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purplelupins · 1 year

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Happy Together

Part I Part Il Part III

The Black Phone

Albert Shaw × Fem!reader

Summary: Nothing like a new city. You just wanted a fresh start, and something comfortable, but what happens when you start to see the exact same patterns in Denver as you did before?

Warnings: the following warning are for the full fic, and not just this first chapter. PLEASE READ THEM. This is a DARK fic.

Dub-con (note that this is a kink so it is actually wanted), Daddy kink, size kink, pet names (princess, kiddo, sweetheart, honey and more) mentions of death (including murder, torture etc), cumming in pants, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f and m) begging, breeding kink, innocence kink, biting, adultery, infidelity, stalking, mentions of kidnapping, home break-in, fighting (verbal and physical)...more will be added.

Note: this is a commissioned piece for @mandowifey 🤍🤍

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It’s often perceived as a cliche when someone claims that time stood still for them at a certain moment, but there cannot be a cliche without some truth. Indeed, neither you nor Albert moved an inch for what very well could have been an hour or a mere five seconds.

Your eyes were fused to one another’s.

Locked in a dare to see who would act first.

With adrenaline practically replacing your blood, you moved your hand to your outer thigh faster than ever to grasp the long blade strapped there. However, you weren’t fast enough. Al’s hand found the back of your head and gripped your hair; he yanked your head back in an attempt to knock you off balance, while you found the handle of your knife. Your scalp screamed at you but you paid it no mind.

Acting on the rush coursing through you and the excitement of Albert’s equal fight, you brought your foot up and hit him square in the diaphragm. In the back of your consciousness, you could head Samson barking from another room, but you couldn’t focus on that. His grip loosened on you just enough as he coughed, and you took the opportunity to lunge at him; you managed a solid punch to his injured cheek- knocking him back in his chair, and landed square in his lap. You heard him hiss, but wasted no time in raising your weapon to his neck and smiling wickedly.

Gotcha.

“You know, Mr. Shaw, I’d prefer it if you bought me dinner before you go pulling on my hair like that.” You moped, sticking your lip out like a child just to toy with the temper you saw flaring behind those dead eyes of his. So pretty.

“You viscous little-“ he started, but you had no reason to show mercy, so you pressed your blade a little more into that vein in his neck that pulsed so beautifully.

I bet it would look just delicious with blood pouring from it…

A shiver went down your spine at how pretty he would look with more blood on him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He snapped, eyes ablaze.

You blinked slowly. It was as if his words had to filter in through your brain as you came back from being lost in thought. “I prefer princess, too. Not much of one for name calling.” You tilted your head to the side, eyeing the cut that reopened on his face thanks to you. “Red suits you…” you added, remembering his comment about how blue suited you that day in the diner.

“What do you want?” He rasped, hand still firmly in your hair. Not that it mattered- hell you barely noticed it anymore, it was more comforting now.

“Me?” You thought for a moment to add a little drama, “Oh you guessed most of it…just want a nice man to call my own. Not so bad, hm?” You smiled. “I’m not that unreasonable am I?”

Albert shifted under you, and swallowed against the blade. “And what…you kill along the way?” He asked.

You shrugged like he had only gotten the answer partially correct. “Well…adulterous behaviour needs to be stopped before it starts , you know. Someone needs to suss out the men who don’t deserve all those pretty wives…happily married or not, so why not me?” You scrapped the blade down the stubble on his neck, “Besides, it’s a bonus if they’re desperate enough. Can get a good fuck in before I-“

Your guard had dropped just enough for Al to yank your hair again and grab the arm with the blade that had been poking into him, but not enough for him to get the upper hand. You fought against his vice-like grip on your wrist, huffing out little laughs here and there. He was far stronger than any of the other men you usually engaged with, especially men his age.

You went to use your free hand to deliver another knock to his injury, but it seemed Albert already knew what you had planned before you did. His hand caught your arm a mere centimetre from his cheek, and a smirk pulled at his handsome face. You, however, managed to twist said arm from his remarkably tight grasp with a sharp jab to his collarbone with your elbow. With you momentarily distracted by the small victory, Albert was quick to slam your head into the wall beside you.

Stars sparked before your eyes for a few moments.

A maniacal laugh bubbled up from your chest when you bounced back- barely deterred. If anything the knock had given you a jump in energy. Seeing Al’s bewildered, bloody face from your resilience was possibly the best thing you’d seen all year.

Albert could feel his blood growing hotter with each second as his frustration took over.

How the fuck is she so strong?

Neither of you moved for three seconds until realization set in, but when it did indeed kick in, it hit you first. This time, you weren’t playing nice. Before he could grab you again, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and dug the tip of your knife into the base of his skull; the tip was already making a small incision.

“That wasn’t very nice.” You pouted again, “I was just trying to talk-“

“Cut this bullshit out kiddo.” He snapped, shifting his hips as you pinned him to the chair in your new position, “I’m not your demographic, you know that. So what. Do. You. Want?” He growled out, his breath fanning across your face.

You could feel your skin start to buzz the more Al spoke to you; he was smarter than you had anticipated. Observant, analytical, calculated… it all made you warm.

“About that, you seem to know what I like…so what do you like?” You grinned evilly. It seemed only fair that you poke as just many of his buttons, “Although, I think I might have an idea…Please tell me you’re him.”

“Who?” He rasped out- his face had lost most expression long ago. It was lax and deadened now, but his stoic default made you squirm.

“The one they’re all talking about…the one your own brother never shuts up about over there.” You tilted your head to the bulletin board, “The little boy grabber.”

Al’s eye twitched.

“That’s not-“

“Alright, The Grabber.” You said dramatically, smiling in his face.

As Samson continued to howl and bark from Al’s room, the older man showed no signs of distress or discomfort if he was feeling either. Although, you didn’t miss the fact that he was likely growing tired…it wasn’t exactly an optimal time to be awake and he was far from a youthful man. You, however, were in no rush.

“Samson, down!” Albert called out gruffly, followed by silence. Finally after a few minutes of contemplation on his part, Albert sighed,“Yea, they call me that…” he said, running his tongue along one of his canines.

Your eyes lit up and you wiggled with excitement; in doing so, you inadvertently came closer to Albert’s front, which you paid no mind but he cast his eyes away in a last effort to see an escape- or so you assumed.

“No fucking wonder you punched a hole in the wall! How can you listen to him go on about you?” You felt your heart rate pick up, “So what, you like little boys? That’s your thing? What do you do with them? Are they stuffed in your walls? Is it a sexual thing?” Your rapid-fire interrogation began to set Al on edge and you knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped. But sadly for you, Al knew that this was exactly what you wanted.

So instead of snapping at you, he risked getting cut. Albert whipped on of his hands up, and grabbed your cheeks in one hand, squeezing hard as your blade drove into the back of his neck, “You talk too much, kid.” He hissed as blood began to trickle down his spine, but didn’t account for having his hand close to your mouth.

You jerked out of his grasp and sunk your teeth into his hand, and pressed your blade harshly against the cut already made. The two of you both snarled and panted at one another like wild animals, until you finally released his hand; a very noticeable bite mark left behind that he would have to explain everywhere you went. You were delighted.

Watching his pupils expand and contract was hypnotic as he tried to gain control over his rage. You inhaled and sighed out, leaning a little closer. “You’re fun.”

Albert had put you on your tippiest of toes, and you found yourself hoping it would happen again. As if to prove your point, you rolled your hips against him, and gasped when you felt his hardening length twitch. You tsked him and did it again, “What’s this? Grandpa can get hard? What is it? Being over powered by a young woman? The knife? Ooh is that your thing? You get off on being dominated?” You mocked him.

As a smile over took your rosy cheeks, Albert gave into impulse and smacked his forehead into yours with a crack.

“Shut that mouth of yours before I make you shut it again, princess.” He rasped, those sharp crooked teeth of his exposed as his lips pulled thin. But you didn’t miss how his voice seemed to be a little more breathless, nor how you had to resist the urge to draw blood from his lip with your teeth. Your ears still rung from the impact but it only made your need to taunt him further.

“You’re just a filthy old man aren’t you, Mr. Shaw?” You rubbed more deliberately against him and your grin deepened when you felt his hips rock against you despite his stern features.

“I think you need to understand that you’re not the only big shot here in Denver any more…but you knew that as soon as you looked at me didn’t you?” You cooed, dragging the cool blade down his back. “Did you like it?” You breathed.

“What?” He barked, shifting under you.

You rolled your eyes.

“The sweet, scared neighbour! I do love playing the part…” you preened.

He huffed out a laugh.

“You’re a horrible actress.”

“I had you fooled…even if it was just for a few weeks.” You winked, “So sad it’s ending now though…”

You dragged your knife up to his collarbone and pressed, flicking your eyes to his. Soulless meeting soulless.

Daring each other to make the next move.

Then he snapped.

Albert let you cut him as he grabbed your throat and slammed you back against the table. Adrenaline gripped you and you were about to bring your knee into his ribs when the front door opened violently. Both of you whipped your heads towards the sound, and were greeted with the untimely entrance of a distraught Max- his eyes red and shoulders drooping to the ground.

You both froze.

“God Al I’m sorry…” Max started, hands over his face as his emotions took over. Al and you silently released each other, keeping your eyes trained each other lest the other decide to toss caution into the wind, “Shit, I just- you know how I get and I-“ Max seemed to have not even noticed you and Albert in the middle of a life or death fight in the kitchen.

He began rambling on about how he would fix the wall and calm down about his conspiracies, all the while you were still locked eyes with the older man ready to snap your neck. You almost dared him to- you’d love to stare into those baby blues as your life faded. But when Albert didn’t move, and in fact seemed to silently tell you to not even think about doing something, you knew the game was over for the night, and took that as your sign to leave. You retracted your blade, and pushed up and off of his warm lap. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth when you saw the bulge against the leg of his jeans. It was in your best interest to run out the door, and you did; however, not before licking his bottom lip, leaving a string of saliva between you. Albert stared up at you- that thick crease still between his brows that made you want to melt. You smiled at how stern his face was in contrast to clearly how much he had enjoyed the fight…whether he knew it or not.

You were out the door and back home before Max even noticed. The only thing signalling your leave was Samson’s three barks.

Once you shut your front door, you could finally take inventory of your body. Head spinning; muscles aching; heart pounding. But you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a soft, exhausted laugh as your head fell back against the door. Sweat covered you, and you decided upon a shower as if you had t just stared death in the face and licked its lip. However, when you cast one more look outside your front window, you were met with the same gaze you had just ran from. Albert stood in his living room, Max still pacing behind him, staring unashamedly at his young little neighbour like she hadn’t just given him the best fight of his life.

It was as if you had both just started a game of cat and mouse, but neither of you knew which was the predator and which was the prey.

That night had changed everything. Your smile was sharper and your every step had a spring in it, just in case it was your last. Contrary to what most people would assume, everyday you awoke a little disappointed that you were in your bed with no middle aged man watching you, or evidence of someone snooping through your home. You admittedly wished he would try to frighten you, or actually act on the impulses you knew he felt.

Now when you saw Albert, the waves you exchanged seemed to hold a promise in them; what that exact promise was, however, had yet to be fully decided. A promise of one of you getting to the other…a promise of an eventual understanding…a promise of combined forces…you didn’t know.

What you did know, however, was that you hadn’t felt so giddy in a very long time. Certainly playing the part of a new girl in town was enjoyable while it had lasted and you now had to move on from it at least for Al, but knowing that someone out there knew your secret while harbouring their own made you dizzy with excitement. This was what had you bouncing everyday.

It was a game you had never played.

If you were honest, you were beyond ecstatic to play this particular game with Albert Shaw. There was something so exhilarating about toying with a man as striking as he, and you craved that cold gaze nearly every waking moment.

You wanted to see him angry.

Scared.

Amused.

Frustrated.

Blood thirsty.

He had confirmed your thoughts regarding him without any prompting, and you wondered what else he might confide in you. You wondered why he did what he did…where he did it.

When?

How?

Why now?

Had he killed for his entire life or was this some midlife crisis he wanted to test out while he was still in good shape? Was he remorseful? Merciful? Did Max really not know? Did he have a tag line? Was he inspired by anyone?

Your mind spun like a washing machine; it all came back to the same question.

Who the fuck was Albert Shaw?

Of course, Albert had the exact same question for you.

Who was this little hellion that had unceremoniously nestled into his perfect little life? How long had it taken for him to build that basement into the perfect cell; to establish a routine that the watchful eyes of the neighbourhood would know; to make himself seem like a simple, unsuspecting man of Denver who is just a quiet, nice man? How long? Years. Fucking years. Then within a matter of months, this little wretch had come along and all but shattered it.

Albert had watched you when you dashed back to your house. Well, it was barely yours; you had broken up the aging family that had lived there for decades in a matter of weeks…he hadn’t known who had done it but he had to admit he was impressed when he saw your little head bobbing along up and down the path to move in. There was no way in hell that it had been a coincidence.

And he had been right.

Too right.

There were no such thing as coincidences when it came to you.

Albert had half hoped that when he followed you home that day and scared you half to death driving after you, that you might flee, and leave his routine alone. But when you had gone home after touching the hood of his van, and had locked your doors and muttered to yourself “Im gonna getcha I’m gonna getcha getcha…” over and over as you took your sleeping pill, and didn’t even notice him in the dark corner of your living room…he had decided he wanted to know more.

But then when he finally had you right there…he realized too quickly that he had mistakenly underestimated you.

And he had realized how much he enjoyed it.

He thought that by figuring you out and having you confess, he would somehow gain the upper hand and feel that fear he had of you dissipate…but then you had sat yourself right there in his lap like a present and pulled that blade out from god knows where…and he hadn’t felt so alive in a very, very long time. He had wanted you to stab him, hurt him…but you didn’t. He had wanted for you both to tip over the invisible edge and have one come out the winner, but it didn’t happen. You both remained firmly planted on the edge, teetering precariously.

If it was a game you wanted, it was a game he would give you.

It started small.

You knew he wouldn’t simply let you carry on living as if everything was peachy-keen, and sunshine and rainbows. At first, you thought he might do exactly that, especially when the following morning was horribly dull. So boring in fact that you found for self waiting extra long before pulling out from your driveway, and even stood in the back alley a little too long while taking out the trash…just in case he would pounce. Admittedly, you started to think very poorly of the man, wondering if he really was all that he was made out to be, or if he was all bark and no bite.

Then came the next morning. That bright, early dawn brought with it a very sour taste in your mouth in the form of four very flat tires on your little car. It didn’t take a mechanic or even anyone with brains to see that they each had very neat stab marks in them from a sharp kitchen knife. You slowly brought your gaze up to the house across the street, and while you didn’t see him, you felt him. You knew Albert was watching you. You knew he was gloating in that sick satisfaction of rendering you helpless. It was impressive how heavy his stare was- it sent goosebumps up and down your arms without you even seeing it.

Albert watched you kneel down to inspect the juvenile slashes on your tires that he has inflicted. While sloppy, there had been something liberating about jabbing a knife into something with no clean-up after.

Eyes trained on you, he watched you nod, as if you were showing him you understood that the game had begun.

You felt yourself unconsciously bite the inside of your cheek as excitement began to take you.

However, while you wished you could have run to the older man watching you, and picked up where you had left off before max has interrupted, you had a part to play. You cast your gaze from left to right, then found your target; one of your neighbours further down the road had just left his house, and you knew his wife was still asleep. The change in your demeanour was instant- so instant that Albert nearly choked on his coffee when he laughed. Distress riddled your features as you began looking around frantically, as if the culprit would return at any moment to do something else. To your credit, even you started to believe that you were scared of the older man across the street as you imagined him coming after you with a knife. You knew he was intimidating, but there was the undeniable simmer of warmth that came over you in his presence, even then as you inspected the damage- knowing that Al had stood there so close to your home with a knife and had taken the time to stab each tire…you almost felt flattered.

Almost.

But mostly you felt ravenous. Your teeth itched at the memory of how his tanned skin had felt in your jaws, and how pretty those marks looked on him. You wondered if he had liked it…you hoped he did. If he had, it would make this all the more fun, but if he was a prude then you whined at the thought of having to break him in like new shoes.

You had slipped into full hysteria now, and in your state, you managed to gain the attention of the family man you had spotted on his way to work. Johnathan you thought his name was…something like that. He was a little too dumb for your liking, but he was nice, and trusting, and those were two attributes you needed in your “saviour” in that moment.

“E-excuse me?”You called out to the man. He did a quick look around the nearly empty neighborhood. but once he spotted you and seemed to confirm with himself that you were indeed speaking to him, you had his undivided attention. In fact, he even started to come towards you, and you were fairly certain he didn’t even realise it.

You began to walk to him, wringing your hands. “I’m so sorry to bother you…you’re on your way to work aren’t you?” You began, pretending like you cared about anything.

“I am, but what’s 5 minutes? You don’t seem to be doing alright, miss…” he seemed nice. Gentle, and as you had anticipated…a little dim.

“I can’t thank you enough for coming over here…it just- gosh I’m sorry I’m so rattled…but it seems I’ve been the target of some late night mischief…do you think you could give me a lift to work, sir?”you begged, pushing your breasts together to help him make a choice.

Albert watched you practically throw yourself at that bumbling idiot from a few houses down. It was comical to him now- you had your little routine down so perfectly as you told the moron about how your tires were slashed. John was his name, Albert recalled seeing him babbling at the yearly neighbourhood block party in the summer- always looking for someone’s ear to bend…someone to validate him. Worked as an accountant. Dull and stupid as they come, just good with numbers.

He breathed out a humourless laugh- you certainly knew your way around the cocks of Denver, even if you didn’t know what they all looked like. And John was the perfect man for you right then- a hopeless man who would very well give you his house if you rubbed up against him.

Al’s mind wandered, Albert felt himself throb in his pyjama pants as he stood there, remembering how you had felt in his lap. How warm you had been, and the friction of your cunt against his jeans. Your blade pressed to his throat and eyes all wild. You had looked crazed, and by god Al had wanted to take a piece of you…just a piece. He wanted to dissect it and know what made it tick.

Hear it

Smell it

Feel it

Taste it-

A twinge of pain cut Al’s thought’s short, and made him look down at his hand. Sure enough, some of the busted skin of his knuckles had opened and begun to bleed as his clenched fists pulled the skin tight over his bones.

The older man’s eye twitched.

You had done this to him. This was entirely your doing- everything had been fine until you rolled into Denver; he wasn’t about to let you get off that easy. The moment Albert had decided to take that knife out to your car, and the moment you had nodded in understanding upon finding the damage, a silent competition had begun. Now, with that confirmation, and knowing that you were both locked in for whatever kind of ride this torment would be, he was elated.

There was a game to be played, and you were not about to slack on playing it. To start, however, you needed time to plan, and time to execute. Making people worry about you wasn’t in your play-book, but when used appropriately when you did indeed chose to employ it, it worked in your favour. It seemed that the best course of action would be to feign sickness, so that you could excuse yourself easily in the next week should you need to keep up with any of Albert’s challenges. You had been sure that when that man from down the street dropped you off, you put on your best weakened demeanour and dry cough, which you had perfected once you had arrived at the diner. When Anett had asked if you were alright, you of course waved her off and told her you were fine…but she had insisted that you just manage the counter and didn’t serve; patting you on the back.

It was nearly laughable how easy it was.

With your car out of commission for a few days, you took it upon yourself to do the responsible thing and call in sick the day following the incident. You were, after all, a good girl in everyone’s eyes; more concerned about the well-being of any diner-goers than yourself. Getting anyone sick was the last thing you wanted.

Well, at least that was what you had everyone believing.

With a day off on your hands, you decided that you would make the most out of having the metaphorical ball in your court. A million and a half ideas went through your head to get Al back for the damage he did to your car, but you had your heart settled on one that would likely make those pretty eyes of his twitch, and his strong jaw clench. Certainly it would do nothing to weaken his pocket, but it had high possibilities of making you howl with laughter. And what was so wrong with amusing yourself?

You patted yourself on the back for having listened to Albert when he had off-handedly mentioned where he worked weeks ago. After an off-handed comment you had made about how fit he was for sitting an awful lot at home…he had been quick to snap at you that he did physical labour all day and that you should watch your mouth. After that you took the liberty of enjoying his sturdy frame a little more with the mental image of him huffing and grunting with heavy loads.

The store front of Floro Hardware Store came into view as you rounded the corner of the street, and you did your best to hide your grin. Under your breath, you compulsively muttered the same sentence over and over like it was a promise. “I’m gonna getcha, I’m gonna getcha getcha…” as you fixed your skirt and shirt.

You had noticed Mr. Shaw had a particular liking for your dresses and skirts that had made their way into your closet since the warm weather started; you nearly giggled to yourself when you remembered how he had almost driven you and him off the road that day you had hopped into his van and bent over the seat to get a popsicle.

Poor old fuck.

The bell above the door rang and you let your eyes drop open like a doe; looking around hopelessly and helplessly in the hardware store. It became abundantly obvious that females were not a common sight in that particular establishment, and your presence stuck out like a sore thumb; by the turn of every head when you entered, everyone else was very much aware of that fact. You slowly walked up to the counter and pouted to yourself when Al wasn’t there immediately to greet you. In his place was a young man. It looked as if he had been slapped in the face by a ghost moments earlier as he stared at you, and you hid your scheming grin as best as you could.

Action.

“Excuse me, could you help me?” You asked sweetly. You placed your forearms on the counter and let your breasts push up - something this young man very much noticed.

It took him three seconds to look up from your cleavage, and a whole five seconds before he finally managed to speak.

“Y-yes. Yes I’m here for you- well not just um…for you- uh but I- I can help.” He stuttered out, ears turning red by the second.

Man…Albert was a poor old fuck for almost busting in his pants, but at least I would have gotten wet over it…this poor boy is about to explode in his pants and call his mom to pick him up and buy him an ice cream.

Ice cream….

You mentally punched yourself for not purchasing an ice cream before turning up to the shop to taunt Al. The look on his face would have been delectable.

“You’re so sweet…um, I need to get a car jack…do you sell those here?” You inquired, batting your eyes, and running your finger in a circle on the wood counter.

“W-we don’t have a lot…I’m uh- that’s more of a mechanic thing.” He said, scratching his neck.

“Oh?” You pouted, and looked embarrassed at your misunderstanding.

His eyes widened. “B-but we do have some! They’re just down here.” He clumsily made his way out from behind the counter and began walking deeper into the store. As soon as he passed you, you let your blush fade and you eyelids drop so as to give yourself a break for a moment. In true teenage fashion, the boy smelled like body odour and some sort of hair product that made you grimace.

“They’re just down there, um..do you know what you need?” He asked.

“I’m not too sure…you seem awfully smart though, think you could help little old me figure it out?” You touched his arm lightly and shrugged like a clueless bimbo.

He blushed and looked down at the jacks. , clearly not knowing what to say as his mind went blank. You grinned and put your hands on your hips as you thought. “I have a Ford Pinto…someone slashed the tires and I-“

“Emmet?”

You both froze. Emmet from the fact that his boss was calling him and you from the rush of excitement that struck you like lightning at the sound of said boss. Menace or not, Albert’s voice now meant ‘fun’ to you.

“I-I’ll be right there Mr. Shaw.” The young man stuttered, his face flushed and sweaty.

You stifled a giggle as you stared up at him, and covered your mouth when you heard the heavy footfalls of big, bad, boss man.

“What did I tell you about leaving the register like that? You know someone could just walk in a-“ Albert came to the aisle that held you and Emmet it in, and he came to a standstill. Ridged.

You both stared at one another, and you gleefully watched him fight to not take in your appearance. The skirt that barely came mid thigh and shirt that left little to the imagination. If you were honest you missed your more comfortable clothes…but you had a game to win and if giving up comfort meant just that, then so be it.

“Sorry, Mr. Shaw- I was j-just helping this lady-“

“That’s fine, back to the front…” Al nodded towards the front, signalling for the young employee to leave, “I’ll take care of this young woman.” He made little to no effort to hide his irritation.

Neither of you even watched Emmet scurry away, though you decided to add one more log to the fire, “Thank you for taking such good care of me Emmet!” You called after him, eyes locked on Al’s.

Now, as you were finally left alone with the older man, you smiled. “Fancy seeing you here, grandpa.” You teased him, “So…is he your demographic or do you like younger?”

The older man’s eye twitched and by god you wanted to kiss the skin that pulled ever so slightly at the tick. Or perhaps bite it.

“What the fuck do you want?” He growled as he took a few steps closer to you.

You hummed and looked down at the heavy jacks on the lower shelf. “Well you see, Mr. Shaw, I was a victim of a vehicular violation…and I take violations very seriously.” You cooed, bending over as if you were checking the prices. You knew you were offering Albert a very full view of your panties that were tight against your plump lower lips; practically begging to be kissed. You wondered what it would feel like to have his mouth against-

“You and I both know you had a damn tow truck take your car away this morning.” He rasped, taking another step into the aisle.

“Did I? I’m so forgetful.” You pretended to think.

You were about to straighten up when you felt a firm hand at the base of your neck pull you up. You almost gasped but another hand over your mouth swiftly dashed that possibility. Albert shoved you against the far wall at the end of the aisle, and you did your best to look afraid and confused instead portraying how excited you were. A fight in that store would be exhilarating.

“Look you little bitch…you’re going to listen to me.” His rough voice almost began to gain a strange, playful lilt to it, and you wondered if this was how he spoke to his victims, “Do not try to wedge yourself into my life like it’s something you deserve. What you deserve is to go find another town and fuck it up. Stay away from Denver.”

You watched him closely, and muttered out “Or what, Mr. Shaw?” Against his hand, which came out muffled but it seemed he was talented in understanding muffled voices.

“There is no “or what.” I’m tired of you here, and I have a certain amount of respect for…someone like you. So get out of here while I still have that.” He whispered.

Your eyes slowly hardened, and you truly couldn’t help yourself, not when he was being so condescending to you. No one told you what to do, and even though you wouldn’t mind Albert Shaw doing just that in a different setting, this was not that time. So while those thick finger still sat over your mouth, you sunk your teeth into two of them hard and bit down until he wrenched his hand away.

“God- fucking hell…you need a damn muzzle.” Albert hissed, and clenched his hand. You noticed again, that he only took a step away, and that his pants looked to be…uncomfortable.

“You alright there Mr. Shaw? You look a little riled up.” You mocked.

Albert held his hand in a tight fist, weighing it in his hand like he was debating having you eat it or not. Evidently, when he took another step to the end of the aisle and looked straight ahead to the front of the store, he chose not to attempt to send you to the hospital.

“Just get out. Don’t let me see you here again.” He muttered.

His choice disappointed you, but did not surprise you. You pouted, and walked towards him none the less. This was meant to be a game, and it certainly wasn’t over yet. As you passed him,you made sure to brush against his front and let a breathy moan escape you to see if it would send him over the edge. Make his cool demeanour shatter.

It didn’t.

And then, the ball was in Al’s court.

The stunt you pulled at his work resulted in both a pesky and almost titillating turn of events. Each morning, and nearly every night, you came to find that Albert was now enjoying the pleasure of moving various items in your home. Water glasses placed where your feet would sit the ground; toilet paper hidden, shampoo emptied; hair ties in your freezer, and panties gone- your least favourite, just to name a few. He even moved your medications and you noticed that he thoroughly enjoyed leaving cabinets open and moving furniture just an inch or so in the way so your would walk right into them; he must like how bruises looked on you.

It didn’t seem to matter how many locks you bought, or traps you set, Albert always managed to get inside, and mess with your safe haven. It became a constant reminder that you had thrown any hope of a haven out the window when you decided to try and seduce Al that night when he was battered. Not that you regretted it- it had been the most fun you’d had in years. You gathered the high it gave you was likely similar to the high of a line of cocaine.

To answer his little home invasions, you took it upon yourself to pick his lock and leave a pair of your panties square in the middle of his bed. Seeing as he was intent of touching all of your belongings, why not just give him one?

By a stroke of luck, while you followed him that same day to a local park, you came to find that you were, in fact, witnessing one of his stalking escapades. To add more fuel to the metaphorical fire, took it upon yourself to be a good bystander and inform the adolescents he was watching that the Grabber would get them if they weren’t careful. Of course they were sceptical at first, but with a quick “How can you be so sure?” And a nod to a conspicuous black van down the street, you watched as they hopped on their bikes and scrambled home. All you heard following that was the screech of tires as said black van peeled out of the neighbourhood. Interfering with each other’s hunting hadn’t been a part of the game yet, and you knew that by introducing the new rule it opened up a plethora of possibilities.

This stunt had earned you a particularly nasty retort by Albert.

Your evening had initially gone perfectly. With your car in the shop still, you had opportunity after opportunity to exploit your inconvenience. This particular night, you had desperately needed a ride home after work, and you counted your lucky stars when a familiar face had just so happened to be walking by where you had been standing. Not that he needed to know that you had walked three blocks to “bump” into him, or stalked his schedule for a week.

“Th-thanks again for driving me home…I owe you.” You said gently, grabbing a glass to fill with water for him.

Steven -you had learned his name was- had indeed been your knight in shining armour that night. He was leaned against the counter, smiling. “Oh it’s my pleasure…Not like we’re total strangers, right?” He replied.

Not strangers at all.

You laughed gently and shrugged as you passed the glass to him, “I suppose not…your sure your wife doesn’t mind? I’d hate to make you late for dinner.”

“Hm?” He looked down at you from taking a sip, “Oh Nancy and I are used to opposite schedules…she’s a night clerk so, uh…I’m all yours.” He tilted his head and winked at you so fast you almost didn’t see it.

You let a blush grace your cheeks and you fidgeted, falling into your routine. “You know…um…I- Sorry would you like to sit?” You stumbled over your words, and nodded to the couch. It seemed your suggestions elated Steven, and you had to admit you were too; the knife strapped to your thigh was making you itch with anticipation.

The spot you took on the couch was perhaps a touch too close as your knees brushed against one another, and his quick intake of breath was exactly what you wanted.

“Can I ask you something?” You muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Yea, defiantly.” He replied as he moved a touch closer to settle in.

You sighed, and looked embarrassed.

“Why…why are you here with me? Right now?” You asked.

You’re here before I made sure you would be, but that’s besides the point.

For a moment, Steven looked confused, and you knew it was just as fake as your tale of needing a ride home, but of course you played along. This man knew exactly what you were saying, but he wasn’t about to let that on- he had a part to play too after all; an innocent husband who was simply trying to help a young woman out and certainly didn’t want to get his dick wet in her.

“Why am I-..? I gave you a lift, remember?…a-are you feeling alright?” He even went so far as to touch your knee with his hand.

You gave an audible gasp.

Steven’s eyes searched yours, and you bit the inside of your cheek as you bashfully looked up at him. His eyelids grew heavy, realizing just how close you were to one another.

“Yes, yes I’m fine…I-I don’t know…I’m…I’m just nervous I suppose.” You admitted, a shiver running down your spine, “Forget I asked, it was a stupid question…”

“Nervous about what? Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?” He cooed to you, and you felt your heart skip.

“No…it’s just-“

“Just?”

“I like you…have for a while…” you caved, and looked away, shrugging one shoulder.

He was so close, his lips almost brushing yours.

Steven let out a breathy laugh, “Have you now? Well I suppose that makes two of-“

Knock knock knock.

The jarring sound caused you both to jump apart from one another as your heads whipped towards the front door. A bolt of dread shot through you when you saw blinking red lights come through the window. Dread settled deep in your stomach at the thought of the authorities finally catching up with you.

You looked at Steven and he looked at you, eyes wide. You were almost certain he was about the jump out the window and run; most likely thinking Nancy had somehow found out about the two of you and had called the cops on you.

“One moment…” you said and stood, crossing the room to the door and opened it. You were greeted with a very burly man in a full fireman’s uniform and a firm expression on his face.

You swallowed.

“Good evening ma’am…we received a call regarding a strong smell of gas emitting from your home…everything alright here?” He asked, casting his eyes around the interior of your home. You blinked and shook your head.

“No- no nothing…I haven’t noticed a thing.” You said.

The fireman nodded, “Mind if we check any outlets and gas lines? Can’t be too careful.” He stated more than asked.

You knew that if you said no he would only push more, and you also knew that any hopes of roping Steven in tonight were dashed thanks to the scare, so you shook your head. “Not at all. Please, come in.”

He shuffled past you, and for the next ten minutes you waited as three firemen checked your home. Of course, your mind was already beginning to spin as you thought of how this might have happened.

On the couch, Steven sat awkwardly; part mortified at being caught in your home and partly because he had been attempting to calm the hard cock in his pants. The idea of hauling him into your bedroom and locking the door fleeted through your mind, though you decided against it…Steven was done, and scared off, at least for the night. If you wanted him to play your game you needed to start all over again, and you were too tired.

Tired, and angry.

In fact, you were fuming.

There was no use in pretending that you weren’t. You had been working on Steven for months ever since he looked at you longer than he should have that first when you got off the bus. If it werent for the very charming driver for the fire truck keeping you company, you would have been tapping your foot and carving a hole in the door frame.

“I’m sorry you have to wait like this ma’am, it’s a real cold night.” He said, looking around at the beiludet neighbours of yours that took up upon themselves to inspect what was going on.

You sighed

“I just don’t know who would have called it in…it makes no sense. I haven’t even been home all day so-“ you caught yourself mid sentence and felt your eye spasm.

No…

Your ears started ringing as realization dawned on you. Very slowly, you turned your head to gaze across the street, and when you saw Albert Shaw standing on his front step eating an apple, you thought your teeth might break from how tightly you clenched your jaw. He stared back at you with a grin that could only be described as evil.

“You alright ma’am?”

You could barely make out the voice of the fireman in front of you.

A wave of rage washed over you, when you saw the elder Shaw shoot you a wink to match his grin before disappearing back into his house. He knew he was untouchable so long as the firemen where there, and if you did come to him and pick a fight, he was beyond ready.

You looked back to the driver and smiled sweetly, “I live near a lot of elderly folks…you know how paranoid they can get. I’m sure it was an honest mistake.”

The man laughed lightly and nodded, “Tell me about it…pretty sure my nana wanted me to be a firefighter just so I could rescue her old cat every week and get paid for it.”

You laughed along, pretending like you didn’t want to stab the closest thing to you. Sadly it would have been him if you didn’t have your self control in check.

The man, evidently intent on distracting you, continued his onslaught of stories from work that made him laugh. As your anger began to subside, and the ringing in your ears turned into his voice, you began to notice how nice it was. He was sweet. Tall, tanned skin, dark hair that had a little silver to it and a sharp smile…and a pretty gold band on his finger too.

Your blood began to run hotter in your veins as you locked onto the yellow metal. You wondered if his marriage was happy…if he kissed his wife goodbye everyday or if they hadn’t spoken in a week. Were they friends or like roommates? Was he a father?

“-then my buddy had to catch the other side of the stretcher because I was about ready to pass out an-“

“What- um,” you mindlessly cut him off, finally looking up at him instead of at the house across the street. He seemed taken aback by your sudden ability to talk, “…gosh, I’m sorry…but what was your name, sir?” You asked, shyly. It seemed he found your faux coyness endearing.

He grinned. “Marc.” He replied, and held his hand out to you to shake, which you did just as the other men came out from your home.

The man in front heaved a sigh and gave a tight lipped smile.

“Welp, all clear here. Sorry to bother you ma’am.” He said as he guided the others back to the massive red truck.

You blushed as you stepped out of their way but bumped into Marc.

“Oh it’s miss.” You said, ducking your head down a little while they stopped to speak with you, “Thank you for being so thorough…I’m glad nothing was wrong.”

“Just doing our jobs, miss. Keeping you safe is number one on our priority list.” They nodded, and each of them cracked a smile at how embarrassed you seemed to be.

It never ceased to amaze you how much men latched onto a sky or feeble woman. It was easy to assume it wasn’t everyday they got a call that involved a pretty little thing all worried in a sundress and blushing for them. And of course it wasn’t everyday that you were surrounded by men twice your size, telling you they were there to protect you.

They left after another moment, but you didn’t miss how Marc cast you one last look before driving the massive vehicle away. He even waved a little, which you returned.

You grinned. Not a total loss to an evening…

“What a night…” came Steven’s voice behind you.

Your eyes had glazed over as you imagined Marc under you, telling you he loved you.

“Hm?” You hummed as you refocused , “Yes…I’m so sorry about all that…” you sighed, “Theres a lot of elderly families here and while I love them, I think they can be a little paranoid.”

Half true.

But saying that you have a homicidal magician living across from you who you’re in a battle of wits with simply didnt seem right.

Steven said something about needing to head home, but that he would call you. You knew you said something back- something he wanted to hear- but your eyes were glued to the house across the street. You knew Steven wouldn’t call you. You knew that you wouldn’t see him except for at that coffee shop; knew that he would be terrified of Nancy finding out about his continued infidelity that you knew he struggled with since that first day you saw him stumble out of the pub with his friend when you stepped off the greyhound downtown.

“I’m gonna getcha…” You chanted in your head.

And you fully intended on doing just that. Though you weren’t certain what you would do if you did get Albert…it didn’t bother you one bit. You wanted to get him, and whatever else that entailed.

Knock knock knock

Your knuckles rapped against the front door of 7740 Irving St. And you stepped forward enough to crowd whoever opened the door. Only a few moments passed before you heard Max muttering “I’m comin’, I’m comin’.” over the sound of Samson barking. You put on your best smile when the door opened and waved brightly.

“Morning Max! Could I bother you for a minute?” You chirped.

Max looked…unkept. You wondered how long ago he had woken up, and gathered it had to have been no longer than half an hour ago. He stared down at you for a moment, his unlit cigarette hanging there on his lip, “Sure thing. Come on in.” He said, standing aside and waving his arm dramatically like he was a half-dead showman.

For a man so paranoid of the world around him you were surprised by his lack of any guard…or if he had it he hid it well.

Once you came to stand in the living-room, you clasped your hands together and looked down , even wringing your wrists.

“This is going to sound so strange but…I was wondering if I could steal one of Al’s shirts?” You asked bashfully.Max’s eyes went wide and he stared at you confused. This request must have been odd enough for him to sober up a little.

You sighed and pretended to come clean, even avoiding his gaze to sell it.

“I-I know it must sound weird but Al was wearing this one the other day and it was just so cool and I’m pretty sure it was vintage…he said I could borrow it sometime and I totally forgot to pop in earlier…I don’t think he would mind though if I just grabbed it. Is that alright?” You pushed, laying in every ounce of charm you could to get your way. You knew it was odd and that if Max was in his right mind he would ask more questions, but you hoped you caught him before he was able to sober up too much.

A moment or two passed. You were about ready to push harder, but it seemed you didn’t need to.

“Y-yeah, I think that would be okay.” He said, nodding with his hands on his hips like he was capable of making a judgement call.

As if he had a choice.

A bright smile adorned your face.“You’re the best! I owe you.” You said, already walking into the house towards Al’s bedroom. It seemed Max didn’t question how you knew where his older brothers room was, and you were thankful for it. Not that questions would stop you, but they were tedious to deal with.

As soon as you stepped foot inside, you shut the door behind you and took a deep breath- inhaling the smell of Albert Shaw. For a moment, your head spun; you wondered about everything that had happened in that room alone. You wondered how he looked laying in his bed; sleeping, reading; cock in hand, cumming over a magazine….

But you didn’t have time for that.

You walked to his dresser, and pulled open drawers until you found his shirts. It didn’t take long for you to find one you liked, but you took your time nonetheless to ensure you did this right. You knew he was in your house often enough, and you felt it was only fair to enjoy being in his space; ensure that he was aware of your close presence.

It seemed that a burnt orange button up became your favourite, and you laid it on the bed to inspect your decision- touching the buttons fondly. Everything smelled like him. Of course it did, and it started to make your head dizzy.

“Any luck?”

You were snapped out of your daze when Max’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Yep! I’ll be out in just a second.” You called back with an eerily cheerful voice that how emotionless your face was.

Anticipation filled you for what was to come. You knew shoving Al’s privacy if his face would rattle him, but by god you hoped he snapped. Before long, you were replacing your own shirt with the button up, and tucking it into your skirt and putting your blouse in his drawer.

You jumped with excitement for a moment, then quickly walked to the door and moved through to the living room where Max flipped threw the TV channels. “I owe you Max!” You called. He said something back, but you didn’t hear it as you ran out; intent on getting to a certain hardware store that now counted you as a regular customer.

You are practically bouncing by the time you opened the door, and truly couldn’t hide the vicious smile you dawned when you saw that Al was right there at the counter, engrossed in an inventory sheet. The bell rang, and you saw his customer service face automatically take over his handsome features.

“Good mor-“ he started, but his greeting cut off as soon as he saw you; his eyes narrowed and he sucked on his teeth as he took in the very familiar shirt, “What the fuck are you wearing?”

You shrugged and sauntered up to him without a care, “I wear skirts all the time, you know that Mr. Shaw.”

The crows feel beside his eyes were as prominent as the crevice between his brows as he glowered at you.

“You know I’m not talking about that little skirt, kiddo. Stop breaking into my damn house.” He rasped, putting his clipboard down and crossing his arms; you tried and failed to not enjoy how the tendons and muscles stretched under his skin as he did so. You wondered just how strong he was… if that had been his full strength the other night or if he was holding back.

You pouted like you knew he hated, and leaned up onto the counter, knowing very well that you had left enough buttons undone for him to see that you were wearing a lacy black bra that barely contained your breasts. “You didn’t like my panties last week?”

Albert’s eye twitched.

As did his cock.

Of course he had hated the panties. He hated how he imagined how they would sit against your cunt, stretched over your lips, trying to soak up your slick but failing as it dripped down your soft thighs. He hated how he had to sit in his bed with his legs spread wide as he wrapped them around his hand and pumped his thick cock until he came all over his fingers. He hated how once hadn’t been enough.

“No.” Al stated, barely moving an inch. It was only when the bell above the door chimed that he dropped the scowl and put a smile on his face, “Morning!” He called to the customer, his voice going up in a lilt that made a shiver run down your spine.

Your ears began to heat up, and your panties suddenly felt uncomfortable.

Once the man disappeared down one of the aisles, Albert turned back to you and it was too little too late for you to recover from the unpleasantly pleasant feeling forming between your legs. It seemed that Al noticed just as soon as you did when your cheeks coloured pink, and you suddenly stopped holding his stare just for a moment.

Albert leaned over the counter to you, but regardless of your situation, you didn’t move. Even as you stared at a chip in the worden counter and squeezed your thighs together.

“Something bothering you there, kiddo?” He cooed to you in that same, high voice that made you feel so small.

To save yourself from humiliation, you fixed your face, stared him in the eyes and smiled. “Nothing at all, Mr. Shaw, just enjoying the nice smell of this shirt I’m wearing.” You tilted your head to the collar, and took a deep breath.

Albert’s eyes widened. It seemed he hadn’t expected that.

“Get out of here. And wash my shirt before you return it.” He snapped, placing his palms down on the counter, rings making a ding against the wood.

But you just smiled wider. “Oh I’ll have to…I know, between you and me.” You leaned forward into his space until you were just a breath away, “I think I’ll have to take this to the dry cleaners…don’t think my poor washing machine will be able to handle the mess I’m going to make wearing this later in bed.”

You felt your stomach grow warm when his ears began to go red. Your eyes flicked between his, daring him to scream at you, pull you over the counter or haul you into the back and do unspeakable things to you…anything.

But Albert had what you lacked.

Control. Great…deep control.

“Get out.” He whispered; words turning to air against your own lips.

“Always a pleasure Mr. Shaw.” You chirped.

You were gone and out the door before he could even catch one more glimpse down your…his shirt.

Albert rubbed his eyes. “God dammit…”

The starched collar of your uniform made you itch for a moment- for some reason you just couldn’t get comfortable that day. It was easy to tell anyone who asked if you were alright that you just weren’t feeling your best, but there was no tricking yourself; you were bothered. It had been two days since you taunted Al at his work, in his shirt, and you could still hear his voice in your head. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you had slipped your hand between your thighs…you were always left wanting-

“Sugar could you be an angel and take the trash round back? We’re making a record today I swear.” Anett called to you as you wiped down an empty table.

You gagged in your mind, but nodded and smiled, “Sure thing.”

The smell of grease permeated the air as you walked back through the kitchen from the front; sure enough there were two large trash bags sitting waiting for you. Judging by the smell, you didn’t want to know what was in them, though you knew you had certainly cleaned up far worse messes than those. Something about blood made it so much easier to clean than old diner food though…it seemed so tranquil and simple. No smell, no worries. Just water and bleach.

With a deep breath away from the bags, you used your hip to open the back door, and grasped both bags; they weighed a tonne, and would have been easier to carry one at a time but, you weren’t about to be back there any longer than you needed. You hauled one into the bin, and grabbed the neck of the other-

“Need a hand there kid?”

The kid of the garbage bin slipped from your hand and landed with a resounding bang. Your hairs stood on end.

What was that old saying? Speak of the devil and he shall appear?

Hell, Albert must have been right up there with old Satan because you didn’t even have to say his name for him to sneak up on you.

Of course, the last thing you wanted to do was to let on just how startled you were by his sudden presence, nor how a heat shot directly down to your navel at the sound of that strange lilt- it wasn’t like his ego needed more of a boost.

“The entrance is around the other side, sir.” You said, lifting the lid again without turning around.

You heard him breathe out a laugh, and the shuffle of his feet as he took a step- presumably towards you.

“I think the entrance I’m looking for is right here, sweetheart.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes and held the lid open, giving theatrical wave as you turned around, “Climb right in.”

Albert tucked his keys into his pocket as he watched you deposite the other bag. It made him laugh to himself at the image of you in such a domestic position such as throwing out a bag of trash; he had watched you drag dark garbage bags around countless times, but with far more incriminating excrement than what you dealt with right at that moment. You looked so human to him that he almost thought he made up the depraved things you got up to in your spare time.

Almost.

If he hadn’t committed said crimes to his memory, and the mental image of you with it he might have…but he had yet to get the vision of you covered in blood from his mind. So rabid.

“You really do have quite the mouth on you…you know that, Princess?” The older man chided, watching you closely as you seemed to make no move to escape him.

“Yours ain’t that wonderful either, Mister.” You replied, hands coming to your hips.

Albert’s eye spasmed, but his firm grin didn’t falter, in fact if anything his teeth shone through a little more. If your bite hadn’t been as hard as his you might have cowered away from such a predator.

The two of you stood there for a long ten seconds.

Nether of you moving an inch, neither of you looking away.

Locked.

It wasn’t until a door shut somewhere down the alley that Al cast a slow look around. It seemed that what me saw satisfied him enough to take a step forward, and let his hands drop to his sides. The hairs on your body began to stand on end as goosebumps sprung up. Albert was smiling. And not just any smile; it was comfortable, and while that might not have put you on edge, his arms so comfortably limp at his hips made you watch him a little closely. There was something sinister to seeing anyone so at ease.

“Is there anything you don’t have a response to, kid?” He sucked on his teeth bitterly, “You just never know when to quit or when you’re out-done.” Al spoke so casually, you almost forgot what he could likely do to you with no one knowing.

He took another step, slow enough for you to almost not notice.

Almost.

You shrugged and slammed the bin closed, “A girl’s gotta be prepared, Mr. Shaw. There’s an oughta lot of creeps out there.”

Another step.

“I’ve heard. You’d better be careful who you trust…you might get yourself in a sticky situation.” Albert’s gaze began to burn into you. Certainly you could hold your own against him but there was something so deliberate about that stare of his that afternoon. So precise.

“I’m a big girl. Think I can handle any of those creeps that think they can take me…they’re stupid if they think so.” You replied as unbothered as possible.

Another step.

You had forgotten how tall he was.

Truly how much bigger he was than you.

You refused to believe he was stronger though.

You so badly wanted to stand your ground. Every bit of your stubborn mind told you to not move, let him get in your space but don’t move. Then, the closer he got, you truly couldn’t help but take a small step back.

Tiny.

Minuscule.

Barely a breath of a step. But it was enough. Enough to let Albert know that he had you.

You bit your inner lip at your weakness- you might as well have offered your neck for him to bite into.

“See…I think you’re a whole hell of a lot more scared than you let on, kiddo.” He said, continuing his slow stalk towards you, and you in turn gave in to your retreat.

“Oh? Of what?” You chirped with a childish grin as you held onto the fight you had left in you. As if he would know…

Albert shrugged comically, and shook is finger at you.

“I don’t know yet…but something tells me you have a need for attachment, don’t you?” His smile stretched.

A sharp pain stabbed your heart. Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but just like your small step back had been, it was enough. A simple, small tell. A crack in your perfect façade.

“Ah…makes sense.” He mused, “All those men who you so desperately want to love you…but none of them live up to what you want do they?” He hummed in that singsong voice that made your nipples harden.

You knew he had watched you on those nights you played with your prey, but you didn’t know he heard you. “Tell me you love me…” it was the same thing every time…they never said it. Or they never meant it.

You smiled like you weren’t shaken by the idea of him knowing, and shrugged in hopes that the terror building inside of you wouldn’t show. “Well if that’s what I’m needing then what’s your deal, old man? Daddy a little too mean to you so you’re beating the shit out of little boys to try and understand why you were treated so badly?”

Albert stopped.

You smiled wider. “Oh that’s it isn’t it? You’re just a sad old fu-“

Albert’s large, veiny hand was wrapped around your throat and lifting you up against the wall he smashed you into before you could finish your taunt. In your need to save face, you missed how close he had gotten to you. Your head hit the cold cement of the side of the building with a hard thud that made your mind spin in a dizzy circle.

“Someone’s going to have to teach you some fucking manners one of these days and you’re not going to like it.” He seethed, breathing your air like it belonged to him.

“If it’s you doing it then I might like it a little.” You chirped as if your vision wasn’t going starry.

He laughed in your face.

“Yea? I bet you’d enjoy it until my belt started to paint a pretty, red marks on your back.” Albert’s brows came down heavy over his eyes.

“Tell me more.” You ground out. In a last ditch effort, you used his ego to your advantage and waited until he thought you’d pass out before bringing your knee up into his ribs.

Albert gasped out for a moment, lending you enough time to sink your teeth into the meat of his hand, and knocking his ear. The subsequent ringing in his head disoriented him for a moment, and you were about to push him over into the dirt before returning to work when adrenaline gripped him; Albert let out a sound you could only call a growl, then before you knew it, your back was against the wall again, but this time his hand wasn’t the only thing holding you off the ground. His thick thigh nestled between your legs and kept you perched there whether you liked it or not. The grip he had on you now was not just to keep you there, it was to prove a point; that he was faster, bigger and better than you. Certainly you were younger and very fast and equally strong, but there comes a certain extra advantage to being older. The ability to anticipate is something that can only come with age, and you had yet to get to his level.

Poor thing.

“Princess, you’re fucking impossible, you know that?” He half laughed, half rasped out as he pressed you against the concrete with his chest, barely leaving room for you to breathe. “My van is just down the end of this alley, I could take you right now and no one would care would they?”

You bit your lip- refusing to give him any satisfaction. You tasted blood from how hard you bit down.

“They wouldn’t even fucking notice, huh? You think you’re so damn important and loved, don’t you? Tell me.” Albert ran his nose along your cheek, Au hung in a breath by your ear.

“Answer me!”He lifted you up a little more on his thigh, and your feet were completely off the ground. You felt like some little doll of his. But then he knocked you on his muscle to get a better grip on you, and the friction rubbed your clit perfectly. You couldn’t help it: you gasped.

Albert froze, and those hard blue eyes of his trained so intently on yours that you thought he might see through you.

Then a look passed over his face that made your stomach flip. It was like a dare. He did the same movement as if to test you, or to confirm with himself that you had indeed reacted in such a way. And just like before, you truly were betrayed by your body when your hips rocked against him.

Your eyes began to sting as your vicious walls began to crumple under his touch. Sure you had been intimate before with men, but there was something about the cruel nature of his that matched yours; your veins were ablaze with scorching blood.

“You…” he was at a loss for words.

She…wants this?

As the thought filtered through his head, something crossed his mind. Albert took his free hand that wasn’t around your throat and pinned your hip to the wall, taking away any ability you had to move. A soft whine emitted from you and you feebly tried to fight against him as if you still believed you wouldn’t give anything in the world to come right there on his thigh.

“P-please.” You whimpered before you could stop yourself. You wanted to thibg it was a plea for him to stop and let you go, but you both knew it was a beg for more. For closure. A deep, carnal need.

Albert huffed out a puff of air that fanned across your face and you stared up at him- dazed as your arousal clouded your head. All you needed in that moment was the friction to return.

Albert guided your hips this time, dragging you against his jeans and you cried out- much to his pleasure. Your sensitivity was beyond anything the older man had seen with his own eyes; you felt as if you were a new toy he was trying to figure out. He, in turn, watched as your dress bunched up around your hips and the dark mark you were making.

“Jesus, kiddo…you wearing any panties?” He asked incredulously.

You nodded desperately.

“Yea? Those little black ones I wanted to rip off you? Bet you would have liked that huh? Wouldn’t even learn your lesson…you’d just do the same over all over again, hm?” Albert tightened his grip on your throat as he continued to move your soaked pussy against his thigh. You could feel the tip of his hardening cock each time you rocked against him, and your mind began to short circuit at the thought of having it inside you. How he would stretch you, and force you to fit his length inside you. How warm his cum would be as he filled you…

In your daze, you forgot to answer him, and he tightened his hand even more, “Answer me.” He growled, grinding against you erratically.

But you could only moan out as the air was blocked from your windpipe.

Someone could so easily walk past you both, but it seemed you collectively did not care. If anything it spurred you on- the idea of someone seeing you being taken advantage of made you clench down around nothing and you were keenly aware of how empty you were.

“You’re a disgusting little thing…” he chided. You knew he was starting to lose it just as much as you- his words were breathier, and his mouth was practically on yours as he spoke.

Then, as if you both couldn’t help it anymore, your lips collided in a painfully messy kiss. Your teeth hurt as they clanked against his and your tongue was abused by his, but you cried out a desperate moan as you humped shamelessly at his well muscled thigh. Your clit almost hurt from how stimulated it was.

To your dismay, his hand left your throat, but then you felt both come to your hips, bringing you to his groin as he rutted his cock against you. You gasped out into his mouth when you felt it firmly press into your flesh; you could only imagine how thick it was, and how painful taking the tip would be…

His bit at your lip, and sucked on your tongue. Your mind started to go blank as your orgasm built, and apparently your mounting whines and moans and pleas were enough for Albert to understand. “That’s it, come on…atta girl, come on you can do it…you’re gonna come right here on my fucking thigh…” he rasped against your lips, “You hear me?”

You nodded, and began to babble incoherently. “P-please I cant- I’m gonna…god- please d- don’t let me go, I’ll come -d-daddy!” You didn’t mean for that to slip out, but you couldn’t care. Evidently it was enough to send Albert over the edge of his own orgasm.

He groaned against your mouth.

“Fucking- god you’re a little whore…my little fucking whore…I won’t let you go- fu- I got yo-you.” He ground out as his hot sticky cum coated the inside of his pants. You nodded helplessly, and let go as he continued to use you to ride out his high. You released one of his shoulders to cover your mouth, but he ripped it away and sealed his lips over yours as you came. Your hips twitched and you felt your cum soak into his pants, likely leaving a stain. Your thighs were sticky, and you swore your dress would be ruined.

Your heart beat erratically in your chest, and pulsed in your ears. For one long minute, you couldn’t think and could hardly register that your lips were still moving against his. You could taste blood, and something sweet that made you never want to part from him. Then, very slowly, you both pulled apart- a cold string of saliva connecting your lips.

Your eyes lazily locked onto his, and under his blissful gaze, you felt like the only thing in the world to him.

Your eyes stung, and words ached on your tongue that you couldn’t say.

He sighed, and pushed your hair out of your face.

“Let that be a lesson to not test your neighbours, princess…there’s some creeps out there.” He murmbered against you, then his thigh was gone from between your legs.

“W-what?” Your heart sunk down to your ankles as you watched him right himself, and pat your cheek.

“Do me a favour,” he said, already turning to leave, “Leave a window open tonight…I’m an old man and I’d rather have an easy entrance.” He called over his shoulder.

You felt scorched and frozen as he walked away as if he didn’t have two large stains on his jeans. Your head spun almost painfully while you tried to grasp what had just happened.

“What the fuck…” you whispered shakily to yourself.

“Y/n? Y/n!”

You spun around to the sound of your name, and righted yourself just in time before Anett poked her head out from the back door, her brows pinched in worry, “You alright there, sugar?” she asked, looking around.

In your peripheral was a black van pulling away, and a very devious older man casting one last look your way; as soon as your vision cleared of the vehicle, you smiled easily and waved your hand like you had a juice story Anett just wouldn’t believe, “Oh yea, a delivery guy needed help, and asked if I’d give him a hand. Dumbass tried to feel me up so I gave him a pretty crooked nose.” You answered as steadily as you could as if your clit wasn’t still pulsing and your cum wasn’t sticking your thighs together.

Evidently it was sufficient enough of an answer for your manager, who rolled her eyes and nodded as if she knew exactly what you were talking about. As she began to go on about men and how unsafe the world was, your eyes glazed over; your mind was reeling at a mile a minute as it tried to process exactly what had happened in the alley between you and Albert. Certainly it was not the first time you had engaged in something akin to that, but what you hadn’t anticipated was…him. Albert Shaw. He was some kind of unpredictable piece of shrapnel that was wedged between your ribs; you could feel him with every breath even as you strode back onto the tile floor of the diner.

The feeling of his hands was embedded into your skin like a brand, and you couldn’t help but discreetly touch where his skin had met yours. How he had unabashedly ridden out his desire for you like you owed him. Albert didn’t hold back like the others did…and there was little for you to do but play every move over and over repeatedly in your mind. He had wanted you. Craved you. You flushed red and your breath caught in your throat when you thought that he might need you.

A question began to circulate in your head.

Do I need him?

You had never needed anyone before, and you truly didn’t know how to rationalize it.

Most of all you thought of how the world had seemed to simply melt away as soon as he had pressed you against that concrete wall; there had just been Al, and his thigh between your legs, warm breath on your cheeks, and his words in your ears…

Do I need him?

Yes. Yes I do.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@dogmatic255 @ethanhoewke @honeycovered-bandaids @dancingisdangerouss @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @theroadreader2 @lxdyred @eth1calcannibal @ebiemidnightlibrarian @katehawke e @blep-bloop @ratpackash @al-shaw @darkvoidz @belladonnaaura @pecter-specter @samhainrain @turtle-boris

#ethan hawke #the grabber #albert shaw #the grabber x reader #the black phone #slasher x reader #the blackphone fanfic #ethan hawke fanfic #albert shaw x reader

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scoonsalicious · 19 days

Text

Reminder: I am on a posting break for new content until May 23rd so that I can focus on writing WFLT...

In the meantime, please enjoy this third installment of Unwanted: Unusables, or, chapters from the original story that never made it to the final draft. Today, we're looking at an alternate Chapter 7: (what would become) Unburdened. This draft immediately follows the events of yesterday's Unusable.

I ended up scrapping this entire version of the chapter, because I decided to go in a different direction in Chapter 5, so everything had to be redone. But, it has one of my favorite scenes-- Girls' Night, so I'm glad that I could eventually share it with you, besties!

Enjoy!

When you woke up the following morning, you felt lighter than you could remember feeling in a long, long time. It was as if the maelstrom of agitation that had been coursing through you since Bucky first saw Jade's profile had finally abated, and you were waking to the calm following the storm, everything feeling newly cleansed by the rain.

Granted, your head was killing you with a tremendous hangover, but your soul felt lighter, and that's what should count the most, right?

You stretched, reaching out for Bucky, but finding only empty sheets where his body had been the night before. With a frown, you craned your head to see if he was in the bathroom, but no-- the door was open and the room beyond it dark. Against your will, you felt the weight of your insecurities begin to hover over you once again. Perhaps it was time to talk to Tony to see if you could borrow his Dr. FRIDAY therapy program for yourself. You were definitely in need of some kind of professional help.

Drawing your knees up to your chest, you contemplated whether or not you should change out of Bucky's shirt before you trekked back across the hall to your own room so you could mope. The odds of anyone seeing you were slim, since you were still the only two people living on this floor, but there was no guarantee someone wouldn't be around looking for either one of you. You wondered what would have people talking more-- the sight of you in only Bucky's shirt, or you leaving his room in the clothes you'd worn the night before. Not that it really mattered, you supposed. You were fairly confident from the team's reactions at dinner last night that the majority of them knew the two of you were having sex, or at the very least suspected it, anyway.

Before you could make your decision, however, Bucky's door opened and he walked in, carrying a breakfast tray laden with bacon and eggs and an overly-large water bottle.

"You're up," he said, smiling as he closed the door behind him. "I was hoping I'd be back before you woke, but I figured you could use some sustenance for what's probably a major hangover." He slid the tray onto the bed before crawling back in next to you.

"Did you seriously bring me breakfast in bed, Barnes?" you asked, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. That was beyond adorable of him.

"'course I did," he said, picking up a slice of bacon and taking a bite. "Figure your head's got to be killing you, since you never drink that much. Here." He unscrewed the cap from the water bottle and passed it to you. "Electrolytes. Drink up." You took a swig of the lemony-lime flavored Liquid IV he'd prepared for you.

"Thank you," you said. "This is incredibly sweet, but I could have gotten up to get breakfast myself; you didn't have to go to all the trouble."

"I confess, my motives aren't that altruistic," he said, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "I have no intention of letting you get out of this bed at all today, and I figured you should have at least something in your stomach before I launch my nefarious plan." His eyes twinkled with mischievous intent, making your heart flutter in anticipation.

"Your nefarious plan, huh?" Your eyebrow arched in curiosity as you took another bite of bacon, cooked extra crispy, exactly the way you liked. "And what might that be?"

"Well," he started, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper as he leaned closer to you, his breath tickling your ear.

"Since I was an absolute ass and made you feel like shit yesterday, I had hoped I could spend today making you feel good. I could lie and say I planed a day spent snuggled up together watching movies, but in reality I was thinking we could explore the possibility of other more... intimate activities."

A blush crept over your cheeks as you met his gaze. The promise lingering in his icy blue eyes sent a thrill down your spine, making you momentarily forget about the pounding headache. "That sounds...enticing," you admitted. "You have my attention."

"Good," he grinned, his thumb gently brushing against your lower lip. "Because I also remember a promise made to fuck you until you couldn't remember your own name."

The heat that instantaneously flooded your cheeks at his words made you glad you hadn't bothered changing out of his shirt, after all. You tried to play it cool, to match his relaxed nonchalance, even as your heart pounded like a drum within your chest.

"I do seem to recall you saying something to that effect last night, now that you mention it," you said, trying to sound casually thoughtful in spite of the tidal wave of arousal that was rushing throughout your body.

Bucky nodded, the smile on his face growing wider by the second. "Let it never be said that I'm not a man of my word." You turned, leaning in to kiss him, but he pulled away from you. "Nu-uh, doll," he tsked. "You need to hydrate and protein-load first, then I'll ruin you."

"I dunno, Buck," you contemplated as you dug into a forkful of scrambled eggs. "You may have already ruined me. I could get used to this kind of treatment real fast."

"Sweetheart, if one breakfast in bed has ruined you, you've been spending all your time with the wrong kind of man," he drawled.

"Well, I think we both know that's the understatement of the year," you laughed.

Bucky chuckled, a hearty sound that reverberated through the room and eased any lingering insecurities that had arisen when you woke up alone. He was right; you were spending time with the right kind of man now. You turned to find him watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle, sweet, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

You found yourself blushing again, quickly turning your attention back to the breakfast tray in an attempt to hide it. "Says the man who looks like he fell straight off a GQ cover," you teased lightly.

Even though his smile never wavered, there was a depth to his gaze that made your heart race. "Noticed that, did you?" He asked, his tone teasing as he took another bite of his bacon.

It was your turn to chuckle now, the sound soft and full of warmth. "Maybe once or twice," you said with a shrug.

"I ever tell you you make make grateful I fell off that train?"

Your heart momentarily stopped at his words. You looked at him, really looked, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. His tone was so casual, as if he were commenting on the weather, but the weight of his words were monumental.

"What?" you managed to gasp out, completely thrown off balance, breakfast momentarily forgotten.

He chuckled softly at your bewilderment, his fingers reaching out to gently caress your face. "I shoulda been dead long before you were ever even born, doll. Fallin' off that train, becoming the Winter Soldier, it was hell, but if it'd hadn't happened, I never would of gotten to meet you. That's made it all worth it."

You stammered, trying to find words that could match the intensity of the moment. "Bucky... That's..."

"True," he finished for you, his gaze steady on yours. "You are my silver lining, sweetheart. The best thing this twisted life has given me."

Your eyes filled with tears at his heartfelt admission. This was Bucky - raw and open-hearted - sharing something profoundly personal with you.

"Bucky... I..." You struggled to form a sentence that could properly encapsulate how you felt in the moment, so instead, you took the breakfast tray and put it up on the bedside table. Turning back to face him, his expression curious, you cupped his cheek in the palm of your hand. If you couldn't tell him what his words meant to you, you'd show him.

"I think I'm done with breakfast," you whispered, pulling him in for a kiss.

His lips moved against yours with devastating slowness. There was nothing rushed or fevered about the kiss, but it was no less all-consuming.

He responded immediately, drawing you closer and wrapping his arms around your waist and maneuvering you until you straddled his lap. His large hands roamed along the curve of your lower back, pulling you against him until there was no space left. The contact made your head spin and your body heat up in places that made you shudder with anticipation.

His taste was as delicious as his touch; a combination of coffee, bacon, and something distinctly Bucky that made your senses reel. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tangling with yours in an intimate dance that left you breathless and wanting more.

As the kiss deepened, you could feel every hard line and muscle of Bucky's torso pressed against your own. His heart pounded in sync with yours, the rhythm picking up as the kiss escalated from sweet to passionate. The sensation made you dizzy with longing.

You reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly at the strands. A low growl rumbled from Bucky's chest at the action, sending a thrill of lust coursing through you. His response was immediate, his lips leaving yours to trail hot, wet kisses down your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, making you gasp in pleasure.

"You're mine," he said, his voice a primal growl that echoed in the otherwise silent room. His possessiveness was as thrilling as it was unexpected. You nodded, unable to form words as desire clouded your mind.

"Yours," you managed to gasp out, the word coming out as a half-sigh, half-moan as Bucky's fingers danced down the length of your back, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake.

His hands moved with a purpose, tracing paths of fire along your skin. Every touch was measured and precise - he knew exactly what he was doing and how it affected you.

It was almost too much to bear - this closeness, the intimacy of his words. It was overwhelming and wonderful all at once. Bucky's touch was like an incantation, a spell that had you completely entranced.

The world narrowed down to just the two of you. The crisp sheets beneath you, the cool morning air filling the room, everything felt insignificant compared to the heat radiating from Bucky's touch, from his gaze. You were lost in him, and it was a sensation you never wanted to quit.

His fingers dipped lower, trailing up the hem of the shirt you wore. A shiver coursed through your body as his cold metal digits met the warm bare skin of your stomach. You gasped audibly, your back arching slightly.

"Sensitive?" Bucky teased, a smirk playing on his lips. His fingers continued their tantalizing exploration, circling around your navel before moving upward.

"You have no idea," you managed to breathe out between gasps. Every nerve ending was on fire, your senses heightened by Bucky's seductive touch. His fingers traced a path up your body, fingertips lightly grazing the underside of your breasts. You bit your lower lip, stifling a moan. Bucky noticed, his ocean blue eyes darkening with a hunger that mirrored your own.

"Good," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to yours once more. This kiss was different, though - more demanding, more intense. He claimed your mouth with a burning passion that left you breathless and craving more.

His metal hand moved from your stomach to cup your breast through the thin fabric of the shirt. His touch was electrifying; every stroke sent shock waves coursing through you straight to your core. You moaned into his mouth, arching into his touch.

Bucky pulled away slightly, his gaze sliding down to where his hand was on you. "You like this?" he asked in a low, husky voice.

"So fucking much," you admitted, reaching up to grasp the back of his neck and pull him back down to your lips. You kissed him with abandon, pouring all the pent-up desire you had been feeling into the action. His groan of pleasure was muffled by your mouth, further stoking the flames of your desire.

His hand kept up its unhurried exploration, fingers finding a hard nipple through the shirt, brushing over it in slow circles. The sensation made you whimper, pulling away from his lips to gasp for breath.

His eyes were filled with a wicked gleam as he took you in, his gaze heated and full of desire. It made your heart beat faster and your body ache with need. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to melt into him completely.

"Bucky," you whispered, the sound coming out as a high-pitched plea. His touch was driving you wild, making it difficult for you to think straight.

"Hmm?" His voice was rough with desire, his breath fanning across your face.

"I... I need..." you trailed off, unsure of how to put your needs into words. You've never wanted someone this much; it was disorienting.

His lips curled up into a smirk again, understanding flashing in his blue eyes. "I know what you need, doll," he murmured against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His hand slipped underneath your shirt, skin on skin contact causing you to gasp out loud. His touch was demanding, taking and giving pleasure in equal measure.

His fingers traced the contours of your body, causing your nerves to sing with exhilaration. Playing your body like an instrument he'd long ago mastered. He skillfully made his way to the apex of your legs, his fingers just ghosting over the sensitive skin there.

"Does this feel good?" he asked in a low growl, his voice rough with need. His fingers dipped lower, hooking into the waistband of your panties and pulling them down slightly.

Your heart pounded in anticipation as you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak as desire coursed through your veins. His eyes never left yours - an intense gaze filled with passion and unspoken promises.

His hand moved lower still, slipping beneath your waistband. A breathy moan slipped past your lips as his fingers touched you where you wanted him most.

His fingers were cool against your heated skin, and the contrast sent sparks through your body. You couldn't help but shift against his touch, seeking more.

"Bucky," you whispered again, this time in a desperate plea. His smirk widened at your response to his touch as he rubbed slow circles around your most sensitive area. You reached down to wrap your fingers around his wrist as he teased you. He watched you carefully, taking in your every reaction and using it to heighten your pleasure.

"You're so beautiful like this," he said in a low murmur, his voice filled with raw need that caused your pulse to flutter. He continued his slow exploration, dipping a single metal digit into your heat, causing you to gasp at the intrusion.

"Yes... Bucky," you stammered out, your voice barely above a whisper. The slow stretch of his finger inside of you sent fire shooting through every nerve ending. Each stroke of his hand was perfectly orchestrated as if to bring you the greatest amount of pleasure possible.

"Shh, I got you, doll," he reassured you, his voice low and thick with wanting. His pace didn’t quicken; instead he kept a slow, torturous rhythm that had you squirming.

You could feel the tension building within you, spiraling up from the pit of your stomach. The pressure increased with every skilled stroke of Bucky’s fingers until you felt like you were on the edge of something monumental. Your breath hitched, and your grip on his shoulders tightened to the point where you were sure it would leave marks.

You wanted to look at him, wanted to see his face as he watched you unravel under his touch, but your eyes were squeezed shut, the tension mounting within you too intense to bear otherwise.

"Look at me," Bucky commanded huskily, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You obeyed instantly, forcing your eyes open to meet his dark blue gaze. The raw desire there took your breath away. "That's it," he murmured approvingly, his fingers continued their exploration, every touch igniting a flame that threatened to consume you completely.

"I want you to come for me," he growled, pressing harder against the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core. You whimpered at his words, the knot in your stomach tightening further. His command added another layer of intensity to the already building climax.

Your body tensed and you gasped audibly as waves of euphoria crashed over you. Your mind went blank and your vision blurred as the orgasm hit you with full force. All you were aware of was Bucky; his intense gaze, his fingers relentlessly driving you through your climax, and his voice murmuring words of encouragement.

"Good girl... that's it. Let go," he coaxed, his rough voice a thread anchoring you in the storm. As the tremors began to recede, he slowed his movements, easing you through the aftershocks.

Your senses slowly returned, and you were left gasping for breath, your heart pounding wildly. You were still clutching his arm, your grip loose now but no less desperate. His touch was intoxicating, a heady mix of pleasure and need that left you craving more.

Bucky eased his hand away from your core. His gaze was steady on your face, watching as you tried to regain your bearings. His eyes softened as he took in your flushed face and disheveled hair.

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arm securely around your trembling form as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. There was a tenderness in this gesture that moved you deeply, causing tears to pool in your eyes.

"Bucky..." you murmured, turning your face further into his chest. He hummed a quiet acknowledgement in response, his fingers beginning to draw soothing patterns on your back.

"Yes, doll?" His voice was still rough, but the edge of raw need had smoothed out. Now it was gentle and filled with warmth and affection that had not been so evident before.

"You...you're..." You found it difficult to articulate what you were feeling right then. It was overwhelming - the intense euphoria from the pleasure he'd given you combined with the burgeoning emotions that threatened to spill over.

He seemed to understand regardless. "I know," he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "I know."

There was an unspoken agreement between you both then; an agreement that this casual arrangement you had entered into all those months ago had transcended into something far deeper, far more meaningful, than either one of you had ever anticipated.

You sat together in silence for a while, foreheads pressed against each other as you regained your composure, breathing in each other's breath. When your limbs had finally stopped shaking and your pulse had evened out, you met his gaze.

"Buck, we have a problem," you murmured, sliding your cheek against his, the rough stubble tantalizing against your skin.

He nuzzled into your face. "What's that, doll?"

You pulled back to look him in the eye, a wicked glint in your gaze. "I seem to still be able to remember my name."

He reached for the hem of the shirt you'd borrowed and pulled it up over your head and tossed it to the floor. "Honey, I haven't even begun to fuck you yet." With a wolfish grin, Bucky picked you up and maneuvered you so that you were lying on your back, his form hovering above you. His drew his head down to your breast, taking it into his mouth and sucking long and hard on your nipple.

"Oh, fuck, Bucky," you moaned, arching your back and pressing your chest further into his eager mouth. He devoured you like a man starving.

You lost yourself to the sensation as he continued his ministrations, and it wasn't long before he had once again reduced you to a whimpering mess. Time itself lost all meaning as he brought you over the edge over and over and over again. Finally, after what seemed like hours, you were sobbing with over-stimulation and the sheer intensity of what you felt for him.

After he'd finished inside of you for the second time, Bucky leaned over you, planting feather-light kisses along the planes of your face. "What's your name, doll?" he asked, voice husky.

You tried to answer, but no coherent thought would come to you; all you could do was pant as you tried to focus and re-center yourself.

He had done it. The man had fucked you until you'd forgotten your own name.

And you absolutely loved him for it.

The days that followed were some of the very best of your entire life. If you weren't training or working (well, okay, plenty of times when you were working), Bucky had you on your back. Or bent over a desk, or up against a wall, or down on all fours. Several times, he had sat you on his face, your hands gripping on to the headboard for dear life as his tongued probed as deeply into your cunt as he could get it. You had fucked in so many positions, in so many places, you were sure the entire Tower knew what you were doing. Not that you cared; you were head over heals in love with the man, and you were fairly confident he felt the same about you.

It was just that neither one of you had actually spoken the words.

So secure were you in this new connection with Bucky that it didn't even phase you when Tony announced one afternoon that Jade Carthage had officially accepted a three-month probationary appointment with the Avengers, and would be moving into the Tower in just a few days time.

"Okay, Pocket, what gives?" Nat asked you. Girls' Night had come around again, and the two of you, along Wanda, were set up in the common room, working your way through two large pizzas and a couple of orders of mozzarella sticks. Pepper was unfortunately on the West Coast, away on some official Stark Industries CEO business. "Tony announces Jade's imminent arrival and you don't even blink."

You shrugged your shoulders as you popped half a mozzarella stick into your mouth. "I'm not worried about her anymore," you told them. "I mean, I still don't like her, and we're not going to be best friends, but Bucky and I are in a good place." You paused and gave them a knowing look. "A really good place."

"So you are sleeping together!" Wanda leaned back, lifting her feet off the floor and kicking them in delight. You ducked your head, trying to stifle the smile and hide the blush that bloomed across your face. "Okay, I have so many questions! First of all, how long has this been going on? Second, what' it like? You know, his..." she tiled her eyes down. "Third, how is it? It's got to be so good, right? I mean, look at him!"

"Slow down!" you laughed. "God, Wands, should we change your name from Scarlet Witch to the Sokovian Horndog? Cause damn, girl!"

It was Wanda's turn to blush. "I'm sorry; I've just wanted this for you for so long, I can't stand it!" She stood up and threw herself at you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug, which you gladly reciprocated.

"Thanks, sweetie," you said with a laugh.

"Thanks later, answers now," she told you, pulling back from you to lean against the arm of the couch.

"Oh, I got this," Nat said, grin plastered across her face. "Let's see... One: four months, since the night he got back from his first mission. Two: She's called him Magic Dick, to his face. And three: Sometimes, when they're done, she can't even walk." She turned to you. "That about cover it?" You laughed, nodding your head.

"Yeah, that basically covers it," you said with a grin.

"I cannot believe this has been going on for four months and you both kept it from me," Wanda said with a pout. "I have been shipping the two of you for over a year, and this is how you repay me?"

"We weren't telling anyone, Wands," you said, trying to placate your friend.

"Oh, I'm too excited for you to be actually mad at you," she confessed. "So, you two a legitimate couple now, or what?"

You paused, biting your lip in consideration. "Well, no? I mean, it started as this completely no-strings-attached, casual sex, friends-with-benefits thing, but the morning after the dinner disaster, he told me that I made him grateful he fell off the train and--"

"I'm sorry, he said what?!" Nat interrupted at the same time Wanda grabbed a throw pillow and screamed into with with excitement, kicking her feet once more.

"Pocket," Nat continued grabbing your arms and shaking you, "for Barnes, that's practically a declaration of undying love!"

You scrunched your shoulders in glee. "I know!" you squealed, not being able to help how exhilarated the idea made you feel.

"And then what did you say?" Wanda asked.

You dropped your shoulders. "Um... well, I didn't actually say anything."

Wanda's eyes went wide. "So you just left him hanging there after he said that?" she asked, incredulous.

"No! I absolutely replied!" you insisted. "Just... not with words. It was more of a... physical response."

Wanda and Nat shared a look. "Okaaaay," they both said in unison before the three of you burst into laughter.

"Pepper is going to be so pissed she missed this," Wanda said, pulling out her phone to text your missing friend. "Though she'll probably be more angry about losing the bet."

"The bet?" you asked, confused.

"Oh, I bet her $100 that you two would end up together before your birthday," Wanda said with a grin as she texted away. "Pepper thought it wouldn't happen until night of, or after."

You tossed a pillow at her, knocking her phone from her hands. "Hey!" she cried out.

"That's what you get for betting on your friends' love lives," you told her, though your voice held no heat. If anything, it was weirdly sweet. Except... "Wait, is it super bizarre that Pepper's making bets on my sex life when she's technically my boss?" you asked.

"Yeah, you going to HR with that complaint?" Nat asked, laughing at the face you made. Her laughing set Wanda off, which set you off in turn, and soon the three of you were in hysterics.

"Damn, we too early for the panty pillow fight?" a voice from across the room caught your attention, and you looked up to see Sam, Steve, and Bucky standing in the doorway.

God, Bucky looked so good. He was wearing a Henley and a pair of jeans, but damn it if it wasn't doing things to you. You flashed him a giant smile. "Hey, Buckaroo," you said, your voice coming out far huskier than you intended it to.

"Don't engage, Pocket," Nat murmured. "They'll think think it's an invitation to come join us." But it was too late; the boys had already begun walking over to where you sat, Sam immediately grabbing a slice of pizza and digging in.

"Hey, doll," Bucky said, leaning over you and placing a kiss to your lips. He quickly pulled back as though he'd been burned, realizing what he'd done of your friends, and the two of you started at each other in surprise and shock over his actions.

"You know what, fuck it," you said, fisting his shirt and pulling him down, slotting your lips over his like your life depended on it. He responded instantly, practically crawling onto the couch to deepen the kiss, pulling you into his lap. You barely registered the sounds of your friends whooping and cheering around you. After what felt like several heady minutes, when you eventually came up for air, you were both smiling, red embarrassment creeping up your faces.

"It's about damned time!" Sam shouted, throwing a mozzarella stick a the two of you. With lighting reflexes, Bucky caught it midair, bit half of it and fed you the rest.

"All this fanfare over a simple kiss?" he asked rhetorically, ignoring the pointed looks. "Stop making it a big deal."

"I have literally wanted nothing more in my entire life," Wanda said, fiddling with her phone. "And I may have taken a picture to send to Pepper to prove she lost."

Bucky gave you a questioning look.

"The Sokovian Horndog over there has been placing bets on us," you sighed. "We just won her $100." A corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile.

"Best buy my girl something pretty with your winnings then, Red," he teased. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you watched in amusement as Wanda's cheeks flushed at Bucky's words.

Your friends continued to playfully give you both shit for a few more moments when you realized someone was missing from your little group.

"Hey, where did Steve go?" You were sure the blond super soldier had entered the room with Bucky and Sam, but now he was nowhere to be seen.

"Um, he sort of ran out when you two started to play tonsil hockey," Sam said between bites of pizza.

"Bathroom, maybe?" Nat suggested, her eyes glancing towards the hallway, but you could tell there was a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Bucky, however, seemed to have a better grasp on what might have occurred and his eyes scanned the room with a more discerning look. A sigh escaped him before he gently nudged you off his lap, rising from the couch. "I'll go find him," he said, turning down to give you a quick kiss goodbye. "Come on, Sam. We've disturbed Girls' Night long enough."

The Falcon began protesting, unfinished pizza slice still in hand, but Bucky grabbed him by the arm, dragging him off toward the hallway. Once they reached the doorway, Bucky turned around and gave you a quick wink.

"I'll see you at bedtime, Babydoll," he said, before dragging Sam off with him.

You waited a beat, giving the boys time to get out of earshot before the three of you began squealing like pre-teens.

"He's never called me that before," you gushed, the happiness coursing through you so intense you were afraid you'd launch into orbit.

"You are going to get such a good dicking down tonight!" Nat declared, coming around to playfully punch you on the shoulder.

And you absolutely did.

34 notes · View notes

ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year

Text

communication skills

anthony beauvillier x f!reader; platonic!mat barzal x f!reader

warnings: swearing, throwing up, based slightly on 'hits different' by taylor swift, i wrote a good 80% of this drunk so i apologise for everything

word count: 8.7k

The water was warm – not too hot that it burned your skin, but warm enough to encourage you to stand in front of the mirror – refusing to look at your own reflection – and keep your hands held under the steady stream. There was something relaxing about it, watching it cascade off your skin, fragmenting the light.

It was a twisty tap, and after a long period of you washing off the feeling of his last words, desperate to scrub any and all traces of him off your skin, even despite the pathetic futility of such a feat – another hand reached out from behind you, twisting it off and handing you a small pile of paper towels.

Much like your own reflection, you refused to look at the man on your right, keeping your head down and eyes entirely focused on the task at hand. If you even so much as caught a pitying or equally heartbroken gleam in his face, you’d be done for; that unwanted well of emotion would shatter, and Mat would be left to pick up the pieces in a bathroom of a club you’d only been to once before.

The last thing you wanted to do was talk about it, but when you chucked the scrap towels in the bin, the frustration had gotten the better of you, and your words spewed out of your mouth seamlessly. Mat was leant against a wall, nodding along to almost everything you were saying, and you could tell from the grave expression on his face that he was just as affected by the matter, too.

How could he not?

He’d known Beau since they were kids, and because of the inhumane system surrounding transfers, they’d be separated from each other for the first time in years.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” He asked, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, a stern yet altogether curious look about him.

You froze, knitting your brows together in slight bewilderment, “What am I gonna do about him getting transferred?” You checked, puzzled as to his query.

There wasn’t much you could do about anything; transfers were legally bound contacts as far as you knew, and you wouldn’t be able to hammer even the slightest dent in that framework – not that you’d even thought about doing that anyway.

It wasn’t your career, he wasn’t your boyfriend, and you weren’t going to mess with something set in stone. Still, that harsh truth didn’t exactly do anything to numb the stinging hurt prickling at your chest. Your throat tightened, and you pressed your lips together, trying to suppress the mounting build of sadness climbing up your throat.

You hated the helplessness of it all; you couldn’t control a single aspect of anything that had occurred within the last fifteen minutes and it petrified you. It sent goosebumps trailing down your skin, and a spike of adrenaline through your system.

“No,” Mat frowned, blinking at you, “What are you gonna do about Tito moving to Vancouver?”

You swallowed, trying to maintain the knot slowly building, “I don’t follow.”

You weren’t going to do anything. He was the one that had ended it. You were, however, going to go home and watch New Girl to cheer yourself up. Maybe call your parents; the time difference would mean they’d still be awake – and long term? Probably mope.

You weren’t sure you could quite stomach the thought of someone else at that moment – which was a shocker to you.

Moving on was always easy for you to do – it tended to be a benefit of never truly giving yourself to anyone. Yet, somehow, Anthony Beauvillier had worked his way under your defences and you’d given yourself to him in ways you never pictured yourself ever doing.

“I mean,” Mat rolled his eyes, “Are you going to let him break things off and jet across to the other side of North America?” He asked it like it was obvious, his shoulders shrugging as he watched you carefully.

He thought you were taking the entire situation rather well. You had since Anthony had panicked and dumped everything on you – how he’d literally just shouted in your ear ‘I’ve been traded to Vancouver and I’m leaving within the week’ – and how the only reaction you had was a poor ‘oh’ after you’d ingested his words. Other than that, you’d been in a sort of reverie, floating around the rest of the night, a haunted look on your face as you watched him leave.

He’d broken up with you, and Mat was almost certain that you didn’t know why.

Mat knew, of course he did. After Tito had told him, the first thing he’d worried about was you.

“I don’t want her to leave New York for me. She deserves better than that.”

And no matter how many times Mat had tried to persuade Tito that, no, you deserved each other wholeheartedly, Tito was insistent on the fact that the only way to solve that issue of his was to break up with you.

Obviously, he’d neglected to confide exactly why he’d broken up with you, to you.

And that left Mat in this current predicament: you in shock hiding in the bathroom, and Tito, no doubt, packing his suitcase and mourning your entire relationship.

Honestly, Mat was sick of you both. You were too blind to realise that you guys were made for each other – you were just too stubborn to connect the dots and allow yourselves to be happy – with each other.

Your reactions just seemed to lack emotion; it was as if someone had snuffed out your ability to feel – you looked subdued, an empty vacancy hidden behind your eyes.

And when he’d asked you if you were going to go with Anthony to Vancouver, you’d just stared, looking mildly unwell at the prospect.

“What else am I supposed to do?” You asked, placing a hand on your stomach as though to ease the rising sickness. Where had it come from? “He told me he was moving to Vancouver and that he didn’t want me to go with him. In fact, his exact words were ‘I don’t want you to come to Vancouver with me’ and ‘I want to break up’.”

Mat blanched, frustration fisting an angry hand in his chest, slowly pushing its way through his sternum.

He swore you two would be the death of him.

He didn’t say anything, but took your silence as an answer. You’d been throwing hopeful glances at the door, and he’d elected to ignore it in wanting to try to get you to see sense, but it seemed Tito had left that job even more difficult to follow through on with his harsh words.

Reluctant words. Words that Mat knew absolutely killed him to say to you.

He’d seen the way his friend had looked at you, and to know that he was moving to Vancouver – away from him and New York, a feat that he’d be doing alone – and leaving you behind was something that broke even Mat’s heart, and in that, he knew that it destroyed both yours and Tito’s.

If Mat hadn't known that Tito only broke up with you because he didn’t want you to drop everything for him, he would have assumed the guy was running from something.

In a sense, he was running away from you – but in doing so, he was running away from quite possibly the best thing he’d ever had in his life, and Mat wasn’t about to let either you or Tito make that mistake.

He didn’t voice any of that, however, just moved aside and let you through the door, making sure to keep a steady hand on your back in reassurance as you both made it out of the club, past the millions of couples devouring each other – who only served as a sour reminder of the night’s events – and outside.

It was chilly, and the frosty air nipped at your exposed skin.

You’d barely had time to string together a coherent thought before hands were tugging you in all directions; cold and clammy as you were pulled back and forth, concerned touches on your elbows, shoulders, and chin. You barely even registered exactly who you were looking at.

“Are you okay?”

“There’s a cute guy inside that’s been checking you out all night–”

“I can’t believe he just broke up with you.”

“Why isn’t she looking at us?”

Questions were fired left, right and centre, and you were numb to it all; their voices trickling in through one ear and flowing out of the other seamlessly. They sounded like they were underwater, and you felt Mat’s comforting hand on your back once more, gently guiding you away from your friends.

You heard him say something, it must have been something about getting you home because they all let out a chorus of disappointed ‘ohs’ and patted you sympathetically on your arm.

For some reason, hearing the truth of what actually happened barely half an hour ago seemed to set it into stone; it felt different keeping the breakup in the bathroom just between you and Mat – it felt more private somehow, like you could walk out of the room and pretend Anthony hadn’t left you in that club, heart shattered into oblivion and mind stuck on his words and the way he looked like he might break if you so much as even stepped towards him or touched him or whispered even a word of protest.

But you’d wandered outside in the hope of clearing your head, only to be bombarded and heralded and overwhelmed when you were busy trying to deal.

Why did he break up with you? You would have gone with him - you knew you would.

Did he get bored of you? He couldn’t have; he’d just told you he was wildly in love with you three weeks ago.

Had he met someone else? Was he in love with someone else?

And that was when you saw it; although they were further down the street, Mat pushing you into a walk as you both strolled down the sidewalk, you could just make it out in the hazy darkness.

They must have been illuminated by the light from the inside of the bar, because each time a door opened, their section of the sidewalk practically glowed, highlighting them.

You couldn’t see who the girl was, she seemed to be hidden from view by the man, but it was him who’d caught your attention. If it weren’t for Mat coaxing you along, you’d have frozen in place, eyes fixated watching them with the slow drip drip of dread pounding your body.

You were entranced by the way he brought his hands up to the side of her face, throwing his head backwards in a laugh – a real one, unbridled with joy – and then leant forwards, peppering kisses all over her face as she giggled sweetly at his attentions and affections. It wasn’t the PDA that had you stalling.

That man was Anthony. You could only see the back of his head, and he was further down than you, but he was around the same height and you could see the curls in his hair. He was even wearing a typical Anthony outfit.

It was simple, and you were sure almost every guy in the vicinity was wearing some variation of it, but what caught your eye was he was wearing the same grey t-shirt Beau had just left in.

It could have been any grey t-shirt.

But Anthony had just left wearing it and it was logical that he’d broken up with you because he was in love with that girl.

Mat seemed to sense your hesitation, and he slowed to a stop, brows furrowing at the intensity with which you were watching the young couple in front of you. His eyes drifted from you, his hand now gently grazing your forearm as though he was afraid you’d peel and leave him, to the couple.

He didn’t understand what was so compelling about them that had you completely fascinated. Granted, you looked horrified, and your eye twitched, a flash of pain appearing and then disappearing almost as soon as it had made its presence. If he thought you looked ill before, you looked like you were about to throw up–

He’d barely managed to steer you against a wall and wind your hair up before you’d thrown up on the side of the road.

You quickly pulled yourself up, hating that your eyes instantly drifted back over to the couple.

You frowned. The man wasn’t Anthony.

Then you hurled again, and Mat’s level of concern skyrocketed.

“How much did you have to drink?” He asked, helping you to stand back up, a slight grimace to his face as he made sure there were no splashes coating his jeans.

You briefly shut your eyes, stomach turning, feeling your heart break in real time as the emotions you’d bottled started to manifest itself in physical symptoms – completely against your will. Your eyes pricked with hot tears and the lump in your throat was back as your chin wobbled. You tried to hide behind your hand, but Mat had caught the momentary vulnerability before you could turn away.

He sighed, letting your hair fall back down and automatically pulling you into his chest.

“I didn’t have anything to drink.” You admitted.

His chest rumbled, and you didn’t know if it was the comfort he brought, because no one else seemed to understand what you were feeling at that moment, or if you simply craved a human touch from someone you trusted, but you felt your demeanour shatter, the tears tracking down your cheeks before you could catch them and reel them back in.

“I didn’t have anything to drink.” You repeated, shaking your head.

All you’d done was picture Anthony Beauvillier with other girls in love, and then promptly thrown up on the street.

Yeah, you were pretty fucked.

___

Yet, despite the fact that Anthony had moved to Vancouver, there was a temporary feeling about it – as though you didn’t believe the breakup had actually happened, or you didn’t believe it was really…a breakup?

It definitely had something to do with the fact that Mat was currently in your apartment, a rental, pre-furnished – one that rather conveniently, you hadn’t had the time to move into properly yet, and he was helping you box your belongings, taping the edges together and piling them up in the corner.

You were sorting out your clothes, placing them into a suitcase, and he was in the living room, going through your kitchen.

It hadn’t happened quickly. It took Mat a week to plant the seed in your mind, and it took you another three to decide to move out. Honestly, after Mat had pointed out that, in fact, your ‘friends’ weren’t really your friends; your job had previously offered you a different position in Surrey, not too far out from where you’d just rented another apartment – and it was a career move. That was what you kept telling yourself; technically the job move was a promotion – your salary had been upped and it was more of what you actually wanted to do job-wise.

Plus, your parents lived in Vancouver. You grew up there, went to school there, your friends still lived there. The only reason you stayed in New York was because you’d managed to snag a job straight out of college and you’d established a sort of life for yourself. Albeit, completely apart from your family, but you’d gotten used to the loneliness in college.

If anything, the only reason you’d stayed in New York and hesitated to accept that job offer in the first place – one that you’d gotten even before Anthony had dumped that bomb on you – was because of Mat.

You guys were pretty close, and it felt like a betrayal leaving him (especially after Anthony had just done the same thing, though it was out of his control) for the person he’d introduced to you.

And to say he was eager to send you back to Vancouver – ‘for your job opportunity’ – would be a bit of an understatement, if his volunteering to help you pack had anything to do with it.

It almost felt like someone had taken the knife already living in your chest and twisted it when you heard the song playing through the speakers. The song.

The melody was instantly familiar, even more so the croning of the voice, and it sent a pang of nostalgia ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

There were people everywhere; though it could have had something to do with the fact the venue was only one room – a large one at that, with tall ceilings and rather gorgeous curtains. The back wall was made up entirely of windows and the view overlooking the city was gorgeous from where you were standing. You swore you could see stars when you looked up.

Not that you looked very hard; your eyes were indefinitely locked onto Anthony as he leant back against the glass.

You were both sitting on the floor, him with his back to the glass, and you perpendicular. Somehow you’d both managed to find a quiet corner – literally – and sit down, because after you’d gone to get drinks, your chairs were occupied by some unfamiliar faces, and it was the perfect excuse to get him alone, at least to some extent.

You weren’t entirely isolated from the celebrations, but you made it work.

Your legs were stretched out along the floor, and because of the limitations of you being able to wear a dress in public, Anthony had elected to place his legs over the top of yours like some sort of criss-cross pattern. You were pressed together, him almost sitting on your lap, and you could tell he was comfy.

He’d shrugged his blazer off and a few extra buttons had come undone somewhere along the lines. Your hand stroked delicate motions on the material of his suit trousers, and although his head was resting against the glass, his eyes were watching your fingers.

There was a glass of champagne on either side of you both, yours empty, his only half.

Perhaps that was the reasoning behind your exaggerated reaction when you heard ‘Crazy in Love’ begin to play over the speakers.

You smiled to yourself, unaware of the soft look of mild amusement he was giving you. You’d noticed a pattern recently, and even through your high state of mind you’d somewhat remembered it.

“What?” His voice had your attention snapping back over to him, the motion of your hand on his leg never stopping. You could tell he was trying not to laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“You haven’t noticed?” You ducked your head, disbelieving of his obliviousness. You threw your free hand in the direction of the music, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Clearly not.” He breathed a laugh, eyes lighting up at the mock offence you’d managed to implicate on your face.

“Everytime we go somewhere together, ‘Crazy in Love’ plays. Yesterday, at the restaurant; Mat even played it when he hosted dinner the other day…it’s just something I’ve noticed.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it…” He trailed off, a cheeky smile donning his face as his cheeks turned a rosy pink.

“Now that I’ve mentioned it? How convenient–” You started, but were promptly cut off when he leant forwards, reducing the short distance already between you both, and kissed you.

It was an effective silencing method, one that he’d used on you many times before and one that you’d used on him before. You were at that stage where little displays of affection, no matter how intensely they made those butterflies swarm, didn’t swerve or particularly hinder the one-sided conversation anymore. In other words, they’d lost their effectiveness, and even after this realisation, it didn’t seem to stop either one of you giving or accepting such attentions.

“I was thinking,” he muttered, pulling away whilst you kept a hand on his wrist, preventing him from moving too far.

Usually you would have teased him, warned him to be careful in doing such a thing, and it seemed he was expecting some sort of comment, because he paused, brows furrowing when he was met with silence. You nodded, however, unable to hide the fact that you were completely enthralled by his existence – you were sure he could see it on your face; you could even feel your cheeks heat up for no apparent reason at all other than the magnetic pull you felt towards the man sitting in front of you – and urged him to continue.

“Maybe it should be our song?” He asked, lifting the hand in your grasp up to your face, momentarily brushing a strand of hair from your face with his thumb.

He wasn’t nervous about the suggestion, that much you could tell. He was comfortable, eagerly anticipating your answer.

You smiled, tilting your head and you felt your eyes widen slightly. It didn’t seem like a silly idea.

“Why?” You asked, unable to help the quick glance at his mouth.

“I think it’s fitting to us.” He shrugged.

You nodded, not entirely surprised by the implication. You hadn’t said the words yet, but you knew how you felt. Rather shockingly, however, it didn’t fill you with a sense of dread or unease.

So you replied, “I think it is too.”

Despite the complexity of love, it seemed remarkably simple with Anthony.

It certainly didn’t feel that way when you walked into your living room, seeing Mat half attempt to dance along with the music as he placed various cups and mugs into a box on the kitchen counter.

It felt irrevocably wrong to hear it without Anthony there, and that mere fact was what spurred you on to lean over the phone on the coffee table and hastily press the skip button.

You ignored Mat’s groan of disapproval as you wordlessly made your way back to the bedroom.

“What are your neighbours like?” It was Mat on the phone, his face in the frame on FaceTime as he virtually kept you company as emptied the last couple of boxes.

You’d officially moved back to Vancouver a month ago, your parents offering your childhood room back for the first few weeks until you moved in properly. You didn’t exactly have the heart to say no to them, but their coddling (however attentive it was) had begun to get a little overbearing, so you’d taken every opportunity to sneak over to your new apartment and empty as much as you could.

It was fairly livable now: your main priority had been the kitchen and bedroom, and you’d emptied nearly everything to the point you were comfortable actually moving in. In reality, you knew if your parents hadn’t been there you’d have easily put up with living in a skeletal apartment – so for that, you were grateful.

All the nighttime sneaking out of your parent’s house and into your apartment had meant that you’d neglected to actually talk and meet your neighbours. All you knew was there was an elderly couple living two doors down, who’d only smiled at you in passing, and there had been a card posted under your door from your neighbour on your right, but you didn’t know what they looked like.

So when Mat asked you that question, you sighed, “I don’t actually know.”

He didn’t seem too shocked, and nodded in understanding.

“I probably need to, to be honest, I got something posted under my door the other day.”

At this, his interest peaked, and you saw him look up from his plate, raising an eyebrow, “Who was it from?”

You frowned, his rather exaggerated interest raising your suspicions, and froze from where you were unwrapping a glass, “Why?”

He shrugged, playing it off, “Because I think it’s important to know who you’re living around. What if something happens and you need help? Forget your key?”

You returned to your previous task, mulling his words over. You knew he was right because you’d had that exact same reasoning drilled into you since you’d left home in college, but your why hadn’t really been directed at meeting your neighbours, more, “Why were you so interested in who it was when you asked?”

He swallowed, shrugging once more, “Just am. No reason.”

You didn’t believe him, and he could clearly sense it, because he rolled his eyes, not saying anything else.

“It was from ‘Number Twenty-Three’.” You answered, watching him carefully, still not entirely trusting him.

He just nodded, ensuring to keep his facial expressions impassive as he shovelled another spoonful of rice into his mouth, not caring when a few grains fell back onto his plate.

There was a few more minutes of general chatter, and you found yourself sitting back against the sofa, pensieve as you took in your new living quarters.

“Do you think I was silly moving here?” You asked Mat, not looking at him as he pondered the question.

“No.” Was all he said, and you turned your eyes back to him.

The thought was something that had been majorly playing on your mind since you first agreed to move back to Vancouver. There was a part of you that knew you wouldn’t have even considered moving back if Tito hadn’t gone – and it freaked you out. You were aware putting Tito above all else was risky, especially considering the fact you hadn’t messaged him since you’d broken up; you didn’t know where he was or if he’d even want you anymore, if he had a girlfriend. It had been months, and you knew he was a desirable guy. You wouldn’t blame him if he’d moved on.

But there was always that nagging thing that had you feeling like you’d moved only because of Anthony, and you hated it so much. It made you want to curl up and teleport back to your old life in New York, but even the thought of that made your stomach turn because you knew he wouldn’t be there.

It just kept coming back to him.

You didn’t know what would happen if he saw you – that was assuming you ever gained the courage to actually face him again.

A part of you felt almost sheepish at the mere idea of seeing him. Sure, your heart rate picked up and your hands trembled against your will, mouth going dry as you remembered the night he broke up with you.

And the only reason you knew you could confide in Mat was because he had both sides of it; although he didn’t talk about it much – presumably for your own fragile heart – you knew he talked to him as much as he could, if not, everyday. You felt like you were using him as a bridge, and even then his words of encouragement fell on deaf ears, your own insecurities drowning them out with fears of rejection.

You wouldn’t have even moved to Vancouver if it hadn't been for Mat’s support and help.

He sighed, and you could tell he’d sussed you and your doubts out.

“He told me he’s not been able to even look at another woman without feeling like he’s gonna hurl.” He started, pausing to gauge your reaction. You swallowed, feeling a little guilty at the relief you’d felt upon his confession, “He asks about you everyday, and he’s not doing too well. I don’t even know if he’s sleeping properly.”

You remained silent, instead choosing to reach a hand into the box next to you.

Fuck.

One of Anthony’s Islander’s caps.

Almost instantaneously you felt your eyes begin to water, both at the hat and everything Mat had just told you.

It was a lot, all of this new change, in one go.

“I think I’m gonna go.” You said quietly, trying to hide the way your voice cracked a little at the end. You refrained from sniffling, not wanting to raise Mat’s concern.

“Okay,” he muttered, his voice soft, “Look after yourself. Call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Maybe think about replying to number twenty-three? Look at making a few new friends, yeah?”

You laughed, though it was watery – the kind that had you questioning if you wanted to cry or not, “‘S not one of your worst ideas, actually.”

“Hey.” He mocked, faking offence, “But, really, I think you should.”

“I think I might.” You admitted.

You missed the way he sagged.

“Good.” There was a brief pause, “Anyway, love you, miss you, have fun unpacking.” He waved at the camera, flashing you a charming smile, which you didn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

“Miss you too, Barzy. Try not to hurt yourself before I next see you.” It was a low blow, and you saw the hurt flick over his face momentarily.

Then you promptly ended the call, unable to stop yourself laughing a little.

___

Tito had just finished washing up when a piece of paper slipped under his door.

He’d stopped what he was doing, midway to the living room. The paper had slipped under his door coincidentally at the exact moment he was walking past it, and he’d frozen, creeped out at the timing. It was almost as if the person on the other side had known he was walking past the door and chosen that specific moment in time to post the letter through with the purposeful intent of freaking him the fuck out.

Nevertheless, he’d put his coffee mug down on the counter, reaching to inspect the piece of paper.

He almost dropped it when he saw the writing.

His face drained of blood, and before he’d even opened it, he’d thrown the door open, hastily checking the hallway.

It was empty.

Disappointment clawed at his chest, but he remained somewhat hopeful, his fingers working quickly to unfold it, his foot holding the door open in case they decided to make another appearance.

Why did he spend so long looking at it? He could have caught her, for fuck’s sake.

It was a stretch, in hindsight. There had to be at least a million people who flicked their ‘f’ like that, and there had to be even more who wrote at an angle like that, with their letters remaining round.

It had to be common.

Thank you for the welcome, 23.

Then when his eyes tracked down to the sign-off, he swore someone was playing tricks on him.

Obviously, his immediate reaction – completely bypassing the excitement and blinding fear of her having moved on from him bubbling in his stomach – and shut the door behind him, scrambling for his phone.

Mat picked up almost instantly.

“You fucking prick–”

Needless to say, the injured Islander knew exactly what he was talking about.

___

He’d not wanted to scare you, truly.

Since Mat had admitted to everything – from the reason you’d moved to his helping hand in finding you a place to live temporarily – he’d taken measures to ensure you didn’t run into him without any semblance of warning, but he’d found it much harder to put into practice.

He’d almost run into you three times in the past week, and every time he had to leave or enter his apartment, he’d take a cautious look down the hall and run – not wanting to startle you too much.

He just didn’t want to catch you off guard was all.

He knew you’d probably want to see him under your own control, and he was all for waiting for you. From what he’d been told, you weren’t doing much better than him.

But he’d known his luck was bound to run out at some point.

Which was how he’d found himself in this exact predicament.

___

You’d been weirdly wanting to go downstairs. You didn’t know why you’d had the sudden urge, but all you did know was that there was a lounge and a bar, and you were in desperate need of some socialising. It had been a gruelling week – and incredibly dull – unpacking your things and overthinking your first day at work, and you needed to escape from it all.

Each and every time you’d left your apartment, you’d cast a curious glance at your neighbour’s door. Number twenty-three.

They were a perfect neighbour: very rarely did they disturb you, and when they did it was only the quiet hum of some music that you guessed must have been played in their bathroom, because when you pressed your ear against the wall it felt as though you were standing right next to a speaker.

The only issue you’d had with them was that you hadn’t seen them; whenever you’d heard their door shut, you’d immediately gone to look through your peephole, only to be met with an empty corridor.

It had frustrated you to no end, but you’d coped, helplessly wondering when you could thank them. They’d been the first person to welcome you and you hadn’t even seen them yet – there had been a nagging in the back of your mind that perhaps they’d been dodging you, but there was no way it could have possibly been intentional. You’d barely been at work a full two weeks, which hardly gave them time to actually deduce your timetable or hours.

You’d been watching the Canucks, unable to help yourself from consuming every piece of media Anthony was part of, and then you’d switched off the TV a few hours later, completely alone and needing to get out of the confines of your apartment – desperately and immediately.

That was how you’d come to be locking your door from the outside – ever-weary – and frozen, nerves tingling and heart pounding with nerves as you heard a pair of footsteps coming down the hallway. They were slow, and you could vaguely make out the sound of their trudging, so you’d stalled, secretly hoping that they’d be Number 23.

You’d pretended to fiddle with your keys as you waited for the footsteps to round the corner only when they did, you heard them stop short of you, a quiet “Putain” whispered under their breath.

You frowned, not yet looking up at the person. There was something familiar about their whisper, something you couldn’t quite place immediately.

It was a different story when you looked up.

You could immediately tell from the soft echo of sorrow on his face and abundant lack of shock at your appearance that he wasn’t entirely surprised at your presence. His hand was firmly holding the end of his duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder, and he was wearing the usual suit, his cheeks still a little flushed from the match you’d only been watching a while ago.

You couldn’t help thinking that the TV screen did him no justice, because even though he wasn’t smiling or expressing any semblance of excitement at your presence, he was stunningly breathtaking in your opinion. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was parted – he hadn’t wanted to see you at that moment, that much was obvious from the expression stagnant on his face.

You, on the other hand, found yourself quite unable to draw oxygen into your lungs at his sudden appearance. You were completely frozen, unable to do anything other than stare dumbly, your jaw half-dropped in sheer shock.

Your heart was thunderous, practically clashing against your ribcage so hard you were sure you could feel the pain of it, and your mouth had dried, eyes watering. You weren’t on the verge of tears, by any means. In fact, you felt rather numb to any sort of emotion, because you’d prepared yourself for this moment for months, and now that he was standing in front of you, looking almost sheepish at your lack of understanding, you were unable to string even a coherent thought together.

There was a moment when you had thought he’d arrived in your hallway purely to see you, but that had quickly dissipated when he regained his composure, seemingly on the verge of saying something, and slowly walked past you, unable to tear his eyes away.

You let out a shaky breath when he reached the door branded ‘23’, and furrowed your brows.

He’d been in front of you this entire time–fucking Mat.

He’d orchestrated this car crash. He was the one who’d suggested you speak to your boss whilst he’d look at possible apartment rentals for you, and you’d naively agreed, assuming he had no ulterior motives in his uncharacteristic generosity considering he’d been nothing but helpful with your entire move, but right now you hated his guts.

Anthonylooked away, briefly, considering something for a second, before looking straight back towards you, a hand smoothing his hair back unconsciously. Neither of you said anything as he blindly unlocked his door, taking one last look at you, before stepping through.

It was only when his door slammed shut that you were able to take a breath.

The hand that had been fiddling with your keys dropped to your side, and you were hardly able to realise what you were doing before you’d unlocked your door, flinging it open and making a direct beeline for the box you’d purposefully avoided since your unfortunate FaceTime call with Mat. Your hand immediately sought out the cap, and operating purely on adrenaline and the mindset of ‘what-the-fuck-I-have-nothing-to-lose’, you’d made your way back out of the door, plans to head downstairs completely forgotten.

You wouldn’t have done it if you hadn't had the confidence instilled in you from Mat, that Tito had been miserable since he’d left New York, even despite the efforts of his new teammates to introduce him to Vancouver society.

Your brain must have been running a mile a minute, because when you clashed into a suit-clad chest, not entirely taken aback by his sudden appearance, you were pushing the cap at him.

“You made me cry over a fucking hat, did you know that?” You asked, the Islander’s cap hanging between you.

Tito blanched, unable to speak.

You waited in anticipation, pursing your lips harshly to stop yourself from speaking.

You wanted him to say something to alleviate the doubts you’d had.

He gave you nothing.

“Say something.” You implored, hand dropping.

He took a breath, relaxing as his shoulders slumped forwards, “I’m sorry I made you cry over my hat.”

Your jaw clenched, fighting the burning in your eyes. You absolutely refused to cry until he confirmed what Mat had been telling you – only then would you let yourself break. You also had to be inside an apartment; you weren’t about to let yourself cry in the hallway for all your new neighbours to see.

“I’m sorry I broke up with you.”

It was quiet, so much so you would have had to strain your ears to hear him. His voice sounded broken and weak, and when you looked up at him his eyes were pooling with regret, lips turned down in what you could only place as sadness. It was plain and bare, and so hopelessly effortless than you felt yourself soften, even despite the bitterness you still held against him.

“Why?” You asked, not reaching for him. You were determined to keep him in the balance, refusing to give him even a snippet of what you were feeling. It may have been a harsh play on your behalf, but you weren’t about to forgive him too easily for unnecessary heartache.

He hesitated, fingers tapping his thigh uneasily, “Because we’d only been dating a few months and I didn’t want to ask you to uproot your entire life to Vancouver just for me.”

His honesty was startling, and you took a sharp step backwards.

It seemed too good to be true, yet you hated the doubt and mistrust placed in him to the point you felt like you were betraying him.

“I uprooted my entire life to move from Vancouver to New York in the first place, you know that.” You replied, somewhat coldly, turning around and entering your apartment.

There was that prickling feeling as though you were being watched through peepholes, and you desperately needed space to breathe.

You heard Anthony follow you, the door clicking shut behind you with ease, and you threw yourself onto the sofa, dreading and anticipating the late conversation.

“I do.” He admitted, hands in his pocket as he seated himself on the coffee table in front of you, “But I also know that you don’t enjoy change and I felt guilty even—”

“You didn’t even ask.” You interrupted, irritation flaring up.

He sighed through his nose, and you could tell he was almost as fired up as you were. This argument had been a long time coming, the reasons and excuses simmering beneath your skin for far too long, and now you were facing each other with no particular time constraint considering the fact you now shared a wall — something you couldn’t quite decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

“If I had asked, would you have come?”

“I guess we’ll never know,” you snapped back, looking at him as he rolled his eyes, “You really fucking made sure of that, didn’t you?”

“Well I apologise for trying to protect you from making a decision that could have ruined your career–”

“I don’t need protection, Beauvillier,” he winced, the surname jab stinging, “I can make my own decisions perfectly well.”

“Let me rephrase: I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to come with me because I wanted you to.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, jaw clenching.

“I would have wanted to go with you, dipshit.” You fired back.

“Would have?” He repeated, tilting his head, that wild element of determination flashing through his eyes. He was clearly referring to the past tense you’d used.

“Yes.” You breathed, “I would have, because I’d gotten a promotion located in Vancouver, and the only reason I would have said no, as much as I’m ashamed to admit it, was because of you and your stupid hockey team. I thought you’d stay an Islander so I held off–”

He spluttered, “And you didn’t think to tell me?” His voice raised in pitch, hands flying in front of him as he tried to convey his exasperation.

“No!” You raised your voice incredulously, unable to hide your appall from him, “You left before I could even argue against the breakup and I haven’t seen you since.”

“Ah,” he held up a finger, dodging your lame attempt to swat it away, “But when did you get the offer, huh?”

You paused, feeling your cheeks flush with colour, “You don’t have to patronise me, Tito.”

“Tell me when, and I won’t have to.” He explained, eyes wide as he waited for your answer.

“I got it a couple of days before you broke up with me.” You admitted, voice now a few notches lower.

“And why didn’t you say anything before?” His voice tipped with an edge of regret as he spoke, desperation coating his words as he finished his question.

You were both breathing heavily, adamant to portray your points and frustrations. Neither of you seemed to be thinking much of anything but about the other – much less of what or who you’d been doing since your departure – Mat’s words to both of you seemed to have eased that question, allowing you to freely have at one another without any holding back or worrying about the other’s antics.

You were both clearly still hung up on each other, and that knowledge had you feeling both euphoric and hopeful – a dangerous concoction you’d acknowledged amidst partially yelling at each other. Despite that, it was obvious you’d both been holding back – voices strained for the sake of not wanting to disturb your neighbours, even if you were closer to the wall you shared with Tito than your other neighbour.

“Because I didn’t want to be that girlfriend who says ‘oh, by the way, if those crazy rumours of you getting transferred to the other side of the continent were true, you totally wouldn’t have to worry about our relationship because I’d most definitely go with you anyway’, and then before I could tell you that you ran out of the club. Then when I tried to ring you literally a day later, you’d blocked me on everything!” You rolled your eyes, groaning when he took his blazer off, his hands on his hips after loosening his tie.

You didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose to gain an upper hand in the argument, but it had you losing your train of thought briefly.

“Oh, so now it’s all my fault?” He frowned, a crease forming between his brows.

You laughed bitterly, “Dude, of course it’s your fault. You didn’t let me not allow you to break up with me.”

“But you didn’t tell me about the job offer – which, by the way, is amazing, so congratulations, I’m incredibly proud of you,” he sidetracked, his voice becoming gentler and allowing himself to express a little sincerity within his facial expressions, before returning to its previous sternness, “But you telling me about that job offer would have quietened any doubts I ever had about dragging you here.”

“Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” You muttered sarcastically.

“You’re telling me? I just didn’t want you to be unhappy for the sake of my own happiness, okay?” He held up his hands in surrender, waiting for you to respond.

You shrugged, still not quite believing where he was coming from, “Why were you doubting it, I’m literally in love with you. I told you that.”

“Well, I’m in love with you, too. But I guess my guilt overpowered that. I wanted you to come to Vancouver because you wanted to, not because you felt like you had to.”

“You didn’t even ask me, though. You took that right away from me.” You said.

You’d both softened, voices dropping a few octaves and flailing limbs reducing as your frustrations slowly poured out of you.

“And what would you have said if I’d have asked?” He echoed from before, slightly breathless as his chest heaved.

He was looking straight at you, curiosity and a destructive hope practically radiating from his face. He wanted you to say no, to reassure him he’d made the right decision.

“I would have said yes.”

His face collapsed, and his hands immediately went to cover his eyes for a few seconds. You stayed rooted to your spot, watching him mutter to himself and shake his head. You couldn't hear what he was saying – some complex French mutterings, your ears may have picked up a string of profanities.

Then, just as you were beginning to submit to the gravitational pull towards him, he lifted himself back up, eyes watering and rimmed red – it had you wondering if this was how he’d spent your days and nights apart; torturing himself with what could have been if only he’d had the courage to ask you the question. You knew you were in no position whatsoever to criticise his lack of action, however. It was just the only thing you could stomach to blame.

At least this way you knew the fate of your misery the past few months had been out of your control, even if that small voice in the back of your mind screamed against that.

“Of course you would have.” He nodded, foot tapping against your floor. He still had a lot of pent up agitation begging to be relieved.

He’d just played a match and he still had energy to burn.

Instead, you did the thing you weren’t entirely expecting, and you could tell from his face that he wasn’t expecting you to pull such a move, either.

What you really wanted to do was launch yourself at him – there was no doubt in your mind he’d catch you, he always did – and not let him go, but you held back, both for your own sanity and his, as well as the fact that you knew you were both going to have to spend the night in your own beds, absorbing and mulling over every single thing that had come to light.

“We’re both idiots that should probably work on our communication skills a little more.”

The trace of a small smile worked its way onto his face, an idea flashing through his mind, “What was that?”

You didn’t even think before you’d picked up a cushion from the sofa and launched it in his direction. It felt like you’d been anticipating such a trashy joke because your aim was spot on; the cushion smacked him squarely in the face, eliciting a shout of surprise.

After he’d let it fall to the floor you both stood in your half-made-up living room, both your hands on your hips and considering each other carefully.

You didn’t know how you were going to go from here, but you knew what you wanted to get out of it, and what you wanted was the man standing in front of you, bravely looking as confused as you felt.

“You played really well tonight.” You said, desperately wanting to break the tense silence.

You could tell what he wanted to do, and you couldn’t exactly deny that you also felt that same desire begin to burn you from the inside, but you knew you had to make him work for it.

“Thank you.” He replied earnestly, not entirely shocked by your revelation. Since he’d found out you were his neighbour, he’d been keeping an ear out for your TV patterns.

On more than one occasion he’d been able to hear the NHL channel blast through the walls.

“No problem.”

“I think I should go.” He made no move to do such a thing.

“I think you should.” This time, he took a few steps towards your door, his hand hovering over the handle as though expecting you to change your mind, before throwing it open and leaving as quickly as he could.

Your head was a mess and your chest was surely about to implode.

You let yourself think it over for about five minutes, hands pressed together and resting against your mouth as your eyes darted across the room. You caught sight of the Islander’s hat on the sofa – when had you even let go of it? – and picked it up, leaving your apartment to knock on his door.

He must have been standing behind it waiting for you because it swung open only on the second knock and you barely had time to breathe before you were tugged roughly against his chest, your hands not wasting any time in burrowing themselves in his hair, and moving your mouth against his, tongues intertwined and breathing just as heavy as it had been when you were arguing.

It was short, possibly about ten seconds of unadulterated desire and lust and love, before you were shoving him away, attempting to maintain some seriousness. It failed drastically, your eyes working to keep up the act, but your mouth giving you away hilariously as you still felt the remnants of his kiss on you, leaving you able to do nothing but smile dumbly at him.

“I’m giving you this back.” You shoved his hand against his chest, but he made no move to take it off you.

“I don’t want it.”

“Neither do I.”

“It looks better on you.” He argued, taking it from your hand and placing it on your head.

You pulled a face, and swiped it off, “I’ve always been more of a Nucks fan than an Islanders, so, no thank you.” You let it drop between you, before failing to resist pressing another hot kiss to his mouth, dodging out of his needy hold and leaving. You hear the vague protest of “I’m telling Mat you said that!” and you spun on your heel, inappropriately shouting, “Fucking go ahead!” Before you shut your door, unable to process anything until you collapsed onto your bed face-first, cursing Mat Barzal’s wicked plotting.

#tito beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier oneshot #tito beauvillier imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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