five seconds to apologize before he sets you loose. Most of the time the guy sees Mihawk and apologizes, but the swordsman secretly hopes the guy won't apologize. And on the few occasions they don't apologize, he smirks as he releases you. 
He always has to pull you off the guy because you just don't know when to stop. In all truthfulness, it kind of gets him hot and bothered, but he always pretends to be irritated. “You’re psychotic. Do I need to teach you how to behave?” he scolds, his gold eyes scanning your body. “I can think of a few ways to get you to listen.”
Shanks
Shanks adores you. Cheers you on. Loves watching you cause absolute chaos. Why? Because you are him without a conscience. 
Shanks knows when he needs to flip the switch from polite to fight, but you don’t. You are always at 100%, your most authentic self 24/7. And he absolutely adores that about you. Even if that means that sometimes you take it a bit too far. 
Sometimes Shanks will even use your emotions to his advantage. “Can you believe that guy just did that?!” or “Talk about rude!” knowing full well you’re ready to throw down whoever wronged you or him. 
The absolute only time that Shanks will stop you from fighting someone is when you all are in a building. He’s had to pay SO MANY owners back for you destroying glassware and furniture and plenty of other damaged goods. You learned pretty quickly that the first words out of your mouth should be “Wanna take this outside?!” because if you were outside then Shanks didn’t stop you. 
The first few fights, he watched carefully, making sure he would be able to jump in if he needed to. The next couple of fights, he watched you with an amused look, excited to see how you were going to beat up the guy (and just to make sure you would win). Nowadays, he doesn’t even feel the need to go outside with you, but sometimes he does just to cheer you on. 
After your victory, he always rewards you with a bunch of kisses and sings your praises. He pulls you onto his lap at the bar, making sure everyone knows you're his. “You did so well. I loved how you stomped that guy into the dirt,” he’ll coo, dotting kissing across your neck. “How about later I show you just how proud I am of you, okay?”
Buggy
You never cease in stressing this man out. He is always on high alert now because of you. 
Stealth missions? Forget it. Normal day in town? Absolutely not. He BEGS you to be a normal human being in public. To have an ounce of self preservation. But you cannot comprehend that. People who talk shit deserve to get hit.
He is constantly running after you, screaming at you to stop fighting people for no reason. Sometimes he’ll even jump in front of your punches to try and de-escalate it (which of course doesn’t work and results in you just punching him in the face). You don’t even feel bad, you just scream at him to get out of the way and beat up the other guy even more since he made you hurt your boyfriend.
If anyone makes fun of him, he doesn’t even have a chance to scream at them anymore. You’re already pounding their face into the ground. And every time you do, he falls in love with you a little bit more. 
“That’s right, that’s my baby!” he screams, watching you smugly walk away from some guy’s beaten body. “Let’s go celebrate, you can do whatever you want.” He grabs your hand, practically pulling you back to the ship.
2K notes · View notes
yandere-sins · 4 months
Note
Just read your yandere!Ghost HCs and I am absolutely in love!! What are your thoughts on a shared darling between an all yandere!task force 141? Do you think it will make Ghost less possessive cause he doesn't have to worry about protecting their darling all the time or even more so cause he has to share? 🤔 Also curious about the other members interacting both with their darling and each other.
You're an amazing writer and I love all of your works so much!! Have a lovely day!! ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for your request! ♥ I only did the core members I know of and about, hope that's alright!
»»———————— ♡ ————————««
Price
♡ John has undisputed dips on you in this dynamic. He doesn't take the active role of caretaker for you, but he gets to hold you first after a mission, be the first to kiss you, and ask if you've eaten and if you were good while he was gone. He's the one giving orders concerning you after consulting with the others, and he's the one to cozy up to if you really want to better your living situation, even though he doesn't easily fall for tricks. You'll have to behave in front of him because the punishments he orders are all the harsher. Putting you into your place never feels more bittersweet than when he gives you both carrot and stick to remind you of your position by his side. That you are nothing without him. That you need him. But as long as you indulge him a little whenever he asks for it, his presence in the group isn't much trouble to you.
♡ Price mostly hands over taking care of you to the boys, laughing when he jokes about "being too old" to clean up after you. But he has that authority no one can argue against. If he wants you in his bed for the night, the others won't complain as they send you to his room, and if he dislikes your attitude, he'll treat you like a rookie soldier in need of some discipline—just without professionalism holding him back. But it's so easy to get along with him if only you let down your pride a bit. When you catch him watching you across the table, get up from whoever's lap you are on and climb on Price's. Allow him to knead your thighs and ass while you cuddle against his chest, and you'll have this grown man melt with affection for you. And when he asks whose bed you want to share that night, never hesitate to ask for his. If he doesn't want to, he'll send you away anyway, but showing him how devoted you are will earn you lots of browny points that might help you out of more complicated situations with the others. Price never forgets what you do—neither good nor bad.
Soap
♡ Soap is, undoubtedly, the social butterfly of the group, and you are his unwilling victim. He so loves to hang out with you, every bit of attention going straight to his ego. Then again, he's also your best bet when it comes to food, bathing, and other basic needs that you want met from your captors. He's the easiest to ask for anything because he wants your attention desperately and will try to fulfill your wishes like a dog trying to impress his owner. He's also your main chaperon around base, gladly escorting you to the kitchen, the bathroom, or wherever the rest of the group is. If no one else claims you for the day or night, his room is basically yours, and you are often collected from it, as John will claim all your time and your sanity if left unchecked.
♡ Regardless, behind all the smiles and jokes, he's definitely the most obsessed. You'll find him wide awake, watching you sleep at night or licking your cutlery after you eat. There have been no fewer than three times that he didn't accompany you into the shower, taking advantage of you whenever he can. It's hard to look into his eyes sometimes, wide open and swirling with madness while he watches you, always right there to catch you when you fall. Soap will gladly lick the blood off your wounds if he's not pulled away by the collar of his shirt. King of not caring what the others think, he's not even realizing how weird he's being, but you know. You know what he does with your underwear at night. You know the crazed rambles he whispers into your ear when he thinks you're asleep. You wholeheartedly believe he's tempering with your food sometimes, and you know there's hell to pay if you make him snap. John will take a lot of screaming and fighting back. However, you still have bruises from the last time his composure cracked, and no amount of him kissing them better helps to forget the way he can and will crack your skull on a wall if you defy him one too many times.
Ghost
♡ The reality is that Simon profits greatly from the arrangement but isn't too keen on it. He'll tolerate it; watch quietly as everyone else salivates over you. But nothing can convince him that any of the guys are better for you than he is. Even if he gives in to Price's authority, Soap's efforts, and Roach's right to you, doesn't mean he thinks they should have you. He's known for stealing you out of beds and sometimes kidnapping you to someplace the others won't find right away to get some undisturbed alone time. However, being with him is terrifying. You won't be able to relax, your heart pounding against your ribcage when you're with him. After all, it's Ghost, and he's a big, unpredictable meanie, at least in your opinion.
♡ Doesn't help that he's usually the one to diffuse any problems the others have with you before taking you with him and giving you the punishment you'll feel for the next few days. The others trust him to do the right thing, to make you obedient and sweet again. And he does, most of the time. There's only so much pain and torture you can endure. But he's also the one to mend your wounds and patch you up, gently asserting authority over you when you get fussy while he helps you stay alive after one of the others caused havoc on your body. You told him so many times you wanted to die, and he was the one to soothe you, hold you until you fell asleep. Sometimes, you think about thanking him. But then you remember his other side, the one that enjoys your pain, enjoys your dependency on him. The Ghost that loves cornering you against walls and kissing you breathlessly while you struggle, the one that broke and put your ankles into casts after you tried to run away. The shadow that is always there to remind you to play nice but who never rewards you in return. He must love you, somewhere, deep inside his shrewd brain. But you hate him with every fiber of your being. He's your worst nightmare, enemy, the bastard of the group. And your savior, protector, and most devoted lover at the same time.
Roach
♡ Gary is the yandere that you want to get along with. Who you actively try to pull on your side against the others, thinking he'd give you some leniency and compassion. After all, he ensures you get what you need when everyone else is too busy fawning over you. He brings in the goods to play with you, and makes you little gifts that you know are from him but he never claims your thanks. Roach is the last escape when you're in for another punishment, and you gladly disregard the fact that he's turning a blind eye to what his mates are doing if it means escaping whatever Soap or Ghost are planning to do with you. He's the eery presence at your back, his eyes always drilling into you, but his hands never forcing you towards him. He feels safe. Safer than anyone else, at least. But still waters are deep, and you don't know how you and his delayed gratification affect him.
♡ You are in for a rude awakening when you run to him, beg him to help you, and plead with him to make the others stop. Suddenly, his hands are all over you, and you are pulled into his lap, tightly secured in his arms, face burying into the crook of your neck as he breathes you in. It feels like you're imprisoned in his grasp, your body crushed between his and his arms. He's patient, always laying in wait for you to come to him, so when you do, you are all his. No one dares to disturb him when he traps you against him. The others might sigh and groan but will retreat and give him the time he's owed, considering he never asks for it. And Roach plans to use his time with you wisely, give you all the attention and care he's been holding back or doing in the shadow. You'll belong to him all night long without a second to breathe while he devours you, devotes all his love to you. You'll only be given back once he's done smothering you in suffocating adoration, leaving his marks all over you, and making you thoroughly regret the trust you put into him to help you and protect you. He's just as bad, if not worse than the others, and he'll gladly lure you into the fake sense of safety again with his presence and subtle touches that will keep them away as no one knows when Roach is ready to claim you again. Now that he had a taste, it's hard not to want more...
581 notes · View notes
Text
Origin Unknown AU -
Where Obi-Wan Kenobi is stewjoni, right, and Stewjoni believe that Force-Sensatives are like, possessed, like, demon-ate-their-baby's-soul-and-took-up-residence kind of possessed, right.
So Obi-Wan's mother, right, takes him down to the river when she sees signs that her strange little infant can grab things with his mind, and sometimes she swears she can feel his little infant urges press right up against her skull.
So.
Her baby is not her baby.
She takes him down to the river.
Now, on the other side of that river, topping off water for their ship and just done returning a missing person job, generally minding their own business, is a mandalorian.
Who does not take well to this woman drowning a baby. So, after a screaming argument and a whole lot of afressive posturing, mando ends up with the baby, who the mother insists is a demon-child. She does not speak basic well. He does not speak Stewjoni.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi, demon-born," she swears, over and over.
Mando shrugs and leaves, Obi-Wan Kenobi in tow.
Now, to mando this is just a fussy foundling, maybe an oddly perceptive little babe, but whatever. He'll find a home for the child at some point.
Mando'a becomes Obi-Wan’s first language. It takes until he is three for mando to finally figure out 'Oh, that kind of demon-child'.
Not equipped to deal with a toddler who can shove him across a room in a tantrum, mando naturally takes the 3 year old to his people - the jedi.
Now the Jedi, right? Don't really glean that when mando says "Here, take this foundling, his name is,Obi-Wan Kenobi and he's like you." That Obi-Wan is not a mandalorian child.
Now the jedi, right, like to help their younglings maintain a cultural connection to their native peoples, practicing traditional rites of passage, learning about their native food and language and holidays, etc. As much as the jedi can possibly manage, right? The archivists are both perplexed and ecstatic that apparently the creche now has the first mandalorian youngling in centuries.
Now, cue a decade later when the Mand'alor Jaster Mereel gets a request from the jedi temple if their mandalorian youngling could visit mandalore with his Jedi Master.
Now Mandalore, right, is like wtf? We haven't given any children to the jedi? Jedi don't come to Mandalorian space.
But Jaster's curious, so he says 'yeah, sure' and up shows the brightest eyed little wannabe mandalorian jedi that could ever possibly exist, speaking fluent mando'a and wearing a little plastoid cuirass with the orders symbol painted on it, vibrating with excitement and talking a mile a minute about Tarre Viszla's legacy and how he was never sure he made ujalayi cake quite right and how there was a little Keldabe on Coruscant and he was so excited to see the real Keldabe and Jaster - right? Jaster does not want to break this little kids heart but he’s really got to tell the jedi that they've got it wrong.
So he sends his son, Jango, and Duke Kryze's daughter Satine off to show the kid around, they're all vaguely similar in age and while Satine and Jango absolutely do not get along they have to get along anyway because their fathers rule Mandalore.
And then he and this Jedi Master get to the bottom of where this kid came from and Jaster ends up calling one of his old bounty hunters and they're like oh yeah I had a kid for a while and dropped him off at the temple, what about it?
Where did he come from?
I don't remember.
So now Jaster and the Jedi are hashing out well really now can't we just make Obi-Wan a mandalorian we raised him as one as best we could his entire sense of identity is at stake here and did you see those eyes? I cannot handle those eyes when they are sad.
Cue Mandalorian/ Jedi tensions being resolved just to keep Baby-Wan from being sad.
1K notes · View notes
sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 2 months
Text
The idler wheel is wiser than the driver of the screw.
Tumblr media
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.
362 notes · View notes
wheeboo · 6 months
Text
psycho | wen junhui
Tumblr media
SYNOPSIS. in which a new patient is assigned for treatment under your care, and you begin to put the puzzles and pieces together to a past case that you thought to have ceased away from your mind. PAIRING. wen junhui x psychologist!reader (ft. nurse!seokmin) GENRE. dark au, mystery, angst, a tiny tiny subtle pinch of fluff, my very first attempt at a psychological thriller :> WARNINGS. LOTS of descriptions and talks about fire, cursing, mentions of death, a mention of cigarettes, descriptions of scars + burns, descriptions of injuries from glass, mention of blood, reader has a small habit of scratching at their arms, jun makes a suggestive comment if you take it that way WORD COUNT. 12.8k
notes: this is for the caratsland event and probably the most complex plot i've tried to execute so far jsdlkfdfsdf. thank you to @slytherinshua for reading this over for me and being my lil confidence boost 💕 feedback would be much appreciated!! pls remember this is all fictional and not at all an accurate depiction of a psychiatric facility!!
another note: also this turned out to be rlly dialogue heavy and jun asks too many damn questions in this istg lmao
Tumblr media
PRESENT DAY: 2023
"Dr. L/N, you have a new patient assigned to you in room 610."
You don't glance up from your desk. Instead, you finish reviewing the case notes of your previous patient and nod in acknowledgment to the nurse standing in your doorway, a friendly young man named Lee Seokmin who was a recent hire, as you were told. As you hear the drop of a patient file in front of you, you lean back in your chair and finally get yourself to look up.
"Thank you, Seokmin," You tell him with a soft smile.
Seokmin grins, teeth all-flashy and cheerful. "You're welcome, doctor," before dismissing himself back out of your office.
You turn your attention to the patient file now resting on your desk. As you start to read through the notes, you see it only contains some basic information about the patient: name, age, and a brief overview of their medical and psychiatric history. It's a starting point, but you know that the real work begins when you meet the person behind the paperwork.
"Name, Moon Jun... male, age 27..." You quietly study the file to yourself. The file mentions a history of severe emotional trauma and burn scars due to a fire, which immediately catches your attention in more ways than one. It also mentions extensive facial scarring and a history of therapy that completely lacked significant progress. A part of it is a familiar story in your field𑁋it isn't uncommon for individuals to experience setbacks in their recovery.
But there's something about this patient's history that tugs oddly at your heartstrings.
As you rummage deeper into the file, you come across a brief note from a colleague who had previously assessed Moon Jun, mentioning he had been withdrawn and non-communicative during his stay, displaying anti-social behaviour, sometimes even having random bursts of aggression when approached. You take a mental note of all this in your head.
Closing the patient file, you rise from your chair and adjust the white coat draped around you, before leaving your office. You make your way through the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways of the psychiatric facility. The environment here is all-too familiar to you; you've spent years navigating these halls. With every door you pass, there hides a different story; a different struggle; a different battle.
Upon finally reaching the room, you hesitate outside the door for a moment. The anticipation and curiosity surrounding you mixes with a touch of uncertainty, almost like fear, as they often do when meeting a new patient. You've been doing this for nearly ten years, and the feeling isn't new.
Then as you come back to your senses, you lift a hand, give a gentle knock to the door, before entering the room. It's dimly lit inside, the curtains ominously drawn on the windows to conceal the sunlight peeking through. A figure sits at the edge of the bed, back turned to you, and the hood of his hoodie pulled low over his head worn over his patient gown.
"Moon... Jun?" You call out softly, trying not to startle him.
He doesn't respond immediately, shoulders tensing at the sound of your voice. After a moment of silence, he slowly turns his head to acknowledge your presence. Half of his face is obscured by a mask, leaving only his dark eyes visible.
"Doctor," he replies gravelly.
His gaze lingers on you as you take a seat in a chair that sat against the wall next to the bed, keeping a respectful distance from him. You've encountered many patients who have initially shown distrust or apprehension, but there's an intensity in the way he looks at you that sends something chilling on the surface of your skin, especially when it's the only part of his face that you can see.
You try to break the ice with a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Moon. My name is Dr. Y/N, and I'll be conducting our therapy sessions during your stay here. Please, make yourself as comfortable as you can."
He slowly nods, but his eyes never leave yours. The mask covering his face makes it difficult to read his expressions.
"Before we begin," You continue, clearing your throat. "I want you to know that this is a safe and confidential space. Our conversations are private, and I'm here to help you in any way I can𑁋to help you heal. You can share as much or as little as you're comfortable with."
You see the way his gloved hands clench together in his lap.
"I can't be healed," he mutters quietly, voice trembling as you sense the hopelessness in his tone. You've heard this phrase many times before during your career.
"I understand that you may feel that way right now," You reply, as soothingly as possible. "but I believe that with time and the right support, healing is possible for anyone. It's a journey, and I'm here to walk it with you. It's a process, and you don't have to go through it alone."
His gaze remains fixed on you, and the unsettling tension in the room lingers, almost palpable that you feel like there's an imaginary barrier between you and him that was enough for you to see this small part of him, while he can see all of you.
"Would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself? How do you feel coming here today?" You ask, hoping to begin the process of establishing some sort of connection.
He uncomfortably shifts a bit on the bed.
"I never wanted to come here," he says flatly. "They say this is a place of healing, but I've seen enough doctors like you. They prod and poke, dig into your past, and in the end, nothing changes. They don't know what I've been through, what I've seen. The scars, everything, they don't heal."
The words that leave his mouth are bitter and sour, yet you could only get yourself to nod sympathetically.
"It's not uncommon for people to feel that way, especially if they haven't found the right support. I want you to know that my approach is different. I'm here to listen, not to prod or poke." You glance down at the file in your hand and flip it over so that you couldn't see any information about him. "You're in control of our sessions, Mr. Moon. We can go at whatever pace you'd like."
He finally seems intrigued by this, leaning in ever so slightly, eyes devoid of colour that seemed to bore straight into yours.
"Control?" he repeats, voice still carrying a hint of skepticism.
You nod once more. "Yes, control. You get to decide what you want to talk about, what you're comfortable sharing, and at what pace. If there are topics you'd like to avoid or take your time with, that's completely okay. We can work together to create a safe space for you."
He seems to be taking in your words. "And... what if I choose not to talk at all?"
You offer a reassuring smile. "Then that's the option we can settle with."
The minutes that tick by seem dreadingly slow, and there's a light that dances in his eyes from the singular light fixture hanging above that almost resembles that of a flame. It doesn't go away even if he blinks, and it draws you in. Just a tiny bit.
"However, is there anything specific you'd like to share with me today, Mr. Moon?" You ask, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Any thoughts or concerns you'd like to discuss?"
For a moment, it seems like he's about to speak, but then he shakes his head ever so slightly, his hooded gaze still locked onto yours.
"Very well then." You let out a very subtle, shaky breath. It felt almost relieving. Silence it is.
That's what most of the session has come to𑁋sitting in this peculiar silence, feeling his eyes burn a hole right through you. It isn't until the end of the hour that he calls out toward you just as you were about to his exit his room, and you turn back to face him.
"Can you heal me, doctor?" he asks quietly, almost begging in a way. It's unnerving.
All you do is give him a faint smile.
"I'll try my best, Mr. Moon."
Tumblr media
FLASHBACK: 2013
"...All I could see were orange and red flames, and the smoke was hurting my eyes. I couldn't breathe𑁋just barely, but it hurt. It was painful. They were getting larger and larger and the screams louder and louder. Everything was gone."
"And what did you do while the fire kept growing?"
"I watched it all happen. I watched it all burn in front of me." The words had sent an eerie shiver up your spine, forcing the pen in your hands to stop mid-sentence. There was a singular pause that had come to follow, a harrowing silence that seemed to stretch into eternity, a subtle quiver in his voice that you barely caught. "There was nothing I could do."
You clicked your pen, its sound echoing in the tense silence. The room seemed to grow colder with each moment that passed.
"But it's all my fault, right?" he had asked, tone so innocent that it itches a part of your heart uncomfortably, but tugged in a way you felt determined to take root of the grief in his chest and rip it apart. And for a moment as you looked in his dark eyes, over his youthful features and guilt-ridden face, you felt that inkling feeling again. "I killed them. It's all my fault."
"None of this is your fault. Blaming yourself for something you couldn't control is a heavy burden to carry," You reassured him calmly, as gently as you could, knowing the power that your own words could cause for someone seemingly lost, troubled, and young. "You saved yourself. You're alive; you did what you could to survive, and you're here to heal. I'm here to help you heal, okay?"
Your reassurance was met with a fleeting smile, but it hadn't quite reach his eyes, yet his gaze peered directly into you as if searching for something in you𑁋you could only think it was hope. Hope that he wanted to heal just as much as you wanted to help him heal. It's your job. This was why you took this job in the first place.
You needed to save people, either from the demons in their minds or the traumas that haunted them. This boy had lost his entire family in a housefire, for God's sake. This was your duty.
"It's not my fault," he had said, and met your eyes, as if searching for approval. "It's not my fault."
"That's right, Hui." You offered him a faint, assuring smile. "It's not your fault."
Tumblr media
PRESENT DAY: 2023
"Excuse me, Dr. L/N? Is it okay if I sit here?"
You glance up to see Seokmin holding up a tray of lunch food, returning you from your zoning thoughts. You shoot him a kind smile and a nod, motioning to the empty space across from you for him to have a seat. Usually, you frequently have lunch alone in the comfort of your office where you can tend to yourself in solitude, but today, you might as well welcome the company.
Seokmin sets his tray down and takes a seat, and for some minutes, there's a comfortable silence as you both begin to eat. He seems to notice the tired lines to your face, but he doesn't press on about it.
"Have you been settling in well?" You ask him suddenly, breaking the silence.
"Huh, me? Oh." He's a bit taken aback, cheeks flushed, and you give a soft chuckle. "You could say that. I wanted to try something new after working bedside for the longest time. I didn't think that psych would be a field I was interested in𑁋look where I am now, though."
"That's the thing about this field." You let out a sigh, giving a knowing smile. "It has a way of drawing you in, even if you didn't plan on it."
"It was definitely an experience when I was in nursing school," Seokmin comments eagerly. You felt as if you were talking to a close friend rather than another colleague, and it feels rather refreshing. "and doing ICU was already draining of itself."
You take a sip of your drink, nodding your head. "I can only imagine. It can be quite rigorous."
Seokmin lets his gaze wander over you curiously. "How long have you worked here, doctor?"
"Please, you can just call me Y/N. Unless we're working."
Seokmin smiles. "How long have you worked here then, Y/N?"
You pause for a moment. Thinking about the amount of years you've worked in this field hasn't been a particular thought to come up𑁋time just seems to fly by when it's the only job you've been dedicated to for most of your life.
"Hm, ten years now? I believe this month will mark my ten years here."
Seokmin's eyes visibly widen in awe before responding, "Wow, that's... You must have really seen a lot of things. I really envy you, doctor."
Your smile fades just a bit; it's barely noticeable, though you still hope that Seokmin doesn't see it. You can feel that feeling gnaw at your skin again, something inexplicable, like a sense of foreboding that seemed to be creaking open a door you believed to have firmly shut for good.
But you choose to push it aside, just like you always do, dismissing it perfectly with a mutter of a thank you. It's ironic, considering this is what you do𑁋normally you would tell patients to confront their past and face their fears, but when it comes to your own, you tend to bury them.
There's an itch that crawls up your arms, and you knead at it through your sleeves with your fingers.
Maybe you can get used to this company, though.
Tumblr media
"Do you have any kids, doctor?"
The question comes after a click of your pen, and you glance up from the vitals sheet in your hand to see Moon Jun sitting criss-crossed on the bed, gloved hands sitting on his lap and pupils peering curiously over you.
"No, Mr. Moon," You reply, keeping your tone soft, somewhat nonchalant. "I don't have any children."
He tilts his head slightly, almost as if he's studying you like a specimen under a microscope. The mask on his face makes him appear even more enigmatic, his dark, even charming eyes the only feature you can discern.
"No family at all?" he asks. "No husband, wife, or children to go home to?"
"I live alone. My work keeps me quite occupied."
Some silence passes.
"Alone," he repeats, almost to himself, as if savouring the word in his mouth. "Don't you ever feel... lonely though?"
His question hangs in the air like a dark cloud. It's an oddly personal inquiry, but you decide to address it professionally. "Loneliness is a feeling that many people experience at different points in their lives. It's a normal human emotion, and it's something we can work through."
His gaze narrows, and his gloved fingers twitch in his lap. His mask conceals most of his facial expressions, but you can sense an intensity in his gaze.
"I've felt lonely my entire life, you know," he points out as you sit yourself down in the chair in front of him just like all your previous sessions. Despite the considerable space between you two, sometimes you swear you can feel him breathing right down your neck. "Even being in here too, it.... feels like a different kind of loneliness. A place where they put people who are broken. Like me."
"I can assure you that you are not broken, Mr. Moon," You tell him reassuringly. "How are you with meeting the other patients here? Are there any you have been interacting with since our last session?"
He leans back slightly, his gloved hands still resting on his lap, and his gaze seems to drift momentarily as if he's recalling something.
"I think... they are scared of me, to be honest," he answers, eyes crinkling just slightly as if there was a smile playing on his lips right below his mask. "But... perhaps they're all just lost, confused, and weak. They pretend to get better, but they're just putting on a show. It's a bit pathetic, don't you think?"
"It's not uncommon for people in this environment to have their guard up," You tell him. "Sometimes, it's just a reaction to the unfamiliar. Everyone here is dealing with their own battles, just as you are, Mr. Moon."
He chuckles lowly at that. It's the first time you've heard such a sound like that leave his mouth, like a dissonant note echoing in an otherwise quiet room. His masked face gives nothing away.
"Maybe it's because of this stupid mask on my face," he says, touching the mask with the tips of his fingers. "It makes me look like a criminal or a monster."
"The mask might be intimidating to some," You acknowledge, crossing your arms together. "but it doesn't define who you are."
His eyes narrow slightly, though there's that twinge of amusement as he crosses his arms together, mirroring your body language.
"You're not scared of me, right, doctor?"
You meet his steady gaze, his own searching yours from behind the mask. There's a moment of silence, something unspoken lingering in the air.
"No, Mr. Moon, I'm not scared of you," You respond, keeping yourself composed. "I'm here to understand you."
He leans back, that hint of amusement still present on his face.
"I think you would make a great parent, doctor."
The unexpected compliment catches you off-guard for a moment, making you briefly at a loss for words. There's a slight blush that crawls up your cheeks, and you clear your throat, trying to regain your composure.
"Thank you." You give an appreciative smile. "That's very kind of you to say."
You see that flickering flame in his pupils again. It's a fire that seems to burn brighter with each passing minute, and it leaves you both intrigued and uneasy.
Tumblr media
FLASHBACK: 2013
"I told you not to call me that!" Hui exclaimed angrily in frustration, his face turning a shade of red as he glared at you. The sudden outburst had caught you off-guard, and for a moment, found yourself at a loss for words. His face contorted with volatile frustration, and his hands clenched into fists.
"I apologise," You said calmly, doing your best to defuse the situation. "I didn't mean to upset you. What would you like me to call you then?"
He took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down. His shoulders slumped, and his expression softened slightly.
"Just call me by my nickname, okay?" he urged, voice a tad less sharp now, but it's still enough to pierce. "Hui is fine. I hate my name! It's ugly. I want to forget about it𑁋I want everyone to forget about it! That name doesn't exist anymore, got it?"
"Of course, I understand." You leaned back forward in your chair, slow and cautiously. "But I want you to tell me why you stole crayons from Chaewon earlier in the rec room."
Hui only scoffed in response. "It's not that big of a deal. I only took a few from her. She'll forget about it."
"You took something from someone else without permission, Hui," You explained matter-of-factly. "That's a violation of their personal space and boundaries."
Hui's focus darted around the room for a moment, lips pursed and fingers messing around with the frays of his hospital gown. Then his gaze hardened once more as he landed back on you. His silence was almost unsettling as it stretched between you, but you remained patient, waiting for him to offer an explanation.
"Fine, whatever," he muttered, finally relenting. "I wanted them for a project I'm working on, that's all."
"A project? What kind of project?"
"Back in group therapy... They wanted us to create something meaningful or something𑁋something that means a lot to us, and I needed the crayons for it. So I took them from her."
It took a couple of moments before you nodded, acknowledging his explanation. "I see, Hui. It's important to express yourself through art or projects, but it's also important to respect others' belongings. Try asking for what you need instead of taking it without permission, okay?"
Hui's response was a simple, noncommittal nod, eyes holding onto yours a moment too long.
"Now, the next time you're back in the rec room, please say sorry to Chaewon whenever you see her, okay?"
Again, all he did was nod begrudgingly, his expression showing a hint of reluctance.
"Good." You gave him a proud smile. "That's all for today. Tell me about your project next session, alright?"
You felt his eyes on you as you grabbed your case notes and stood up, before leaving him in his room. And even though you were out of his room, you swore you could still feel the weight of his gaze on you.
Tumblr media
PRESENT DAY: 2023
You find Moon Jun sitting on the edge of the bed once entering inside of his room, gloved hands folded neatly in his lap. The mask obscures his face as usual, but his dark eyes lock onto yours the moment you walk inside. The dim lighting in the room casts long shadows on the walls, and you find yourself drawn into those shadows as you take a seat across from him.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Moon," You greet warmly, taking your usual seat across from him. "How has your day been so far?"
He doesn't immediately respond. There's a hint of curiosity in his hooded eyes, but it's devoid of warmth. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but you've learned to pay attention to the smallest details when dealing with patients over the years. It still sends a shiver down your spine.
"Just been like any other day in this place," he finally replies coolly.
You offer a polite smile and proceed with the session. "Is there anything specific you'd like to discuss for today's session, Mr. Moon?"
He thinks for a moment, tapping his gloved fingers lightly against his knee. The rhythmic sound seems to echo in the room.
"Are you interested in mythology, doctor?" he asks, and the question was certainly something you didn't expect him to ask. He continues, "I've always had an interest in it growing up, so I was wondering if you did too."
You chuckle quietly. "I wish I could say the same, but... I guess I found it intriguing at times."
"Surely you must have heard some stories though." He giggles at this, unclasping his hands together and propping himself right at the edge of the bed so that he's leaning forward, his masked face closer to yours. The dim light makes it hard to see his features clearly, and the shadows in the room seem to grow darker, more pronounced. "Are you familiar with the creature, the phoenix?"
You pause for a moment to think, before giving a slow, careful nod. "I've... definitely heard of it."
"The phoenix," he murmurs, voice a soft, hypnotic cadence. "It's a beautiful creature of rebirth and fire, isn't it?"
The mention of fire makes you shift slightly in your seat.
"Mr. Moon, I'm not entirely sure where you're𑁋"
You're interrupted as he leans even closer, his masked face now mere inches from yours, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intense and unsettling focus. The shadows play tricks on your vision, making it feel like the walls are closing in on you.
"I just find it fascinating," he continues. "The idea of burning away the old and rising from the ashes anew. It's like a fresh start, a chance to be reborn. Do you believe in second chances, doctor?"
You swallow the lump in your throat. His intense gaze, shrouded by the mask, seems to hold you almost captive and confined to the chair you sat on, and his words seem to echo in the confined space.
"I... I believe that everyone deserves a chance to heal and grow, Mr. Moon," You respond carefully, trying to regain your composure. "But it's also important to work through the past before embracing the future."
He tilts his head slightly, as if considering your words. The room remains eerily quiet, the shadows deepening around you.
"Do you believe people can truly change?" he asks, voice softer now, almost pleading.
You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question sitting right on your chest.
"I believe that change is possible, Mr. Moon," You reply gently, choosing your words with care. "People have the capacity to grow and evolve, and to make choices that lead to a more positive outlook. But this varies from person to person𑁋if they are willing to put in the effort to do so."
For a moment, the tension in the room seems to dissipate slightly. The shadows on the walls appear to retreat, and the dim light feels less suffocating.
"Doctor," he finally speaks, voice low despite only being the two of you in the room, like he's telling you a secret. "what if... those flames of the past have burned too brightly, leaving nothing but ashes behind?"
You furrow your brows. "I-I would say𑁋"
"It's what happened to me, doctor, don't you understand?" he snaps suddenly, standing up from the bed to step closer to you. "You can't possibly understand what it's like to fucking lose everything, to watch it all burn in front of your fucking eyes! This is why I did this𑁋I put my life into the phoenix. I burned what was left of me, and now I'm here, in this absolute hellhole."
"Mr. Moon, I need you to calm down, please𑁋"
There's a flash of anger that shoots through his eyes, the flame burning in his pupils brighter than before. The atmosphere grows tense in the snap of a finger, and you instinctively stand up to bring yourself in the direction of the door to the room, maintaining a safe distance, acutely aware of the limited space and the fact that you're alone with him. There's an emergency button within reach where you can call for help whenever needed.
You can't get yourself to respond, feeling frozen from the way you can feel your heart pounding anxiously in your chest from his close proximity. He takes a step back, his hands trembling slightly as he clenches and unclenches them. The room seems to regain a semblance of normalcy, but the tension still lingers in the air, and you still can't move.
You watch as he cowers back towards the bed, leaving you standing next to the door. You felt as if you've been holding your breath, like you were submerged underwater and your fight or flight instincts were kicking in.
"You won't give up on me, right, doctor?" he asks, and the way he says it so weakly, naively, makes your head spin. "You can trust me, right?"
You smooth out your white coat, placing yourself back down in the seat across from him anticipatingly.
"I... I trust you," You mutter meekly. "I won't give up on you."
The corner of his eyes crinkle again. He's smiling. You can see it through the mask.
"How lovely," he states sweetly. "We're on the right track, then."
Tumblr media
"Y/N𑁋I mean Dr. L/N, are you okay?" Seokmin's voice comes up from behind as you walk yourself towards your office, feeling completely and utterly scatterbrained from the events of the past hour.
As Seokmin's voice reaches your ears, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. You turn to Seokmin and offer him a reassuring smile, though it doesn't quite reach your eyes, but seeing him in front of you already makes you feel a tad bit better.
"I'm fine, Seokmin, thank you." Your voice carries a hint of exhaustion and residual unease. "Just a challenging session, but I'm okay."
Seokmin just nods, but as you were about to turn around, he says, "If you... uh, ever need someone to talk to or anything, just know I'm here for you, okay? It can be tough, I've heard."
You smile gratefully at him, this time genuinely reaching your eyes. It feels like a breath of fresh air talking to him.
"Thank you," You tell him. "I might just have to take you up on that someday."
Seokmin scratches the back of his neck shyly and returns your smile with a warm one of his own. "Well, you know where to find me."
You stand still for a moment as Seokmin begins to dismiss himself away to resume his rounds, but just then, you feel a sudden idea pop up in your head.
"Seokmin, wait!" You exclaim after the man, who immediately turns around to the sound of your voice, peering at you worriedly. "Actually, there's something... Could you do me a favour?"
His eyes light up curiously. "Sure, what do you want me to do?"
You step up closer to him, looking around to ensure no one else was listening in.
"Can you help find me more information about the patient in 610?" You lean in, lowering your voice to a hushed tone. "I'd like to know more about his background, more than what's in his file right now, or just anything that might help me understand him better."
Seokmin raises a brow briefly but nods either way. "I'll see what I can do, Dr. L/N."
Tumblr media
FLASHBACK: 2013
The rec room was buzzing with activity as you entered, giving a chance for patients to interact with others and engage in activities outside of their rooms. Laughter, conversation, and the occasional burst of youthful energy filled the air; it’s a striking comparison to the somber atmosphere of the individual therapy sessions you usually conducted.
As you glanced around to find Hui, you finally caught sight of the boy sitting alone at a table in the very corner of the room. He appeared seemingly engrossed on the piece of paper in front of him, an array of crayons sat on the table. His focus was so intense that he seemed completely oblivious to the world around him.
You approached Hui's table with a gentle smile. "Hui, how are you doing today?"
Hui looked up from his drawing, eyes meeting yours briefly. "I'm fine," he replied coldly. "Just drawing."
You glanced down at his artwork, which depicted a scene of fire and destruction. The flames consumed a house, while stick-figure people screamed in the windows, their tiny, distorted faces twisted in agony. The only colours there would be that of the orange and red gigantic flame that enveloped the jagged, blackened lines of the house.
"That's... quite a powerful drawing, Hui," You commented as you took a seat right next to him. "What made you choose this subject?"
He shrugged nonchalantly, eyes not leaving his paper. "It's just what I felt like drawing."
"Is this supposed to represent what happened to your family?"
Hui only continued to mindlessly colour his drawing, his crayon moving across the paper with deliberate strokes.
"Maybe," he replied stoically. "I saw it all happen, but I couldn't do anything."
You studied Hui's face for a moment, but his expression remained blank, his focus entirely on the drawing. His mien was calm, almost eerily so, in comparison to the disturbing scene of destruction right below his fingertips.
"Can you tell me more about what you saw, Hui?" You asked him.
He glanced at you briefly, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. But it was gone so quickly that you couldn't be sure if you had imagined it.
"I already told you," he pressed. "I saw the fire, and I watched everything burn. It wasn't my fault that it happened."
You nodded, acknowledging his words, and continued to watch him work on the drawing.
"Did you ever feel sad about what happened, Hui?" You questioned.
Hui's face only remained impassive as he answered, "It won't change anything."
You could only think about all the trauma he must have endured𑁋from losing his family and being the sole survivor of such a ruinous event, to having to deal with all the emotions at once that it must feel almost numbing inside of him.
"Did anyone help you during or after the fire, Hui?" You prodded calmly.
He still didn't look up from his drawing. "Some firefighters came, and they put out the fire. But they couldn't save my family."
You felt that pang of sympathy for Hui as he mentioned the firefighters' futile attempts to save his family all while he was waiting right outside the house. It was clear that the traumatic experience had locked his emotions away behind a stoic, desensitized façade.
"I'm sorry to hear about your family, Hui," You said softly. "It's completely okay to feel sad or angry about what happened."
Hui's hand paused briefly in its colouring, but he didn't look up. You glanced down to the paper, noticing that he was drawing something in the corner, almost appearing like some sort of bird, like some sort of crow or cardinal.
"I don't feel much about it anymore. It's just the way things are."
Your eyes drift from his drawing, concern deepening, but you understood that emotional numbing was a common coping mechanism for trauma survivors. In a way, it's like a protective shell around oneself to prevent further pain. The emotional scars ran deep, and sometimes, it was easier for them to keep their feelings at bay rather than confront the overwhelming grief and sorrow that lurked beneath the surface.
That is what you attributed with Hui𑁋what you always had when he first came here. And you promised him patience and that it took time to fully heal.
"I'll leave you be now, okay?" You stood up from the seat, giving the young boy a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder.
Hui doesn't respond, still engrossed in his drawing. You took a step back, leaving him to his artwork, and decided to check on some of the other children in the room for the time being.
You swore you could feel his eyes on you as you walked away.
Tumblr media
PRESENT DAY: 2023
Your eyes are practically lasering holes right through the manila folder of Moon Jun's file.
The file only houses the basics𑁋his medical history, therapy notes, and observations from the staff. But there's something missing, something you can't quite put your finger on. His background information is limited, and there are no records of any family members or relatives listed. It's as if he appeared out of nowhere.
A knock on your office door makes you jump, and you quickly open your eyes to see Seokmin standing there with a stack of papers in his hands, concern etched on his face.
"Sorry, did I startle you?" he asks, stepping inside your office.
You offer a tired smile. "A bit, but it's okay. Come in."
Seokmin walks further into your office, closing the door lightly behind him. He takes a moment to study your expression, clearly noticing the exhaustion and frustration on your face. You let out a sigh and lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples with your fingertips as Seokmin sits down right across from you.
"So, I tried to do some digging, as you asked." Seokmin places the stack of papers on the desk. "It wasn't easy to look into his medical history, but I think this might be important."
You straighten up in your chair, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten as you lean in to examine the stack of papers Seokmin has brought. However, what you expected is to see information regarding him, but instead, you see news reports.
"I... I don't know if any of these can be related, but I found a few unsolved cases of arson over the years. It might be the cause of his facial scarring," Seokmin explains. "I think one of them happened at an orphanage, another at an abandoned warehouse nearby, and another at a small church a few miles from here."
You carefully pick up one of the articles and start to read the details. The article mentions a fire at an orphanage several years ago that resulted in the tragic loss of lives. The incident remained unsolved, with no clear cause identified. Then you come across another article about the fire at the warehouse, and it, too, was a case that had perplexed investigators, leaving it unsolved.
"...and I also think there was one about a family from around... nine? Ten years ago? I didn't read all the details of it, but I believe only one survived𑁋"
That's when you feel your heart drop all the way down to the ground, into the ground at that point, eyes widening as the gasp that leaves your mouth cuts Seokmin off. You're already standing up, fingers trembling, as you frantically shuffle through the articles he had provided for you.
"Where can I find that one? Is it here?"
Your adamancy surprises Seokmin as he scrambles through the papers before taking one out and offering it to you. You take the article from his hands. The paper is slightly crumpled, and the ink is faded, but the headline is still clear: "Family Tragedy Claims Lives, Sole Survivor Emerges."
The only survivor was a teenage boy, whose name was redacted from the article for privacy.
But you know exactly who it is.
The article describes how he had been found by the firefighters, huddled on the lawn outside the burning house, his eyes blank with shock. Authorities had attempted to investigate, but the case quickly went cold due to lack of evidence. It also mentions that the boy had lost his entire family that night and was assumed to be too traumatised to provide any coherent information about the fire's cause, which later caused him to be sent to a psychiatric facility due to the trauma.
"Doctor, what is this?" Seokmin interrupts your thoughts as he brings up another paper from view.
You glance up from the article to meet Seokmin's gaze, the urgency in his eyes mirroring your own. He unfolds it carefully, and as your eyes scan the headline, your heart sinks further: "Tragic Fire Engulfs Local Psychiatric Facility."
As you read through it, you swear you feel the same flames dancing up the skin of your arms. This article reports a fire that occurred exactly ten years ago at the very psychiatric facility where both you and Seokmin currently work. You were there that night. It was only your first year as a psychologist at the facility, still learning the ropes of your profession. The memories you've long tried to suppress come flooding back.
The sound of alarms blaring, the acrid smell of smoke, the frantic efforts to evacuate patients, and the feeling of utter helplessness as the flames consumed parts of the facility. It had left scars on your soul, scars you thought you had buried deep over the years.
That boy was one of your first ever patients.
Your arms are itching again, and you can almost feel the searing heat from that night a decade ago.
"Y/N, are you... are you okay?" Seokmin asks. You can see the worry in his eyes, but you're not sure if you can answer his question.
You swallow hard, your throat dry as you try to find your voice. "Yeah, I just... Sorry, reading this article, and..."
That's when Seokmin gets it. "Were you..." His eyes lower down to where one of your hands is clawing anxiously at the sleeves of your arm, and he immediately takes away the article from view. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I didn't know you were..."
You manage a weak smile as you bring your arms back down to your side, hugging yourself instead. "It's alright. You didn't know."
Seokmin doesn't seem entirely convinced, for a moment feeling stuck on what to say. "Are you sure that you're up for this? We can always𑁋"
"Yes," You say boldly. "It'll be okay."
You take a deep breath.
"I'll be okay."
Tumblr media
"You seem troubled today, doctor."
In the dimly lit room, Moon Jun's observation is shrewd as always, whose calculating eyes seem to analyse every twitch of your expression as you both sit in the room together, right across from each other, with him hovering over you while you felt feeling like a cowering mouse trapped in a cage.
You flash him a faint, grateful smile. "I appreciate your concern, but let's focus back on you now, shall we?"
"Uh-uh, doctor," he taunts, crossing his arms together and shaking his head dismissively. Even in the darkness of the room, you swear you see his lips curl into a smirk under that damn mask of his. "If I'm not mistaken, you said at the very beginning that I have control over what I want to talk about in our sessions. I realise I hardly know anything about you! Isn't that funny? I consider you a dear friend, you know. You're the only person in this place who even makes the effort to talk with me."
The weight of his words suspend like a dense fog. You can hear the faint hum of the ventilation system, see the way the lone light fixture in the room seems to flicker intermittently. It plays tricks on your perception, making his features appear to morph and shift, all while his eyes are practically dissecting you.
"Friendship... is built on trust," You reply cautiously. "But our sessions are designed for your benefit. My role here is to help you, not the other way around, and my personal life is not relevant for this."
He leans in closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you can feel his intense focus like a physical weight. You're caught in the gravitational pull of his eyes, his relentless gaze that seems to strip away your defenses. "But, doctor, how can you truly help me if you don't open up a little?"
He tilts his head, the mask inches away from your face, his eyes boring into yours.
"We could be more than what we are right now, couldn't we, doctor?" he whispers, feeling his cold breath against your skin even through the mask, and you close your eyes. "I could make you feel things you've never felt before𑁋"
"Stop! Please!" You yell out unexpectedly, hearing nothing but the unsteadiness of your breaths and the echo of your own voice in the dim room. Your eyes snap back open; he's not hovering over you, and the disturbing scenario you had just experienced was nothing more than a figment of your imagination.
Instead, Moon Jun is calmly seated away from you, watching you intently from the bed. There's a curious glint in his eyes, one that suggests he's found your reaction to be rather... entertaining.
"Doctor, you do seem to be quite troubled today," he remarks almost playfully, voice dripping with amusement that shoots goosebumps up your skin. "Seeing things, aren't we?"
You can't quite find the words to respond, and the sensation of his cold breath against your skin still lingers in your memory.
"You must think about me a lot, day and night possibly, if you imagine such things," he teases, and you feel the way his words crawl under your skin. "You probably wonder what lies behind this mask of mine, don't you? You're a special friend𑁋perhaps you deserve to see it."
You watch the way his gloved fingers toy with the edges of his mask, and for a moment, it seems like he's contemplating something. The room is so silent that you can hear your own heart pounding in your chest.
Then without warning, he reaches up and slowly starts to peel off the mask, revealing the face hidden beneath. Your breath catches in your throat as his visage is unveiled.
His face is tainted by a network of scars, the skin tissue looking raw and discoloured. The scars extend from his jawline up to his cheeks and forehead, giving his face an almost grotesque and nightmarish appearance. Some scars look like they were caused by something sharp, while others appear more like burns. There were also some that seemed almost... fresher than others. His lips, once hidden by the mask, are twisted into a smirk that sends shivers down your spine.
"You wanted to see, didn't you, doctor?" he asks, voice low and taunting. "You wanted to know what's behind this mask."
You can't tear your gaze away from his disfigured face, and you're overwhelmed by a mix of curiosity, horror, and a strange fascination.
"Are you surprised, doctor?" he continues, voice now tinged with mockery. "Do I look like a monster to you?"
You can't seem to respond just yet, eyes still peering over him as if trying to discern the features of his face. There's this wave of familiarity that seems to hit you, as if you've seen those certain details before. A nagging feeling tugs at the corners of your memory like a half-forgotten dream.
You squint, trying to connect the dots between the disfigured face before you and the dim recollection buried deep within your mind. The way the scars twist and curl, the faint traces of burn marks𑁋it's all so eerily and hauntingly familiar. You swear you've seen those eyes before. He watches your expression closely, as if he can read your thoughts, and those eyes that seem to follow your every move, your every thought𑁋
And then it hits you. It hits you like a freight train on the tracks that was beyond avoidable. It hits you like a tidal wave crashing against the shore of your conscience, leaving wreckage to be abandoned and forgotten forever in its wake. It hits you like a thunderstorm tearing apart a peaceful, sunny day.
"Hui...?" is all you manage to choke out.
Images from the past flash before your eyes𑁋Hui, the young boy you once knew, whose face was marked with troubled innocence and a haunting vulnerability that had drawn you to him in the first place. You had watched him grow, had nurtured the fragile trust he had placed in you. You recall your early sessions together, hearing all the painful details of the fire that had torn his life apart.
His smirk deepens, and his eyes gleam with an uncanny satisfaction.
"Hui died ten years ago, doctor," he says with a cold, haunting certainty. "He died in that same fire that set this place ablaze. I'm sure you remember that very well, don't you?"
The room seems to close in on you, and the memories of that fateful night come rushing back like a torrential downpour. The fire, the chaos, the screams. It had been a nightmarish scene, etched into your memory like the faint scars that plague your arms from that very night.
But before you could respond, you felt something vibrate in your pocket. It's the end of your session.
Tumblr media
FLASHBACK: 2013
The fire alarm rang.
It was blaringly loud, completely jolting you out of your chair in the silence that carried through your office. Your heart raced as the panic had begun to sink in, the blood-red light of the alarm painted the muted colours of your office walls with a surreal, macabre-like glow, and the acrid scent of smoke was beginning to fill your lungs.
You reached for the door handle, but your trembling hands fumbled, and it wouldn't budge. You tried again and again, the cold sweat on your palms making it even more difficult to grip.
"Wh-What the hell?" You shakily muttered to yourself, before bringing your fists up to pound on the door. "Hello? Someone help me! I'm in here! Someone!"
The panic intensified as the fire alarm continued its relentless wail as you continued to pound on the door. Smoke started to seep in from the edges of your office door, and you could feel the heat of the flames approaching. You coughed, choking on the sharp fumes that stung your throat. It felt like the walls were closing in on you. Fuck, fuck, what do you do? How the hell was the fire spreading so fast?
You were trapped. You were going to die.
The windows! You remembered the windows. Desperation drove you to the large window on the wall. Instinctively, you grabbed a chair and used it to break it, the sound of shattering glass ringing in your ears, the shards grazing against your skin and the palm of your hands, making you let out a sharp gasp. Blood trickled from the cuts on your hands, and as you peered down to the ground below, you realised that you were too high above the ground for a safe jump.
The fire was only getting closer and closer.
As you hesitated by the shattered window, a muffled voice from the hallway reached your ears. "Is anyone in there? We're trying to get you out!"
Your eyes widened as you stumbled back to the door. "I'm in here! Please help!"
"Step back! We're breaking down the door!"
You stepped back from the window as much as you could and away from the smoke, feeling the flames inching closer. Your vision blurred as you fought to breathe, eyes stinging with tears from the dry air.
Moments later, a loud crash resounded through the room as the door burst open. A group of firefighters rushed in, their protective gear making them look like otherworldly figures emerging from the haze. They quickly located you, wrapped you in a fire-resistant blanket, and led you to safety.
Once you were outside, an emergency medical team checked you over for any injuries, plastered up your arms, and administered oxygen. You were shaken, bruised, and suffering from smoke inhalation, but you were alive. Somehow. In some way.
Then, you found your mind drifting back to Hui. Did he manage to get out safely? Where was he? Questions swirled in your mind as you watched the firefighters work tirelessly to contain the blaze. God, he must not be in the right state of mind after witnessing yet another fire himself.
"Excuse me..." You weakly called out to a paramedic, voice barely a whisper.
The paramedic turned to you, concern etched on their face beneath their protective gear. "Yes, are you okay?"
You swallowed hard, barely getting your words together. "I was in there... in the building. I have some patients... uh... Do you know if they made it out? I need to know if they're safe."
The paramedic exchanged a glance with another passing colleague, eyes hidden behind their mask, before returning back to you and shaking their head.
"We're still searching for survivors and dealing with the fire," they explained. "We can't give you any information right now. I'm truly sorry. I'll let them know to keep a lookout. Can you describe them for me?"
You described what your other patients and what Hui looked like as much as you could, and the emergency worker took down all the information before walking away to tend to others.
The silence that followed was suffocating, perhaps even more than what you endured inside the building, and you found it difficult to hold back tears of frustration from flowing down your face.
As the smoke gradually dissipated and the flames were brought under control, the once-deafening alarm was reduced to sporadic chirps and the occasional distant rumble of falling debris. The scene around you was one of destruction, merely charred remains of a place that was filled with hope and healing.
You glanced down at your trembling, injured hands and arms and see the cuts from the shattered window, yet the physical pain was nothing compared to the anguish in your heart, and the fear and guilt that gnawed at you. You lost patients whom you had sworn to protect, had sworn𑁋no, promised to heal.
It was only when the search and rescue teams began to wind down their efforts that you realised the search for Hui had come with no results. All of your other patients were safe, but him. There was no sign of him anywhere, as if he slipped off the face of the earth.
A firefighter approached you some time later, his face covered in soot appearing both exhausted and empathetic.
"I'm sorry," he spoke, voice heavy with regret and defeat. "We've searched every area we could access, but we haven't found anyone else. The fire was intense, and... I'm truly sorry."
His words hit you like a hammer blow, and you felt your heart sink even further. You had dedicated your life to saving others, and yet it seemed that you might have failed to save one.
"Thank... Thank you for trying," You mumbled to the firefighter, nodding in acknowledgement. "And thank you for risking your lives to save us."
Tumblr media
PRESENT DAY: 2023
The clouds outside obscure any hints of sunlight, and the overcast sky casts a sad, grey hue over the world outside. The room feels dim and lonely despite the overhead lights. You try to ignore that particular gnawing feeling to your skin as you sit at your desk, waiting for your next session with Moon Jun to start. It'll happen anytime now𑁋perhaps the more you anticipate will make time go by slower.
However your thoughts are interrupted by the soft knock at your door, and you look up to see Seokmin standing there. He offers you a warm smile as you motion for him to come inside, and you swear you see small ray of sunshine break through the clouds outside at the corner of your eye.
"Hey, how're you holding up?" he asks. "I wanted to check up on you."
You tilt your head a bit giddily at the sight of him. "We just had lunch break together, Seokmin."
He rolls his eyes at this, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. "I know, I know, but I... Well, is there a rule here that says I can't see you twice in one day when we're not working?"
Your lips purse together thoughtfully. "I guess not."
"Good." He grins, but it's quick to fade once he takes another look at you. "so... how have you been?"
The soft concern in Seokmin's voice is almost like a comforting hug for your ragged nerves. Normally it's your duty to ask your patients those kinds of questions, not the other way around. You offer him a tired but appreciative smile as he settles into the chair across from your desk. It's a rare moment when the roles are reversed, even if it's just for one short minute.
"You look tired," Seokmin points out, and it makes you let out a chuckle, even though it's tinged with weariness.
"You have a good eye, Seokmin," You reply playfully, and he blushes at this. "Do you want to know what I've been dreaming about the past few weeks?
Seokmin thinks about it for a second, then his eyes widen slightly.
"Is it... the fire?" he queries, hoping there's that small chance he might be wrong.
Your steady gaze meets his.
"Yes," You admit casually. "It's always the fire."
Or specifically, it's the fire and the guilt that you weren't able to save anyone, and it had been eating away at you ever since that fateful day.
His face softens at this, then he feels himself hesitate for a brief moment, before slowly reaching out to place his hand over yours on the desk. His touch is warm and reassuring, and you can feel the genuine concern in his eyes.
"I-I'm sorry you have to go through that, I wish there was a way I could... you know, stop you from reliving those kinds of things." His words make your lips twitch upwards, and he knows he's done something right. He finishes your smile with one of his own. "But... you're not alone in this. Just know I'm here."
"You've been helping me this entire time, Seokmin," You assure him. "If anything, I should be the one thanking you."
The weight of all the memories and unhealed scars left behind still cling to you like shadows. But in the presence of Seokmin, the burdens seem a little lighter, the darkness a bit less suffocating. The room seems a bit less lonely as you both sit there, just like all the days you eat lunch together where you seem to look forward to seeing him sit with you, and the sound of the clock ticking on the wall serves as a reminder that time keeps moving forward.
Before you know it, it's as if you've been struck by a gong that you could only hear, and you knew it was time to move forward with your session. You take your hand away from Seokmin as you stand up, and he follows suit.
"Y/N, wait, um..." Seokmin stops you before you could leave, and you turn back to him. "If something bad happens, or if you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out to me, even outside of work. I... want to make sure you're okay."
His words warm your heart, and you shoot him a thankful look.
"I know I can," You say, while opening the door to the outside of your office. "Thank you, Seokmin."
Tumblr media
When you enter inside room 610, you spot Moon Jun sitting on the chair that you were supposed to sit in, his posture relaxed and arms crossed almost impatiently. He didn't wear the mask on his face, and he appeared confident, somewhat smug. It was the only other chair in the room. The other place for you to sit would be... the bed. This isn't how a typical therapy session begins.
"Doctor, I was just thinking about you!" he exclaims excitedly. "Please, go ahead and sit down on the bed. I thought it would be great to change things up a little. You wouldn't mind, would you?"
You hesitate for a moment, glancing between him and the bed. Maintaining your professionalism, you make your way to the bed and sit down, folding your hands in your lap. Something brushes against your leg for a moment, you look down to see a sheet of paper sitting next to you, and a plethora of crayons resting on top.
"Please bare with me for the mess, I was busy drawing before you came in," he tells you, voice almost cheery and... delighted?
As you sit on the bed, his demeanour only raises more questions than answers. He appears unusually relaxed, and his eagerness is disturbing. It's unlike him.
"Of course, that's fine with me," You tell him casually.
There's a grin that spreads across his scarred face, and it brings an uncomfortable twist to your stomach, but you don't let it show, though at this point you feel that he can sense your nervousness, your unease, knowing there's history between you two you thought to have burned away in the back of your mind.
Yet it had all come back just like his reemergence back into your life𑁋into something more sinister.
"He talks to me sometimes, even though he's perished in the flames," Jun begins, grabbing the paper right next to you. "You remember his drawings, right? Back in that big, bright room... where beneath all those smiles of the other patients was just... hopelessness."
Then he flips the paper over, and you find yourself peering at a drawing of flames, and the uncanny similarity to Hui's artwork all those years ago cannot be ignored. You see the same vivid depiction of flames, the swirling reds and oranges dancing on the page, and the black lines of its remains. But more than that, it's the emotions that these drawings evoke, the overwhelming sense of dread, and the traumatic memories that it unsheathes. He's the personification of the fire that scarred you all those years ago.
You feel a lump form in your throat. "Hui..."
"I-I am not Hui!" he wails out unexpectedly, voice shaking with anger. His hand grips the crayon so tightly that it snaps in his grasp, the colour streaking across the paper. "Hui is dead, remember? Burned by the flames?"
"If you're not Hui, then who are you?" You ask almost pleadingly.
His fingers toy with the broken crayon as he leans in closer, his disfigured face mere inches from yours. His gaze pierces through you like a knife, and in the dimly lit room, the shadows play tricks on his scarred face, making his disfigurement seem even more malformed.
"The phoenix, don't you remember, doctor?" He chuckles lowly. "It's a creature reborn from the ashes of its own destruction, risen from the flames just like me. Rebirth and fire, doctor! You haven't been paying attention, have you?"
You sense the panic seeping inside you, causing your heart to race. His words send shivers down your spine, and you realise that he's explaining with a belief that goes beyond mere delusion, beyond repair. The scars on his face are only a fraction of the damage done. He claims to have risen from the ashes, taking on a new identity, giving him this motive of... cleaning the world with fire.
Cleaning the world...
...with fire.
Ashes of its own destruction....
"You..." You slowly rise up from the bed, the room suddenly feeling too confining. The door seemed like it was miles away, and you find your breathing shaky and unsteady. "You were... you caused those fires, didn't you?"
His eyes fixate and narrow down on you as you stand up from the bed, and a sly smile spreads across his scarred face. His gaze is intense, and you feel like you're trapped. You recall the sessions you had with him years ago that you thought were leading him toward healing. But now, you face a man who has fully embraced a twisted ideology.
"I didn't cause those fires," he responds with eerie calmness. "I simply set things in motion."
"You𑁋You killed innocent people, you were the one... from ten years ago... You𑁋"
"They were all lost, meaningless, and I brought meaning to their lives. What's so hard to understand?" he deadpans.
"You killed your family," You state. "How can... how can you justify that?"
"Hui killed his family, I didn't," he claims, crumpling up the piece of paper in his hands. "Hui started all of this, I'm merely just a follower. He was misunderstood his entire life, and you promised him healing, which you didn't fulfill."
The room feels like it's boiling you alive, and you're stuck in an endless maze of his twisted delusions. There's a sense of helplessness as you try to reach through to the man behind the scars, the one who once sought your help, but you fear that he's too far gone.
"Jun, this isn't the answer. The… the phoenix is not real,” You plead, your voice trembling. "Hui was troubled, yes, but violence is not the path to understanding or redemption. It only leads to more pain and destruction."
His expression only hardens as he throws the crumpled up piece of paper on the floor, gloved hands forming fists at his side.
"You think you can help people by sitting in your comfy chair, listening to their problems, and scribbling notes on a fucking notepad." He scoffs annoyedly, leaning back in his chair. "You're just like all the others, doctor, so dumb and worthless. You never understood... You say that you do, but you don't."
And just as you were about to speak, you watch him pull something out of the pocket of his patient gown. You squint your eyes, and a gasp shudders out of you when you notice what's in his hands.
A lighter.
"You people are just so gullible, all while you're thinking you're helping," he mutters, flicking the lighter on. The tiny flame dances at the tip, casting bizarre shadows across his scarred face. "When in reality, you're laughing behind our backs with your stupid cigarettes and your fancy degrees. You wouldn't believe the things you can find in a place like this. It's amazing what people leave lying around."
There's an arrow that penetrates through your heart, an arrow of betrayal, helplessness. How can he think of you this way when you dedicated your entire time to helping him heal all those years ago? How can he, of all people, not see that your intentions were always to provide support and understanding?
You can feel the room heating up, not just from the small flame but from the growing tension. Jun's eyes are locked onto the flickering fire of the lighter, and his words are plagued with bitter resentment. You attempt to scurry to the door, but he blocks your way, nearly shoving the flame of the lighter in your face.
"Don't you see how beautiful this is, doctor?" he utters in a trance-like state, as if the flame was hypnotising him. The orange and yellow hues reflect onto his soulless eyes. He moves the lighter dangerously close to your face, and you can feel the searing heat radiating from the tiny inferno at the tip of your nose.
Your heart pounds like a beating drum, beads of sweat form on your forehead, and your breathing quickens as panic threatens to engulf you. But his gaze only remains possessed on the fire, as if he's being consumed by the very flames he holds in his hands.
"It's so beautiful how something so small can hold so much power," he murmurs, voice barely more than a whisper.
"This... This isn't the way to find meaning or healing," You respond, slowly backing away from him, trying to create some distance between the flame and yourself. "Fire and destruction only lead to more suffering, more pain. It's not the answer, Jun."
For a split second, something flickers in Jun's eyes, as if a fragment of his former self tries to break free from the shackles of his obsession. But it's a fleeting moment, quickly devoured by his fixation on the fire.
"There are... There are people who want to help you. Don't you remember all of our sessions together? All the... all the breakthroughs we had? You were making progress, Jun. You were on your way to healing." You bring your hand up as if in defense, watching him closely as he steps the tiniest inch closer to you. "I... I want to help you, I always have. I..."
He stares at you, and for a moment, it seems like your words might be getting through to him.
"Let me help you, Hui."
But just when you think your words may have struck a chord, his face contorts into a menacing grin and you can see the flame reflect onto his eyes. The last fragile thread of sanity that seemed to linger has snapped.
"You failed Hui that night, just like you failed me." He chuckles darkly. "You couldn't save us. Do you really think you can save everyone, doctor? Do you really think all the patients you've helped all these years are any better off now?"
Now, you found yourself speechless, a tight grip around your throat from his words.
He laughs coldly, waving the flame in front of your face once more. "You're so blind, doctor. You want to heal and save everyone, but you can't save me, and you can't save yourself. I can see it in your eyes."
He’s getting in your head, you know he is. He's trying to loosen your grip on whatever reality is𑁋attempting to unravel in your mind that you were, in some way, responsible for the events that had occurred over the years, forcing you to succumb to the guilt placed on your shoulders. You've never dealt with someone so deeply rooted to their own twisted reality. You can't reason with him.
It's impossible.
But you refuse to be the victim of your own past just like you had made yourself to be.
"Junhui," You call out urgently, and the use of his real name brings a harsh, foreign taste to your tongue. You notice the way he flinches slightly to it. "That person still exists inside you𑁋I-I know it does. Please, let that part of you come back. I'm here to listen, to understand, and to help. No matter what you believe."
The flame continues to sway at the end of the lighter, yet his face remains deformed into that unsettling grin, but your words seem to have given him a momentary pause.
"You think you can bring him back?" he hisses, bringing the flame away from your face, stretching his arm out toward the side. "He's dead, doctor. It's too late."
And with that, he tosses the lighter in the direction of the bed, and a cascade of flames quickly engulf the sheets, the crayons, the drawing, everything. Horror sets in as you watch the fire rapidly spreading, consuming the room, and overhead the fire alarm screams into action.
"Isn't it beautiful, doctor?" he guffaws as the flames devour the room, eyes wide with awe. "It's so perfect... So beautiful..."
Nothing but Jun's laughter fills the air as he watches the flames lick up the once-white walls with a maniacal fascination. The flames flicker and crackle loudly, casting shifting shadows on the walls of the room. You dart towards the door, but the intense heat and smoke make it nearly impossible to breathe or see, and you cover your mouth and nose with your hand. Coughing and vision disoriented, you stumble and hit the floor with a thud, weakly pounding your fists against the door.
"Someone help!" You shout desperately, the words barely escaping your mouth. "Someone help! I-I'm in here! Anyone, please!"
The room is suffocating you whole. You can hardly even see where Jun is amidst all the smoke, yet his laughter still rings in your ears, fogging away all your thoughts. You keep pounding on the door, voice hoarse from shouting, skin tingling with heat, but there's no response from the other side.
So this is how you're going to die, You think to yourself, leaning back against the wall like you were accepting your fate, and the thought makes you chuckle at the irony.
Time seems to stretch into eternity. But just when it feels like all hope is lost, the door bursts open, and a strong hand reaches in, grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the room and into the chaotic corridor. In the corridor, the fresh air is quick to fill up your lungs. You gasp for breath, your heart racing, while the fire alarm continues to blare.
It's Seokmin who pulled you from the room, and you can hardly make out his face from your stinging, watery eyes. He wraps a protective arm around you as you both stumble away from the dangerous room, mixing with the rushing crowd of staff and patients all being guided outside to their safety.
"Y/N, are you okay?! Stay with me!" Seokmin continues to pull you through the corridor, shielding you from anything that you might run into.
You only manage a weak nod, still coughing from all the smoke. Your mind is racing, and you can hardly tell where you were going, but you trust Seokmin's guidance as he leads you further away from the scene of the fire. The sounds of sirens and shouting surround you, and the sight of the smoke floating out from the room you just escaped haunts your thoughts.
When the brightness of the outside hits your eyes, you catch your breath and fall out of Seokmin's grasp and down to the ground. Firefighters and police officers quickly brush past you and into the building as Seokmin pulls you up once more to lead you in the direction of the paramedics and ambulances.
"Here, sit down." Seokmin places you on the stair of the ambulance and helps you out of your white coat before wrapping a blanket around you. "Can we get some help over here?"
A paramedic approaches, checking you over and providing oxygen to help clear your lungs of all the smoke you inhaled. Your heart is still pounding in your chest as you sit there, trying to process what just happened.
Seokmin places himself right next to you, scanning over your features closely. You look over at him, and he gives you a reassuring smile, pushing away some disheveled strands of hair so he could properly see your face.
"You're going to be okay," he assures you, rubbing some comforting circles on your back. "Just take deep breaths and try to relax. They'll take you to the hospital to make sure you're alright."
You give him a nod, feeling a bit more security from him than the blanket draped over your shoulders right now. The two of you sit there for a few minutes, calmly watching the chaos begin to subside. It didn't look like the fire damaged much in terms of the outside of the building.
"I'm going to see if I could help around," Seokmin says, standing up. "Just stay here, okay? I'll be back before they take you to the hospital."
Just as he begins to walk away, you hesitate for a second, before calling out his name, "Hey, Seokmin?"
He turns back to you, a look of concern in his eyes. "Yes? Do you need something?"
You reach out your hand toward Seokmin, silently gesturing for him to come closer. He approaches, and without a word, you pull him into a tight hug. You feel him freeze in your grasp, before his arms fully encircle you in return, tightening the hug, and for a moment, the world around fades away as you hold onto each other. You can feel his heart beat a bit faster than normal against your chest, but you don't acknowledge it, and neither does he.
Eventually, you reluctantly pull away from the hug, but you don't let go of Seokmin's hand just yet.
"Thank you," You whisper. "for everything."
His gaze softens as he looks at you, before glancing away shyly. It makes you chuckle.
"No need to," he tells you. "I'm... I'm just happy you're safe."
The two of you stay like that for a moment, with you closing your eyes to steady your breathing while Seokmin continues to hold your hand, and you can feel the tension in your body slowly easing.
Seokmin's smile is warm, and he squeezes your hand gently. "I'll be back soon, okay? Just hang in there."
With that, he leaves your side to assist the emergency responders, leaving you seated on the ambulance's stairs, wrapped in a blanket. Your brows furrow together, trying to make sense of the situation and all the events that just transpired. The fear, the confusion, the mania that gripped the lost man back in that room𑁋it all swirls within your mind. The lingering scent of smoke fills your nose, and you swear and you can still feel the heat on your skin even though the air was cool outside.
As you sit there, lost in thought, suddenly feeling disconnected from the world around you, you find yourself questioning the nature of your profession and everything you ever believed about it. Could you have done something differently? Were there signs you missed that might have prevented this particular descent in delusion? Was he right, and you were blind this entire time? Not just for him, but for everyone you've helped?
Were you really this dumb and worthless?
Or perhaps was it impossible to save him this entire time...
...and he was too far gone?
That hefty burden of guilt, both for your inability to help him in the past and in the present, weighs heavily on your shoulders. What's for sure is that this will forever be an image tainted in your mind, scarred just like the man who brought destruction and chaos to your life today, and that particular day ten years ago.
You don't know how long you sat there until Seokmin returns, yet when he comes up to you, his face appears disturbed and... paranoid?
"They've got the fire under control. It didn't spread much farther than the room," he informs you, catching his breath. "It seems like nobody else was hurt."
"That's good to hear." Your eyes roam over his features, taking in the tense expression to his face. "Is... is everything okay? How about..."
He sits down beside you, expression still apprehensive. You can see the flicker of concern in his eyes, and the remnants of the chaos from moments ago are still evident in the way he holds himself. His gaze meets yours, and you notice a small shift in his demeanour, as if there's something he's struggling to express.
Seokmin darts his attention around, as if making sure no one was listening in, before taking a deep breath and leaning in.
"They... They said they didn't find his body in the room," he mutters, and it's so quiet you hardly make out what he says. "It's... It's like he escaped."
Your heart drops. A sinking feeling settles in your chest. Dread washes over you at his words.
"W-What?"
Tumblr media
another another note: sorry if u expected some sort of romance w jun (which would kinda be weird for the story tbh), but feel free to imagine whatever u want w our dear seokmin. cgrats on making it to the end of the longest oneshot i’ve made so far on this blog 😍🫶
taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @rubywonu @etherealyoungk
420 notes · View notes
folklorepridebitch · 8 months
Text
So I saw a yt video 'explaining alcohol to an alien' or something like that a while ago and it was all like yeah we poison us for fun har har and like Yes but also now I'm thinking
What if there's an alien race that's just... Not as intelligent as humans are. There are some plants they eat that make them able to focus better for a short while, and as their society grew they used these and made drugs to basically sharpen their minds for work purposes, like just the ones doing the more complicated jobs, and during off hours they're still just dumb and having fun
And when they meet humans and learn about alcohol sure at first they're like Wtf you poison yourselves for fun?? But then they learn more about it and it sounds like drinking alcohol has the same effect on humans as Not eating their own drugs has on the aliens
And they're likr
WtFfff you are just like that All of the time no wonder you need to dumb it down sometimes to deal with reality
Edit: I've an addition lmao
Tumblr media
(not reblogging from the person who tagged that bc I think calling them out would be kinda mean but)
HOw do you miss the point of a funnypost about fictional aliens so completely lmao
Me: 'what if there are aliens who are just Dumb. Like way dumber than humanity, in general. Dumb to the point where they need drugs for everyone doing complicated jobs so their society can advance'
Them: 'but we have that it's coffee'
'We have that'? We have what? We, humans, are dumber than humanity and absolutely nobody can do complicated jobs without caffeine because coffee equals braincells????? Lmfaooooo
So just to clarify because apparently it's needed xD I'm thinking rly animal like aliens or if you want to go IQ points 50-70, until they stumble across a plant that unlocks sth in their brains so they get to IQ 100 or so but only directly after eating it, and with that they figure out the skill to harvest the plant and turn it into a drug that puts them on par or above human average intelligence and creativity etc. But they're not used to being like that full time! They're used to thinking about food and sex and friends and sleep, only being more complicated when it's necessary for work, and the thought that we humans are thinking deep thoughts All The Time about philosophy and politics and maths and the future and whatnot actually sounds terrifying and horrorlike to them
...if you want to reblog this without the addition there's a blank here
600 notes · View notes
obeythebutler · 1 year
Text
Welcome to the Devildom: Rules for the House of Lamentation
(Part 1: Welcome to the Devildom!)
Part 2 Mammon
Your room is next to the kitchen, with a tree there. Please keep your room clean, as a part of basic hygiene, and take care to store your valuables safely. They may get misplaced or lost easily.
The decor may seem unsettling for humans. Pay it no heed. The paintings and sculptures are meant for demonic tastes, but we have hidden the more extreme ones.
The heart-shaped flower pot is not a real heart, despite its texture and the phantom sounds coming from it. Magic does the trick, most of time. You may even find underwear hanging off from one of the paintings sometimes. It's only the carelessness of one of the brothers, please inform them at the earliest.
The hallways may seem endless. They are not. Call for Lucifer if you find yourself walking and walking and walking.
Respect the House. It serves all its inhabitants with shelter and safety, and so please take care not to damage any items in it. It has a way of finding out whether the vase you broke was an accident or on purpose.
Site-Specific Rules:
LUCIFER
Please take care to enter his room only after getting explicit permission to do so. Only walk in if Lucifer replies that it is safe to enter. Any deviance from those words means that you have to contact him through his D.D.D. Lucifer is not decent enough to be seen at the moment.
The skeleton in his room has been like that for centuries. Do not disturb its position. If you do, be prepared for a boney hand around your neck, and for the ceiling to collapse.
You may find black feathers scattered around the room sometimes, accompanied by complaints of back pain from Lucifer. Do not acknowledge the feathers, nor help him with his pain. It is his burden to bear. Never should have revolted, shouldn't he?
Do not play any of the records there without asking Lucifer. Many of them are not meant for human ears. You may go insane, and then no one can help a sheep that willingly strayed from its herd.
Complete your tasks on time! No one likes a slacker, and then you will be disciplined according to the way Lucifer sees fit. Please, do not slack off on your tasks.
There is Demonus in Lucifer's room. It is extremely expensive, and a prized possession of his. If you ever find yourself in need of a favour from him, a bottle of vintage Demonus will do the trick, not the swill that you find at Devilmart. Do not steal from him. Procure it honestly.
If you ever happen to stumble across a drunk Lucifer, do not listen to him speak about wars you never read in human theology. He may rant about the 'Great War' or other events that may cause you to lose your sanity. Do not approach him at this time.
You may have figured it out by this point now.
Yes, he is the very same Lucifer you have read about. He revolted, and he fell. Do not ask him about this. How would you feel if someone asked if you would like to continue living or go back to being a mute soul? It is rude to do so, prying into someone else's life.
He will be the one to help you out of any troubles you may find yourself in due to a human's inherent stupidity or his brothers. Thank him appropriately.
Remember, the golden rule for Lucifer! Three strikes and you're out!
Next page: Mammon!
1K notes · View notes
carionto · 2 months
Text
The Equality Games
Once every now and then, the Galactic Coalition's Cultural Exchange department holds a large digital competitive event.
Anyone can participate, and to level the playing field, contestants aren't the ones who actually compete, but instead an advanced deep brain scan (or equivalent body part) and an unbiased AI create a digital avatar that represents the individual and autonomously acts within the digital space.
The cognitive capacity of each is analyzed to a near perfect level and a highly complicated algorithm that, honestly, nobody understands, even the AI that built it, then creates this avatar with traits and weaknesses based on an even more incomprehensible set of criteria and internal points system.
To put it simply - the scan identifies nearly every calculable aspect of a person and assigns a point value for each, then uses those points to "buy" the most relevant and appropriate traits from within its list to give the avatar. There are changing costs, negative value "flaws", and prerequisites based on other information from the scan, but basically it is the most convoluted TTRPG character creation ruleset ever devised.
Given the enormous complexity and diversity that individuals from across thousands of races exhibit, until this system was invented, it was thought impossible to have a sort of intergalactic Olympic Games. There were many attempts over the eons, of course, but one factor or another always made it so that someone did not accept the results.
The Equality Games, however, earned respect and acceptance as a valid alternative once the underlying system was demonstrated and people started to play with it. The avatars were made to act autonomously due to how some species had a distinct advantage when manipulating a digital interface, thus bringing up the old arguments yet again.
One curious result of the AI algorithm avatar generator is that it quite frequently created multiple avatars for each person, only the more hive-mind-like species tended to be represented by a singular avatar within the Games. It is theorized, again because nobody can understand how it really works, that most intelligent beings have multiple "personas" i.e. distinct behavior and personalities in certain common situations, primarily a "public" and "private" persona.
In fact, it is most common for everyone to generate about a three to five avatar "team" that represents the one individual. In comparison, if an ant were to get scanned and put in the games, its avatar would be a single incredibly powerful avatar with many deficiencies, but an overwhelming advantage in several disciplines.
When Humans first entered the Games, as expected, they too had teams as avatars. What was not expected, was that these avatars would sometimes work alone instead of together as a team, deliberately not help one another, and even engage in infighting and the sabotage of another "self".
The Humans suggested that it is perhaps because hypocrisy is not uncommon among them. Self destructive tendencies also appear rather frequently. These Humans almost always are themselves surprised by how contradictory their avatar team composition ends up being.
While the Games themselves happened as normal, the Humans overall placed in the top 20% brackets of most competitive challenges, and scattered roughly evenly everywhere else, they then approached us with a most unusual request.
"Give us a copy of this AI algorithm scanner thing. We think this is the most revolutionary therapy and psychological diagnosis device we've come across."
Of course we obliged and helped set up centers in a number of stations and on Earth itself.
Last we heard, some Humans have avatars that are singular nigh-nightmarish monstrosities, while a very tiny fraction have minds so splintered that their avatars are teams of dozens, one time even over a hundred distinct versions of themselves. Then there are even some seemingly regular Humans who broke the scanner - it gave the error: "Only one individual can be scanned at a time."
Upon "fixing" it with a hack, the results for those were unheard of. Two distinct avatars. Not a team of two, but by all accounts, the AI algorithm identified two separate individuals within one mind, each with very little in common with the other. Sometimes there was nothing in common, even their digital visual representation.
The mind is incredibly complex and hard to comprehend. The Human mind, while biologically quite peculiar but not outside the realms of understood evolution, neurologically it seems to hold near limitless diversity, both complimentary, contradictory, and beyond.
307 notes · View notes
buckybabesonly · 1 year
Text
Mockingbird
Tumblr media
Summary: Bucky tells you he doesn’t need you, except he can’t live without you.
Pairing: Bucky x Doctor!Female!reader
Genre: Slight angst
Warnings: I’m not a medical expert, mentions of character injury, Bucky self-wallowing
Word count: 2.8k
Tumblr media
Knowing that Bucky was constantly amid danger was the bane of your existence. You could plead him to be careful, always remind him to take care of himself, but you knew your words could do little to protect him from harm.
He was a soldier first and would always do the right thing on the field, no matter how dangerous. He would attack those against him and protect those beside him, even if it meant that his safety was on the line.
It was one of the sources of your arguments, and you hated it.
In the beginning, you thought you would be able to take it. After all, he had been doing this long before he met you. When you first got together, he had made sure you knew exactly what you were getting into.
Your love for Bucky had been stronger than anything, and you knew you had to at least try, no matter how unconventional the relationship.
So, over a year later, even though you couldn’t have frequent dates like a ‘normal’ couple, and sometimes Bucky crawled into your bed looking bruised and battered, and you had found yourself in the crosshairs of Bucky’s enemies one too many times, you thought you had finally found happiness.
Bucky worried about you too. Being his girlfriend meant that he had a weakness to be exploited, and the fear grew over time after the first attack on your life just four months into your relationship. It had been a close call, but after that incident you moved into the Tower which had much safer security measures than your downtown apartment. It was probably more convenient to live literally where you worked, anyway.
The unexpected turning point, however, was seeing Bucky being wheeled into the medical wing on a gurney, unconscious with blood painting every exposed inch of his face. You were paralysed with fear, unable to even speak as you were ushered out of the room, dressed in your scrubs but far too incapable of being the one to tend to him.
He had made a full recovery, but this did little to ease your anxiety. A week after he’d been discharged, your fights began again.
“We’ve had this conversation before,” Bucky said tersely, doing little to hide his frustration as you paced your room.
“And we’re having it again,” you said through gritted teeth. “Bucky, do you know how scared I was when I saw you? I literally couldn’t move – Steve had to basically carry me out of there. That’s never happened to me before. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think – I froze.”
Bucky’s face softened, knowing how terrified you were.
“That can’t happen again,” you continued, anger bubbling in your voice.
“What do you mean?” He dragged a hand across his face, looking exhausted.
“You almost died, Bucky.”
He scoffed. “They’ll have to try a lot harder to get rid of me.”
“Stop it!” You exclaimed loudly, turning on him, livid. “I know you always joke about things like that, but it’s not funny.”
“What do you want me to do?” It was a genuine question, and you were hyperaware of how tired Bucky looked in this moment. You felt guilty for adding to his existing stress, but you weren’t sure how you were going to cope anymore.
“Can you just – I don’t know, take a break?” You knew the words coming out of your mouth were silly, but you just wanted Bucky to stop. Stop getting hurt, stop getting injured, stop risking his life and risk taking himself away from you permanently.
“This is all I know,” Bucky said firmly. “You know that this is what I have to do.”
“Do you? Do you have to do it?” You challenged. Vaguely, in the back of your mind, you knew you were being unfair but your stubbornness meant you had to stick to your guns.
“What do you expect? You want me to take a part-time job in a grocery store, instead?”
You didn’t take kindly to his snarky tone, bristling.
“I’m expecting you to take this relationship seriously.”
“What part of me doing my job means I don’t take this relationship seriously?” He shot back, looking irate.
“You’re supposed to take my needs into consideration, too. Nowadays, every time you leave, I think it might be the last time I see you.” Your voice cracked on the final word, and Bucky could see you crumbling as your eyes stung.
He quickly approached you, pulling you into a comforting hug as you sobbed into his chest. He was the only person you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with, and he had seen you cry more often than he’d like to.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart,” he murmured, pressing his lips into your hair.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you said, knowing he didn’t quite understand the extent of your fear, try as he may.
The argument ended with kisses melting into your skin and reassuring words in your ear, and you allowed him to comfort you, though you knew it was only temporary.
Tumblr media
Anger was blinding Bucky’s better judgement.
It was Sam’s turn to be wheeled into the medical wing, but this time, it didn’t look like he would be as lucky. He was still human, after all, and it looked like HYDRA had managed to do a number on the Falcon.
Sam had to undergo emergency surgery as Bucky stalked up and down the waiting room. He was muttering under his breath, Sam’s blood still slick on his hands.
You rushed to the medical wing as soon as you heard, knowing that Sam was in the safe hands of your colleagues and that your boyfriend needed you. However, he barely acknowledged your presence when you burst through the doors, panic written on your face.
Bucky was torturing himself mentally. Replaying the events a couple of hours ago over and over in his head, watching as Sam crashed onto the concrete ground, wings smashed into smithereens and his body unresponsive, as the assailants got away. They hadn’t been outnumbered, but were taken by surprise at HYDRA’s unusually advanced tech. They had equipment that Bucky and Sam had not been prepared for and, unfortunately, struggled to combat.
Bucky had managed to get out unscathed bar a few scratches and bruises, but Sam was in much worse shape. Perhaps the worst Bucky had ever seen him.
He hated himself.
They were partners, and he had failed him.
“Bucky, are you alright?” You had been repeating that same question over and over again, but Bucky barely seemed to hear you. “I’ve looked at the team’s initial assessment - Sam should be okay.”
Okay? How could anything be fucking okay when HYDRA was still a threat to Bucky, to you, to everyone that he cared about? He was seething with anger, feeling hopelessness and rage consume him.
“I need to get out of here,” he grunted finally, shrugging you off and walking towards the doors. You recognised this response - he was shutting down, shutting you out, wanting to internalise his rage.
You gaped at him, pulling on his arm. “You’re not going anywhere. Can you please talk to me?” You knew what had happened had shaken him up, and you were determined not to let him wallow by himself.
“I know where their nest is,” Bucky spat, speaking to himself more than to you. “I can get them.”
You stared at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “Are you serious? You can’t go in there by yourself.”
“Sam got hurt because we were too fucking scared to go straight for the target,” Bucky practically snarled. “We thought we could play a strategy, work bottom up. But fuck that, they almost killed us out there, and I’m fucking done.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” you said harshly, knowing that Bucky wasn’t thinking straight. “You’re going to go in there, guns blazing and get outnumbered and beat? Again?”
“I can get the backup,” Bucky grunted.
“You’re putting yourself and everyone else’s lives in danger,” you said sternly. “Stop it and use your brain for one second, James.” You were secretly terrified, knowing that nothing could stop Bucky once he had his mind set on something. What would you do if he went in there alone and unprepared? What would you do if he got injured like Sam?
Bucky glared at you, and you almost recoiled at the sight, but stood your ground. “You know I’m right. You are being stupid and reckless.” You kept your voice steady, staring him down.
He marched up to you, pointing to the room where Sam was currently being operated in. You flinched at how furiously his boots pounded against the ground.
“Sam could die because of me.”
“It’s not your fault,” you said, exasperated. “You need a plan of attack. I know you’re angry right now, but you need to be calm.”
You watched as he turned away from you and suddenly lashed out, punching a sizeable dent in the wall, making you jump.
“You don’t know shit.”
You grimaced, hating the way he was speaking to you.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” you said, a small scowl on your lips. “I’m scared, Bucky. I won’t have you going out there, especially not in this state of mind. You’re not thinking straight.”
“I can’t just sit here doing nothing knowing full well where they are,” Bucky said, jaw clenching. He was feeling so frustrated and didn’t know why you couldn’t seem to understand.
“I know you’re angry,” you repeated, making Bucky’s jaw tick, “but you’re thinking blindly, and you need me to make you see sense.”
“I don’t need you for anything,” he said sharply.
His back was still turned to you, but you could see how his shoulders immediately sagged out of their defensive position once the words left his mouth. You audibly gasped, taking a step back and swallowing hard. Your lower lip quivered uncontrollably.
The constricting in your heart was awfully painful as you absorbed his words, ringing loud and clear.
I don’t need you.
His words made one of your biggest insecurities become something fully tangible. The deep-rooted belief that, at the end of the day, Bucky didn't really have any use for someone like you.
Cursing, he turned back round to look at you properly, his face full of guilt at your crestfallen expression.
“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
You didn’t say anything at first, inhaling shakily. Trying to catch your breath.
“It’s fine,” you said quietly, unable to hide the tears in your eyes. He took a step forward but you walked backwards again, rapidly until your back thudded against the doors.
"I shouldn't have said that -" he began, hating the way he could see the way your nails were digging hard into your fleshy palms, the way you did whenever you felt upset. Your mouth was trembling and he knew you were trying so hard not to cry
“I’m going to go,” you said quietly, turning to make your hasty exit and ignoring his pleas for you to stay.
Tumblr media
You said quietly in your room, mulling to yourself carefully about what had happened. You had locked yourself away as soon as you had assurance from your fellow doctors that Sam’s surgery had been a success.
Bucky’s words swam in your mind. You knew they were borne from anger, but they had to have some truth in it.
He didn’t need you, not really. What could you give him that someone else couldn’t? What’s more, you were just an ordinary human. Weak, expendable.
You felt a cold chill creep through your chest as you continued to let the thoughts swirl.
You didn’t want to make the mistake of believing that you were more important to him than you actually were.
You pulled your knees to your chest, sat on the ground at the foot of your bed. You hugged them tight as if they could provide you some comfort, letting your tears soak into the fabric of your jeans.
Bucky never had a bad word to say against you. He was always the first person to battle away your self-doubts, your self-loathing, your insecurities. You wondered if he had always secretly believed that he didn't truly need you.
It was insane how much words could hurt.
A gentle tapping at your door made you jump, and you knew instantly it was him. His voice followed shortly after, a gentle plead.
“Can you open the door?”
His voice was apologetic, and it just made you want to cry harder. You heard him sigh when you didn’t respond.
“I’m really sorry, sweetheart. I really didn’t mean it. I was just being a jerk.”
You forced yourself to stand up and padded over to the door, knowing that he could hear your movements. You took a deep breath and opened it, met by the sight of his handsome, guilt-ridden face.
“It’s okay,” you said curtly, shrugging. “You said what you said. And I think, to some extent, you meant it.”
He scanned your tear streaked face, knowing how hard you were trying to keep your expression cool and face emotionless.
Bucky’s face became anguished, frowning and shaking his head vehemently. He stepped forward, taking your hands in his, though yours remained limp in his large palms.
“I didn’t,” he said firmly. “Of course I didn’t mean it.”
Bucky knew he couldn’t just take his words back and pretend they never happened, and he despised that he had hurt you.
His emotions were complex, his anger raw and all-consuming. He had been so caught up in his thoughts, he lashed out at your mere suggestion of reigning them in. He didn’t need to be placated – or so he thought – he just wanted to ride out that anger and hurt those people who posed a threat to everyone he cared about.
How could he make you think that he didn’t need you? Of course he needed you – you were his motivation for everything in life. You were his reason that he wanted to be better.
He should have listened to you when you tried to reason with him. He lost control of his feelings, and he was ashamed.
Bucky hugged you suddenly, circling his arms around you. He breathed in your scent, closing his eyes as you stood with your arms by your sides, unsure of what to do.
“I’m so sorry,” he breathed again, his words like silk in your ear. “Today has been kind of a shitty day. With HYDRA showing their faces again, and Sam getting hurt, and knowing that you could be in danger…it made me feel like I had to get out there and shut down any possibility of something happening to you. And I felt that I needed to do that alone, to be the one to eliminate the threat.”
You bit down on your lower lip, tears welling in your eyes again. You could feel the love radiating from Bucky as he held you, and it helped soothe the ache in your heart.
“When you tried to calm me down, I know you meant well, doll, I’m so sorry. But there was a voice in my head telling me that I have to do everything in my power to keep you safe, and when you told me not to do anything, I snapped.” His confession was wrought with honesty, and you softened your stance, raising your arms up to wrap around him, too.
“I know it doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled, sounding embarrassed now.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, tilting your head back to look at him. “I know you just want to protect me.”
“Believe me,” he said sternly, eyes locked with yours, “that I need you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he nodded. “I may be a fucking super soldier with a dumb metal arm and fight off bad guys, but I need you to remind me that I’m much more than just that.” He studied your face long and hard, making sure that you really understood him. Finally, he leaned down to kiss your lips. “Forgive me?”
“Mmm,” you murmured, unable to concentrate now as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer against his body, his solid chest.
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a maybe. I might need a little more convincing,” you muttered, pulling him into your room and closing the door behind him.
The door stayed shut for the rest of the evening.
2K notes · View notes