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dcxdpdabbles · 7 months

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Passion for Fashion Part 4

A loud ding-dong echoes through the house. Danny sits up from where he was lying, inches from a radio playing falling water.

He found it in the garbage a few days after the whole kidnapping of Fiesco- the police got all the models to safety while the Bats were able to rescue Tim Drake, but the primary muscle, some guy named Waylon, got away. - but the station it could pick up was a natural sound effects station.

Danny had been tinkering with it, trying to figure out how to get it to connect to the local radio mostly successfully for days now. He leaned back to look past the randomly hung clothes that Dan had been stringing across their house.

Fabrics still littered the place, and it's become less of a home and more of a fabric storage.

Danny has forgotten the color of the walls, so used to just seeing clothes everywhere. It was a bit embarrassing to be so messy but it's not like they had guests in this dimension.

Which meant the door ringing even stranger.

Ding Dong.

"Dan?"

His counterpart grunts from somewhere behind the blue and green fabrics. "What?"

"Nothing," Danny calls back, side-stepping fabrics and pushing aside some mannequins. Who was on the other side of the door if Dan was in the living room turned studio?

Ding Dong.

They should really think about installing some cameras or even a peephole. Danny hesitates for only a moment before he carefully turns the knob and opens the door slightly, only enough so his eye can see through the crack.

An EverBurning Lizardman stands on his doorstep. That's....not confusing at all. Maybe the ghost was sent by Clockwork? Oh, perhaps the time Ghost was sending them back up?

"Hello?" Danny asks, swinging it open. "Can I help you?"

The Lizardman squints at him. "Dan Fenton?"

"No. I'm Danny Fenton. Dan is my twin brother."

"Right. I'm Killer Croc," The EverBurning says, straightening out his back to tower over Danny in what he thinks is supposed to be menacing. To Danny, it just looks like someone standing to attention, a lot of the ghosts do that when he is crowed.

"Nice to meet you, Killer. Cool jean jacket by the way." Danny responds. He crosses his arms and leans on the doorframe, tilting his head like a bird. Killer Croc seems taken aback by his nonchalant mannerism. "Do you want me to get Dan?"

The EverBruning lips pull back, showcasing all of his teeth. Danny is impressed by how sharp and white they are. He must use a whiting paste. He'll have to ask for the secret later. A model needed a pearl-white smile, after all. "I would like to speak to you both."

Danny considered the request before nodding his chin to his house. "Come on in. Sorry about the mess; we weren't expecting guests."

As the significant being of rippling scales and muscles made its way inside, Danny shut the door and held out his hand towards Killer.

The Lizardman blinked down at him. "What?"

"Can I take your coat?" Danny asked, so used to offering guests back at home that he forgot big city folk may not do that.

Killer's eyes narrowed. "No."

"Alright." Accepting the denial Danny rocked on his heels, pushing a large indego piece of fabric out of his face. It reveals the slight path to the kitchen. "Can I offer you something to drink? Tea, water, soda....heated ectoplasm?"

"...Water is fine." Killer settles on staring at Danny like he is the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. Not surprising. Those from the Elemenal Sector of the Infinite Releams don't see human-shaped beings often. He had plenty of young Yeti children surround him when he visited because they had never seen someone who looked like Danny before.

"Hot or Cold?"

"....Cold."

Huh. An EverBurning who did not take their water boiling? Danny would ask him about it, but he didn't want to seem like he was playing into stereotypes.

"I'll bring it out in a minute. Please make yourself at home." Danny gestures to a corner of the room. "I think the couch is somewhere in that direction. "

He doesn't wait for the Lizardman to reply instead he turns to the last place he heard his counterpart shout. "Dan! Come out here, you have a visitor!"

"No! Tell whoever they are to piss off." Dan screams back. Danny's face twitches. He hates that guy so much sometimes.

"Don't be rude! Come out here!"

Dan makes a loud obnoxious sigh, pushing the fabrics out of his way. He's still wearing the same pair of sweatpants and stain t-shirt grey oversized shirt. His hair has obviously not been comb and there are slight bags under his eyes from where he refused to get some sleep the last few days.

In short, he looks like a right mess.

"Who the hell is even bothering us..." Dan's voice trails off, face paling when he sees Killer uncomfortably trying to sit. Dan glances down at his body and then screams in mortification, warping his arms around himself. He sprints further into the house before they can get a word in. "Don't look at me! I have to get dressed! I normally look hot, I swear!"

Danny blinks. "Well....I'll get you that water while Dan gets dressed."

Killer looks far more confused than before. "Sure, kid."

Now, Danny has always been an alley of the FarFrozen. Not only was FrostBite his doctor, his ice mentor, and his general instructor for the Infinite Realms, but he was also his friend.

Nearly as close as Sam and Tucker- FrostBite had become someone he sought companionship with, which went for all of FarFrozen. Danny spent more time in the winter wonderland than in his home. This meant he knew all about their rivals- the EverBurning.

The EverBurning were a tribe of Lizardmen in hot volcanic lands to the south of the FarFrozen. They were very similar to the FarFrozen in culture and civilization, with a bit more emphasis on arts than science.

Although they were polar opposites, FarFrozen and EverBurning had no abysmal relationship. Their meet-ups reminded Danny of rival high school sports teams at most.

Danny was just an alley to the FarFrozen first.

When he returned to the living room, he arrived with Killer looking highly uncomfortable as Dan sat awful close to him now dressed a looking....well looking like what the locals called "E-Boy" sexy.

Not to be confused with Goth. Danny didn't know what the difference was, but Dan almost bit his head off the last time he pointed it out. Apparently, the fashions were completely different.

"So, Papi. why were you looking for me?" Dan all but purs. Killer shudders and quickly stands up, causing Dan to fall onto the couch cushions.

"I came here to apologize." The Lizardman starts but is cut off by his slight jump as Danny appears at his elbow, holding out the tray. He needs to remember to make noise when he moves.

"Apologize for what?" Danny asks, observing his guest take the glass cup in a scaly hand. He seemed to do so carefully, but surprisingly not uncurling his claws away- does he not know how?

"For almost trafficking you. I ugh...I sell drugs, not people. I wasn't aware those idiots were doing that when I accepted the job to kidnap Tim Drake for a few hours. I have to eat somehow, you know?" Killer shrugs at the twin stare of surprise. "I'm an ugly son of bitch, but I'm not much of a monster."

"Papi, you are gorgeous-" Dan starts, placing one hand behind the couch seat and giving a flirtatious little smirk up at the Lizardman, but Killer cuts him off.

"Okay, seriously, kid you're starting to freak me out. Not that I'm not flattered. You're the first and only one ever interested in me, but I'm twenty-eight. You're way too young for me."

Dan frowns in confusion. "I'm twenty-six. Two years isn't that much of a difference."

Killer gestures at him. "You are fifteen at the least, kid."

Dan's face ripples through various emotions before he leans back and stares at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. He whispers to them in a hushed tone of angst. "I'm seventeen."

Right.

Danny clears his throat. "It's alright, Killer. We weren't sold, and neither were any of the other models. So, no harm was done. Apology accepted."

Killer Croc seems more thrown off balance than when Danny first opens the door. Poor guy. It must have been the ice water. Danny shouldn't have made it that cold. "Just like that?"

"Just like-"

Someone breaks through his living room window. The Fentons let out cries of surprise as Killer quickly grabbed them both and rolled the ground, using his large body to shield them from the shattering glass. The intruder was likely unaware of the strung-up fabrics, for they stumble into the tied strings and quickly become entangled.

They fall to the ground in heap as the strong wire wraps around them. Danny knew he shouldn't have allowed Dan to use metal wire for his heavier pieces- especially one that taught, but Dan had been so persuasive.

(He put them up anyway, and Danny was too lazy to take them down)

"Ah man, I liked that window," Danny whines as he peaks over Killer's shoulder.

"We have windows?"

"Killer Croc! Unhand the hostages!" The person on the ground screams, shimmering around until the clothes fall away, and Danny finally gets a good look at some guy in a red and black costume?

Dan points at the stranger "Who is that-"

"Red Robin" Killer all but snares, suddenly far more violent than usual. Dan takes one look at the EverBurning before he, too, is standing at the ready for a fight- it makes his outfit look really out of place, but Danny can't say much when he's still in his own sweats.

Maybe he should have changed too?

"Should we kill him?" Dan asks, and Red Robin stops, seemingly shocked that the fashion designer would ever suggest that.

"Woah woah woah," Danny says, stepping between the two groups. He has his hands up attempting to appease the ghosts first- for all Dan looked and had been human, he spent far more years as a full-time ghost so he was more ghost than human.

Killer claws have sharpened, and he just knows it's going to be a pain and a half to get them to stop. Thinking quickly, Danny crouched down to place a kiss on the frozen- no pun intended- human on the cheek. "There is no need for a fight. I asked him out on a date and sort of forgot what time he was picking me up."

Killer stared at him like he had grown a second head, but Dan dropped his raised fists. "Oh yeah? Have fun on your date brat."

"Thanks, Dan."

He hurled Red Robin to his feet and practically pushed him out into the street before the other could get his wits about him. Once they were safely out of Dan's hearing range, Danny crossed his arms, raising an unimpressed brow to the dressed-up stranger.

"Alright, who are you supposed to be, and why did you break through my window?"

"I-"

"Danny!" Dan shouts from the broken window. He waves around a duffle bag that he quickly throws at the confused teenager. "You can go on a date dress like that! I have a reputation as a fashion designer to keep. Put that on!"

Danny rolls his eyes, turning back to the other teenager- is he a teenager? Danny can't really tell with the mask but he sort of looks like it. "Do you mind waiting for me to get ready? I'll pay for pizza."

"W-wait what-no I'm here to rescue-are you serious about the date?"

"Yeah, why not? I dated a dead biker before and his crazy girlfriend. Sides, you're pretty cute."

"Are you aware that Killer Croc is in your house?"

"Killer? Yeah, my brother is trying to seduce him."

"......why?" Red Robin whispered in horror, "Why would he do that?"

"Why does Dan do anything?" Danny grins with a shrug. "I get it, though; Killer is a good-looking EverBurning."

"EverBurning?"

"A tribe in the Infinite Realms."

There is a spark of recognition in Red Robin's body language. Now, why does this stranger know about Danny's kingdom?

Red Robin's mouth opens and closes before slowly reaching up and pressing his ear. Danny realizes only after a moment that he's using a communicator as the other says, "I'm going offline for a bit. Got a date with someone from Constitine's Infinite Realms."

Hmmm, does that sound like a problem Danny should be dealking with? Nah, as long as Red Robin's not connected to Batman, he should be fine.

(Meanwhile, Dan is pouting as Waylon slips out the back door once again regretting his offer of going on their own date. Just his luck Clockwork's little twin idea is going to make dating a nightmare. There went the best tail he's ever seen)

Master Post Link

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Fashion for Passion #Part 4 #Onesided Dan/Waylon #Dead tired #Danny is sort of rolling with things #Waylon came to say sorry and left confused out of his mind.#He likely thinks he was drugged #The bats are in fact screaming to NOT GO ON THAT DATE TIM OMF

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rreids · 20 days

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BE GOOD TO ME • A. HOTCHNER X READER

__ used in place of reader's name; age gap (both legal, unspecified, hotch implied to have worked with the reader's father); fem!reader; alcohol consumption; fluff; angst (i'm v bad at it, apologies); fears of abandonment; hotch is a bit insensitive at times; no jack or haley (assumed they have the same issues with his work & broke up pre-fic); sexual tension; has a nsfw section, skip from: (“Okay, they’re shut,” -> "I'll stay." if you are a minor or don't like smut; ~5k words; a poorly written ending, honestly; an (early!!!) birthday present for @hotchfiles (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) smut warnings: dom!hotch (nothing intense), fingering, marking, unprotected sex (do not copy them <3), oral (m receiving).

Moving was always a hassle.

Stressful, tiring, made tensions high — the works. It took the better part of your first day in Quantico to move in, and you could only settle onto your new couch (courtesy of your father, who’d worked in Narcotics at the FBI early on in his career, and was more than excited to find out that you wanted to move there) when the sun was thirty minutes from setting.

“Yes, yeah, Dad, I’m fine. I only had thirty more minutes of unpacking when you were leaving,” you click on speaker phone and lean your head back, sighing as you try to work a cord in your neck. “I’ll say hi to my neighbors tomorrow. Yes. Yes, I’m going to eat. The food you gave me to put in the fridge. I have my first day at the café tomorrow, I’ll get groceries then.”

He rambles for a bit and you close your eyes, letting him talk and talk. It’s nice. You know he worries.

“Ok, Dad, I got it. I’ll contact Gideon if anything comes up, and I’ll ask around for his team or wife — girlfriend? — if he’s busy. I love you, but I’m gonna go get ready for bed. Okay? Yeah. Thank you. Bye-bye,”

He hangs up first, knowing you hate to be the one to click it.

You sigh and stretch, tossing the phone down on the cushion. By the time you gain the energy to stand and go to the fridge, there’s a ring of your doorbell.

You’re not expecting anyone, so you approach cautiously, peering through the peephole. It’s a man, older, but you can’t place by how much, standing with his hands in his pockets.

You crack the door, keeping the secondary lock in place. “Hello?”

“Good evening,” his voice has a nice husk to it. “Sorry, I should introduce myself. My name’s Aaron, I’m your neighbor. Wanted to ask if there’s any groceries or anything I could bring you, something to help you get settled or maybe you forgot to pack for the move…?”

You eye him warily.

“I was going to make cookies but I can’t bake.”

You chuckle. “Um, I think I’m okay. Are you handy, by any chance?”

“A little. I can do stuff around the house.”

“Then,” you pause, looking at his eyes. “Is there a chance I can get your number? You know, so if there’s any issue I can call you to come round and take a look,”

“Sure,” he smiles warmly at you. “I’m a little busy sometimes, though, so it might take me a few days to get around to stopping by.”

You nod and quickly undo the inner latch and open the door more fully. “That’s alright, I don’t expect you to drop your life because I can’t fix a leaking faucet. Can you wait here while I grab my phone?”

He nods, looking respectfully at only the foyer and not further into your new home, carefully avoiding focusing on the stacks of boxes you haven’t gotten to unpacking (full of knick-knacks and unimportant things that you decided could wait to be put on display).

It doesn’t take long to save each other’s contacts, and while there’s no more excuse for him to be on your stoop, you want to talk to him more. “Do you have anyone to eat dinner with?”

Subtle, your inner voice snarks back.

“No,” he smiles sadly, bitterness to it. “Just me.”

“Well, it’s just lasagna to reheat, but if you’d prefer to not eat alone…”

“I’d love that…?”

“__,” you smile. “Come on in, Aaron. I’ll get you a plate.”

.°. ݁₊ . ݁ ⁺₊

Work goes well, getting adjusted is easy.

You make friends with your coworkers and a few regulars, go out a few times and find a group of girls you mesh with.

Then again, you were a pretty sociable person, always trying to smile and improve people’s days. It was partially why you didn’t absolutely hate service work. There was a silver lining to every interaction.

Aaron was nice, too.

You’d had an issue with water pressure when you finally (after much longer than you’d like to admit) got your new shower head attached, and he’d come over and let his dress shirt get soaked while he fixed it for you.

Whenever you ask about work, he dances around anything more than telling you “FBI” and that he “travels a lot”, but you didn’t mind too much. Everyone has their secrets, and you knew your dad had seen some terrible things.

You can only imagine what Aaron has seen.

He was good company, had a dry and witty humor that you never expected, kind eyes and a gentle smile you were lucky to see despite his tiredness, and, well, he was handsome.

You weren’t against eye candy, even if you didn’t know much personally about him. It took a week to learn how old he was, and a few days while was gone for work for you to reconcile that he was old enough to have worked with your father when he was at Narcotics.

It’s been two weeks since you’d last seen him, but he calls, voice exhausted and rough, raw, even, from what seems to have been an emotional case.

“Aaron?”

He hums, sighs on the other side of the line.

“Everything okay?”

“Just tired,” he doesn’t explain more. “Can you keep talking?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” you can’t help the way your brow furrows in concern about how worn-out he sounds. “Well, I can tell you about my job. I’m not nearly as secretive, Mr. FBI,” you tease, and he exhales — a softer, happier one.

And so you do, rambling about different coffees, trying desperately to coax him into trying a latte (he refuses every single time you try to tell him he’d like one, but assures you there’s someone on his team who has equal amounts of sugar and coffee in his — you’re sure he’s exaggerating, the sugar would be too much for almost anyone — who would love to try your drink combos); telling him about regulars and new customers, the music that played, if there’s a song you know he’d like; really, anything you can think of.

“When do you get back?”

“We’ve landed, I’m back.” There’s more shuffling than there had been on his end, papers sliding and the crackling connection as he moves the phone before bringing it back to his ear. “Just finishing some paperwork.”

“Is it stuff that can’t be seen?”

“No. It’s not confidential.”

“Do you want to do it at your house, then? Or visiting my place. I made pasta and steak, I can heat some back up for you. I’m sure you haven’t been eating well when you’re chasing down bad guys, or… whatever you do when you’re gone, I’m not sure exactly.”

Aaron chuckles. “Thanks, __. Give me thirty minutes?”

“Yeah. Do you want me to stay on the line?”

He hesitates.

“No. No, it’s okay. I’ll see you in a little while.”

.°. ݁₊ . ݁ ⁺₊

He takes closer to forty-five minutes, but you expected something to take a bit longer than he said. And it’s not a bother. Really, it was welcome because it let you run out to the store and buy a nice wine (you hoped he likes red), and reheat the food better than just by the microwave.

When he knocks, you try not to scurry over too quickly and to temper your smile. “Come in,”

Aaron smiles tiredly at you, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He hangs up his suit jacket and loosens his tie slightly.

He looks at the table and his brows raise. “Wine?”

“I figured you could use something to unwind,”

“Sounds lovely.”

You can’t tell if he actually means that, or if he just doesn’t like red, doesn’t want wine, or what, and is being polite but you don’t push it.

“Are you going to eat, too?”

“I already did,” you smile at him. “I was going to do dishes so I don’t leave them in the sink overnight — I try to never do that. But it can wait if you’d rather have company.”

He moves his napkin. “Well, I’d be able to hear you from the kitchen. More efficient,”

“Got it,”

You hum to yourself in the lulls of conversation with him, scrubbing a plate clean. He eats quickly, when you’re not across from him, and you find this out when he comes in with his dishes.

“Let me wash them. My mess,”

“You’re a guest,” you protest, but you don’t do much to dissuade him, watching the way he rolls up his sleeves and his forearms flex with a lazy smile as he scrubs off the alfredo sauce. “At least leave your glass. We can drink and talk for a bit.”

He raises his brows but nods, pushing it to the side.

“Do you want to talk about work?” You ask him as you fill one for you and then top off his. “Or would you prefer anything else.”

“I’ve been talking about dead bodies and abductions for two weeks. I’d like something more normal,” Aaron answers smoothly before pausing, placing his plate in your dishrack. “I’ve never told you that I deal with that, have I?”

“No,” you hand him his wine and guide him to your couch. “But I can make a guess why you haven’t,”

“I’m sure you can.”

“My father, he was in Narcotics, actually.” You look for a flash of recognition in his eyes, but without saying your father’s name there is none. “Maybe he worked with you at some point. But he would always come home tense and it strained my parent’s relationship… I get it.”

Aaron swallows. You guess relationships are a sore spot.

“Wanna hear about the last time I went out?” You couldn’t think about a better topic, and grimace when he sighs and sinks back into the cushions. “Nothing gross,”

“Hit me.”

You tell him, excited, bubbly, and pause about two-thirds into recounting the drinking games and how you could barely walk by the end of it. Namely, because you want to leave out the fact you almost drunk-dialed him (and that you were super wasted in public, considering he’s a federal agent), and second, because you realize you could show him the dress you were wearing that night.

Maybe the wine is getting to you a little, but you buzz with excitement at the idea of him eyeing you up and down.

“Actually, I wanna show you something!” Your voice is too excited and you know it when he gives you a questioning look. “Wait here.”

You stumble a little changing out of your clothes and quickly zip yourself into the dress, clasp the same necklace back on. Your hair isn’t done the same, your makeup is your day makeup and not what you wear out, but you still look pretty.

Maybe a little less slutty than you did that night, but the way the dress clings to your curves would make up for it. Hopefully.

“Close your eyes!” You call out to him.

“What?” Aaron calls back, and you hear an exaggerated groan when you don’t reply. “Okay, they’re shut,”

You saunter out and lightly grab his wrist — he’s holding his hands to cover his sight completely, and your heart flutters at the boyishness — and tug them away. “What do you think?”

Aaron opens his eyes almost directly to your cleavage as you straighten up, and he snaps his attention to your face. That doesn’t last long as you spin and twirl, letting the light catch the glittery details.

He’s moved his eyes to your hips and how much of your thighs are exposed.

He clears his throat. “You wore this out when you were that drunk?”

“Don’t worry,” you smile. “I was safe!”

“You were telling me you could barely walk,”

You pout at him. “You’re so serious, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

A beat of silence.

Another.

“Twirl for me again?”

You beam at him and obey, squeaking when he pauses you once you face away.

“It’s not fully zipped,” he lets his fingers trace above the zipper as he stands, and you feel him pressing closer to you — tall, imposing, strong. Warmth radiating off his skin. “Can I?”

You debate what to say.

“Actually,” you breathe in deeply, trying to keep your voice level. “I think I cinched the waist too tight at the clasps. Can you loosen them?”

Aaron’s breath ghosts over the nape of your neck, and he says nothing as he slowly unzips it, fingers sparking desire and tensing the muscles as his fingers trail down your spine after the zipper.

“Right here?” He asks, tugging at the cinch to make his point clear.

You smile and let the straps slip from your shoulders in a fake stretch. His breath hitches.

“A little lower,”

Aaron listens, entranced, undoing more and more until his fingers ghost right above your panties — a thong, maroon-y red.

You imagine he’s shut his eyes now, trying to respect you despite the way you’re clearly trying to get into his pants.

And so, you act.

You reach back and grasp the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him a little closer to the crook of your neck.

“__,” he whispers.

“Aaron,” you match the soft desire thrumming under the words. “Please.”

You know he’ll snap when you arch your back, pressing back into his hardening bulge and pushing your chest out — right into his line of sight.

He kisses the skin of your neck gently, sucking on it harshly before running his tongue over the stinging sensation. He guides the dress down you fully, strong hands squeezing the fat on your thighs with a groan before slipping up and around your waist to cup your breasts.

“You’re beautiful,”

“Please don’t waste time on easing into it,” you grit out, aching for him. “I want you. Badly.”

“Shh,” he soothes, unclasping your necklace and placing it on the small stand by your couch, kissing where the cold metal had sat. “You’ll get me,”

You whimper out in surprise as he spins you and crashes his lips into yours forcefully, pressing you into him so your nipples brush against his ironed and perfect dress shirt, a perfect, aching friction.

A confident hand goes to your thong and snaps the waistband against your hip as you press further into him, blindly pawing at his pants.

“Walk me to your bedroom,” he tells you when he pulls back for air, and you stumble into the wall twice, too wrapped up in his kisses and heat to move with grace.

He lays you down, but before he can pull back and stand, you pull him next to you.

“Let me,” you say, tugging his tie loose and nimbly undoing his buttons with only a slight tremor to your hands. The button-up falls open to beautiful strength and skin, dotted with freckles and rippling with strength as he shrugs the fabric off and flings it to the floor.

When you start on his belt, his eyes bore into you and you shrink under the gaze once you tug it loose.

“Sit back,” he nods towards the headboard. “Now.”

You swallow and scramble to move where he wants. He strips down to his boxers and shifts to move over you, bracing on his knees and a forearm. He pecks your lips with a smile before deepening the kiss.

He leaves you gasping for air by the time he moves to lick over your nipples as his calloused fingers find their way into your panties. You quiver at the roughness on your clit, the way the fabric of the thong slips against you with his movements.

He pulls off you, and your eyes hungrily drink in his deep breaths and the filthy sight of his fingers moving in your underwear, back arching as he slips one finger into you and continues to roll your clit with his thumb.

“More?” He asks when your hips grind down to meet him.

“Want it,” you gasp out, squeezing him over his boxers. The precum that’s leaked through makes you keen with need. “‘M ready.”

“I’d rather you not get hurt,” he pushes in another finger. “So be patient.”

You huff, fucking up against his hand.

He pulls back and pins you with that same hand, smearing your arousal over your hip. “You can’t wait?”

“Maybe I like it with a little pain.”

He raises a brow at that and sighs, but he lets go of you to pull down and kick off his boxers.

Your mouth dries at the sight of his cock, and you ache, so desperately empty. You grab at his shoulders, broad and strong, and he can’t help the twitch of a smile as he rubs himself against you and you squirm.

You kiss him as you hook your leg around him and drag him into you, delighting in the gasp of pleasure he lets out against your lips. His jaw sets, teeth grinding as he sets a torturously slow pace, letting you feel the drag of every vein and inch against your velvety walls.

You dig your nails into his back and scratch, and his hips stutter before finally speeding up. It’s still not enough, but finally forceful enough to draw sounds from your lips.

“You like a little pain too,” you laugh breathlessly, trying to leave a bite on his neck. He cranes back and out of reach, folding your legs up to drive deeper.

“I can take it. Can you?” Aaron asks, no expectation of an answer as he finally sets a pace that drives you to near silent gasps and shaking muscles.

You whimper, digging your nails in more harshly to feel the way his shoulders flex as he moves one of his hands to rub your clit. His skin and his movements are rough and aggressive, punching moans out of you without care, sitting your nerves on fire.

He doesn’t relent, leaving wet kisses along your sweat slick skin as he fucks into you so hard you quiver in his hold, small and weak and helpless under him.

You moan at the idea, arching up into him as he scrapes his teeth over your left breast.

“More,” you beg breathlessly. “I can take it all,”

His brow furrows in delicious determination over darkened, blown-out eyes, lips tightening to hold in his gruff moans as he drags you closer to your ecstasy.

“Yeah?” He asks, bringing a hand to squeeze your cheeks together. “Want it all?”

You nod eagerly, urge him down for another kiss, and you clench when he sucks on your tongue before pulling back and completely away.

“Hands and knees.”

You flip hurriedly, trying to hide the way your muscles shake from the effort. He catches it, though, wraps an arm under and around your waist to help support you as he drapes himself over your back and slides back in.

It’s almost claustrophobic, so warm and close to him, skin slick with sweat, heavy breaths coming out in humid pants, wet presses of his lips and tongue to your shoulders and the nape of your neck; but you love it, whining and keening as he angles his hips just right and rubs your clit again.

You’re so, so, so close to the edge, you can almost taste it.

“Let go,” he orders, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his own sounds.

And you do, quivering around him, pussy desperately trying to keep him in place as he fucks you through it.

He hisses, and you whine at the empty feeling, rolling over to see him leaning back and jerking himself off, head tossed back and veins popping out.

You crawl over and grin up at him “fuck my mouth” before taking him in, and he hisses, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Shit, __,” he groans, and you realize it’s the first time he’s said your name or lost composure during this. You hum in response and bob your head further down before hollowing your cheeks.

His hips jerk, but before he can apologize for the movement, you moan around him and press lower.

Aaron groans, deep and broken with need, and it only takes a few more seconds for him to cum, thighs twitching under your palms.

He tugs you off and kisses you after you swallow, tasting himself on your tongue.

“Let me clean you up,” he whispers after a few moments, observing how you’re still shaking from the aftershocks.

He leaves and comes back with a washcloth, wiping you clean and apologizing softly when you wince from oversensitivity.

Aaron even helps you get dressed (finds pajamas in a drawer for you and hands them to you) and makes sure you pee and brush your teeth.

When he starts gathering his things, you grab him. “Stay.”

He pauses and sighs, shirt bundled in his hand. He slips back into his boxers and slides under the duvet next to you.

“I’ll stay.”

.°. ݁₊ . ݁ ⁺₊

When you wake up, Aaron is gone.

No note. No voicemail.

It stings. He’d even cleaned up the wine glasses and brought your necklace onto your nightstand.

When you stand, it aches, muscles exhausted. You shower slowly and pensively, chewing on your lip as you consider calling him.

You don’t.

You fix yourself coffee, eat some fruit and pancakes, and get ready for work. It’d be a long day standing and delivering orders with the way your muscles burned, but maybe it’d distract you.

You don’t even hear from him again for a week, and part of you is mad at him, but most of you is scared — you’d figured out that he deals with homicides and abductions that night, and there was a worry that took root and grew that he could be dead, and you wouldn’t know.

When you hear from him, it’s one a.m. on a Friday (Saturday, you suppose, since it’s past night).

“Hello?” You ask groggily, not having checked the caller I.D.

“__,” Aaron sighs out. He sounds relieved.

You tense. “Aaron.”

There’s awkward silence.

“Why are you calling?”

“I hadn’t heard from you all week,” he tells you, and your heart twists in your chest.

Who did he think he was, to sleep with you, leave without warning, and call like nothing happened?

“I wonder why,” you snap, voice bitter and biting.

Aaron sighs and shuffles.

More uncomfortable silence.

“Where did you go?”

“Home. I had to get dressed for work.”

You hope none of his team is around. You’re already upset enough just talking to him, and that’s without a team of whatever-the-fuck he does FBI agents listening in.

“No message?”

“Should I have left one?” Aaron sighs, and you can practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re not dating, __.”

“Yeah. I can tell.” You scoff. “Then why do you care that I didn't call you?”

“I like your company, you know that.”

“You do a hell of a job making it clear.”

Eyes burning with tears you’re holding back, you finally ask.

“What do you want, Aaron?”

“To talk.”

“No,” you grouse, wiping the tear that rolls down your cheek.

“__, please, come on.”

“Come on?” You repeat, incredulous. “Aaron, I like you. You used me for sex and left. I’m fucking pissed at you,”

“You’re too young for me.” Aaron sighs. “I’m always at work. It’s dangerous work, too. You could have any guy,”

“Yeah. A shame I want you. And my age didn’t seem to matter last week. If you don’t want to date me, just say it!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That I want to see you.”

“No. Please… stop calling me,”

You hope he doesn’t hear the choked sob that leaves your lips as you hang up.

.°. ݁₊ . ݁ ⁺₊

You ignore him for two weeks pretty well, pretending to be gone or asleep every time he rings the doorbell, tossing out his sad attempts at cookies (even if you feel like crying knowing he can’t make cookies or bake for shit and is doing it just for you), letting the flowers he placed die on your stoop.

The first time you hear about him again — he hadn’t left messages in a few days — is actually at work.

A younger man, about your age, boyishly cute and nothing like who you wanted, comes in and smiles at you.

“Hey, do you have any like… special drinks?” He’s stuttering. “My friend—boss?— recommended this place, said you had lattes I might like.”

The gears turn a little.

(There’s someone on my team who would drink it.

I want you to try it, Aaron.

I don’t do sugar in my coffee, __. But he does, I swear it’s more sugar than coffee sometimes. I’ll let him know the name of your café.

Should I be expecting him?

Yeah, maybe. His name’s Spencer. He’s a good kid.)

“Boss?”

“Yeah! We work together, but we’re also friends, but he could fire me, so I never know how to introduce him.”

You giggle slightly. “Um, well, we have a seasonal drink.”

You rattle off the options and ingredients, and when he finally decides on his order, he blinks at you a few times.

“You know, your name is familiar. __.” He’s trying to place it.

With a smile, you glance at him. “What’d you say yours was? For the order.”

“Spencer.”

Bingo.

You write it on the cup and look to see if there’s a line. There isn’t. You hand the cup to the other barista working with the order ticket.

“Where’d you say you worked, Spencer?”

“I didn’t. But I work at the FBI in the BAU—that’s the behavioral analysis unit. We do something called profiling to catch unsubs, unknown subjects, who commit a variety of different crimes.”

You nod.

Profiler.

You’d think someone who knows the human condition and behavior so well would know not to leave a girl without a goodbye when you slept together the night before.

“Your boss, his name Aaron?”

“Hotch.” Spencer supplies automatically before his ears catch up. “Wait, yeah. Aaron Hotchner. You know him?”

You smile tightly, not sure what he’s shared with his team. With the BAU. “We’re neighbors.”

Spencer grins. “You should come in and surprise him! He’s been bothered by something lately, but he won’t tell any of us why. Maybe he’ll tell you.”

You tense. “You all sound like a nosy bunch, Spencer,” you hope your voice comes across light and playful enough. You thank your coworker for his coffee and say “I’m also on shift. Here’s your coffee. Have a good day.”

He smiles and says “you too!” and turns around. He almost bumps into someone immediately and you hear a rush of apologies as he looks at his watch and hurries out of the café.

You sigh.

All day, what Spencer said runs through your mind. Had he really been struggling? He had to be, assuming Spencer didn’t know you… and if Aaron is as private as you think he is, Spencer definitely doesn’t know you.

When you get home, Aaron is waiting on your doorstep, and it takes everything in you to not turn around and get right back in your car, drive somewhere for dinner.

“__,” his voice is pleading, broken and soft.

“Aaron, please,” you sigh. “I’m tired of the excuses.”

“I know. I know. Let’s talk. Actually.”

You huff.

“... I’ll talk. You listen. I’m the one who has apologizing to do,”

“First right thing you’ve said in a while,” you mumble bitterly, brushing past him to unlock your door. “Come on.”

He follows you slowly, and one glance at his face fills you with guilt. He looks like a kicked puppy.

Damn him and his pretty brown eyes.

You settle on the couch with wine. “Go on,”

Aaron swallows. “I… got a call. A work call. At three. After we slept together, I needed to run to grab all my things, get new clothes…

It was a brutal case. The… the guy — we caught him — was killing girls who looked like you. And, selfishly, I thought, maybe if I just ignored you I wouldn’t be worried. And that you’d be okay, that it didn’t matter to you like it mattered to me.

But I kept seeing him kill you in my nightmares, and I knew I needed to focus on work before he killed another innocent woman. That if I called you, I’d break down and be a burden on the team and the case.

And I know that’s not good enough, I should’ve left a message or called anyway.

I do like you. And your age is part of me not calling, I just don’t know if it’s right. For me to want you.”

He pauses and stares into your eyes before looking to the ground. “I don’t care if it’s right anymore. I do want you. When I close my eyes before bed, I see your smile, I think of you, and I just,” he digs his nails into his thighs, exhales heavily. “I want you so fucking bad,”

You swallow. “Care to show me?”

“Not tonight.” Aaron sighs. “I don’t want… I don’t want it to seem like I just want your body.”

“Even if I say it’s okay?”

“Even then,” he leans over and kisses you.

Sweetly. Romantic, even.

“Let me make it up to you. What do you say about dinner tomorrow?” He rubs his thumb over your cheek. “Let me show you that I want you,”

“Sounds good, Hotchner.”

His brows shoot up. “How do you know my last name?”

“Well, I met this guy,” you say teasingly. “His name’s Spencer. Ring a bell?”

Aaron curses. “Did he say anything?”

“Just that you seemed down. He didn’t know anything, I just said you were my neighbor. Why, did you miss me? That why you were so miserable?”

“Yeah.” It’s the most confident he’s sounded all night. “Going forward…” he pauses. “Just slap me if I’m being an ass. I thought I was going crazy not being able to see you.”

#my works #mdni #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst

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enkvyu · 9 months

Text

8:12am — gojo satoru ;

your sneeze cuts off your sentence and you sigh, apologising into the phone. “sorry, i really don’t think i can carry out the mission.”

you can imagine yaga rubbing his temples on the other side of the line. “just worry about getting better. we can always have someone else fill your absence.”

“thanks, yaga. i’m really sorry for this.”

“don’t worry about it. take care.”

you end the call and sniffle, shoving your hand and phone deep into your pockets to try and conserve heat. the sniffle does little to clear your nose so you do it again, inhaling harder. by the end of it, your airways are no clearer than before.

a doorbell interrupts your suffering and you need to clamp your mouth shut to stop from groaning. dragging your feet behind you, you painfully walk over to your door. when you peer through the peephole, you’re met with a bright blue eyeball peeking through lifted black fabric.

“what the fuck.” you pull open the door. “gojo?”

your colleague stands on the other side, adorned in his typical work uniform with a white bag of something hanging off his arm. “you took so long to open the door i thought you might have died!”

“don’t sound too upset.” you roll your eyes.

gojo pauses and leans in, causing you to take a step back. his face falls into something you’ll call the equivalent to serious considering that you were talking about gojo, and he tilts his head to study you further. “is that a new makeup look? can’t say it flatters your features.”

you growl and it sounds sickly. “i’m not! i’m—” you shake your head as a migraine threatens your sanity. “doesn’t matter, what are you here for?”

“we work together! do i need a reason to come over and hang out?”

“at eight in the morning? yeah, you kind of do.”

“it almost sounds like you don’t want me here.”

“what gave it away?” you say, drily. of course, either gojo doesn’t get the nuance behind your words or he finds pleasure in testing you because he keeps bothering you with his presence.

“my feelings are hurt.” he sulks.

"i don't give a fuck about your feelings."

gojo's eyebrows shoot up. "wow, are you mad at me?"

you shake your head, sighing. “no, i'm not."

"right? after all, i haven't even done anything."

when he doesn't elaborate and the conversation dies, you ask, "was that everything?"

“why do you want me gone so fast? are you hiding something in there?”

you open your mouth to retort when a pulsing pain in your head cuts you off; the migraine was here. you groan, rubbing your temple as gojo’s voice zones in and out. “listen gojo, i am way too sick to banter with you right now. if it’s nothing important, can you talk to me another day?”

“you’re sick? how bad?”

you try to give him patience. “bad.”

gojo hums thoughtfully. “well it’s lucky for you that i’m super great at taking care of sick people.”

you stare at him. “you? really?”

“yeah! i’m incredible at it.”

you level with him a stare before slowly closing the door, intending to shut him out. his foot comes in a blur, holding it in place and you huff.

“you don’t believe me?” he says, looking the part of a wounded animal.

“if i say i do, will you leave me alone?”

gojo tuts, shaking his head. “this won’t do, we can’t have you believe in a false truth. i’m crazy good at taking care of people, i’ll prove it to you now!”

“no, that’s okay gojo, i don’t need your help— and you’re already inside. great.” the door closes behind you with a soft click as you stumble to your living room. “just stay out of the way, okay? and for god’s sake, keep quiet.”

"it'll be like i'm not even here. i promise."

"i don't believe in your promises." you grumble, stomping over to the bathroom. you notice, notice very clearly in fact, that the tall white-haired man follows after you. you stop at the entrance, looking back at him. "are you seriously following me to the bathroom?”

"i was going to stand guard outside!"

"i don't need you to. all i need is for you to leave." you hiss, entering the bathroom and slamming the door in his face. when you come out, he's still standing there, guarding.

you scrunch your nose up at him but leave anyway. he wasn't worth it, you remind yourself.

you make it to your next destination safely, thanks to your new and improved guard dog. checking out the fridge in your kitchen, you realise there was nothing to pop in the microwave and eat whilst wallowing in self-pity.

you do the next best thing and place a pot over your gas stove. bending over, you turn the small knob and watch as the blue flame arises. you let go of the knob, and the flame dies.

this was not something you needed right now but the emptiness of your stomach is all too prominent. so you try again, bending over and rotating the knob over the small fire symbol and watching as the stove flares up. carefully, you release the knob. the flame dies again.

“you okay?”

you grit your teeth into a smile. “yes, gojo. i think i might be better if you could stop looking over my shoulder.”

“the stove does not like you.” he ignores, side stepping to try himself. and because he’s so irritatingly perfect in every way, the blue flame rises and stays when he lets go.

gojo turns to you with a bright smile.

you sniffle and nod. “thank you.”

“what are you making?”

rummaging through your pantry, you remove a packet of instant noodles. the bright red icon on the packaging causes gojo to raise his eyebrow.

“super spicy?”

“i can’t feel anything in my nose right now. i’m thinking of flushing it out with something else.” you go to fill the pot with water but he stops you. “what?”

“you’re sick, you shouldn’t be eating something like that.”

“do you have a better idea?” you ask. “this is all i have in the house right now.”

gojo grins. he lets the white bag he was still holding onto slip down from his arm to his hand and he opens the two handles with enthusiasm. because it was so contagious, you can’t help but feel excited, peering into the bag.

you blanch. “is that medicine, creamed corn and one single egg?”

“yes!”

“that isn’t a meal either, gojo.” you think again, flickering your gaze up to his eyes. “but that’s sweet, thank you. i’ll take the pills after.”

you start to move around but he stops you with his arm. “didn’t i say i was here to take care of you? i’ve got this, just go over and relax on the couch.”

“the last thing i’ll be doing is relaxing if you’re in the kitchen.” your migraine disagrees so you eventually nod, shuffling away. casting one last glance, you point at him. “don’t start a fire.”

he gives you a cheerful wave and you stumble to your couch. you fall into its cushions and exhale, deeply.

time passes in a blur as your illness takes a hold of you, digging its finger into your brain and shaking it, displacing your cerebral spinal fluid. with your face deep within a pillow, you almost miss the scent of smoke.

almost.

you spring yourself up on your arms and dart back into the kitchen, almost running into a wall. coughing, you fan away a puff of smoke as you enter, finding the culprit wishing a tune and stirring something in a pot.

"gojo?" you choke.

gojo spins around and you find that he'd somehow pulled out the "kiss the chef" pink apron shoko gifted you on your birthday which you had immediately hid. it fits him terribly, straining to cover his torso. "you're up! why are you up?"

you cough again, stepping closer. "can't you see past that blindfold? you're starting a fire! i'm surpised my smoke alarm hasn't gone off!"

you reach over and turn the exhaust fan on, something he hadn't even done, and squint through the fog to look at what he was making.

"what is that?"

"it's soup! i heard soup is good for you when you're sick."

you look between the lump of black coal in the pot and gojo's smiling face. "soup has water in it."

"i know, i added that! it just all disappeared." gojo stirs the pot, and you're no longer sure what exactly, he was stirring. "i even added the pills you wanted to take so it'll be easier."

you wordlessly reach down and turn off the gas stove.

he lets you. "thanks, i was just about to plate this."

gojo begins manoeuvring your kitchen with a familiarity you weren't sure how he obtained. he opens the overhead pantry and takes out a bowl, pulls out the utensils from its respective drawer, and uses your favourite spatula to transfer the black lump of something.

he places the bowl in front of you. "here you go."

you stare at it for so long, you start seeing black. eventually, you begin registering the item. "wait a minute, is this a cursed object? did you infuse your cursed energy into this?"

gojo has that stupid grin on his face, the one that he uses when he knows he's in the right. "it is! this should make you better in no time. i used to give this to megumi all the time when he was sick."

"but it looks so..."

gojo digs through his pockets, pulling something out and hiding it in his fist. he holds it out to you. "if you're good and eat it, i'll give you this."

"what is it?"

"it's a secret." gojo says. "c'mon, be a good girl and take your medicine."

you huff, pulling your gaze away from his hand and towards the black lump. it looks edible, maybe if you squint at it, and it didn't seem all too big. you could probably get it down in two big bites. so with the determination of a seasoned warrior, you square your shoulders and break off a chunk, throwing it into your mouth.

your face immediately scrunches up as the taste hits you.

gojo coos at you from the side. "you're almost done."

you glare at him through tears, gulping the substance down when you're able to, and stuff the remaining bit into your mouth.

when it's travelling down your oesophagus, you thrust the bowl back into gojo's hands. "you better give me that thing in your hand."

gojo places his fist in your hands and opens it. a single candy stares up at you. "it's strawberry flavour, your favourite."

you murmur curses at him under your breath, something about him treating you like a child, but take the candy anyway. when you pop it in your mouth, the sweetness is almost enough to make you forget the taste of the cursed object. gojo's sweet smile fills in those absences as he gestures you to follow him.

perhaps the cursed object gets to you, or gojo’s presence has wormed its way into being comforting because you find yourself following.

"where are we going?" you ask as he leads you around your own home.

"to bed. the medicine will only work if your parasympathetic nervous system is working and considering who you are, you'll never know true relaxation if you're awake."

"hey." you sniffle indignantly. "i know how to have fun and experience leisure."

he hums but doesn't answer, leading you into your room. thinking that a nap would indeed do you good, you start to pull off the shirt you were wearing and wriggle out of your pants. perhaps the sickness had done more to you than you realised, because you forget gojo's presence, whipping your head to find him still standing at your door, his back to you.

"i didn't see anything." he says, immediately.

you grumble, throwing yourself into your bed and sliding under the covers. only then does gojo turn to you.

"you're really docile when you're sick."

"i'll put my foot in your mouth."

gojo laughs, turning around to head out when you call his name.

"are you leaving?"

he smiles, peering over his shoulder. "miss me already? i'll be back, i promise."

"i don't believe in your promises." you say again, but let him go, sleep taking over you. you slip in and out of consciousness as the fever reaches its peak, time slipping away from your knowledge.

every now and then, you hear footsteps, and the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. one time, you open your eyes and find gojo standing over you, a towel in his hands. "good morning."

you mumble out something that even you couldn't understand, and slip into another fever-induced sleep.

the next time you open your eyes, you're relatively more lucid. you sit up slightly and something wet falls off your forehead. you catch the towel in your hands.

gojo looks up from his spot in your chair, placed beside your bed. "you're up again. here, hand me that."

you wordlessly pass it over to him and he replenishes it in the basin he'd placed on your bedside table. you say without thinking, "maybe you really are good at taking care of sick people."

gojo grins, lightly pushing you to lay down again. "i told you so. you're alot less of a handful than megumi was."

the warmth of the towel soothes you and you close your eyes against the sensation. you hear gojo flicking through a book in his hands, and the sound of paper against fingers lolls you into another comfortable slumber. a nagging thought tickles the back of your mind and with effort, you peer up at him.

when you mumble something incoherent, gojo looks over at you. “what?”

“i said.” you lick your lips and try again. “what did you come here for? you never told me.”

he gives you a slight smile and reaches over, adjusting the towel. “you said you were sick. i wanted to check up on you.”

“but—”

“you can’t fall asleep if you keep talking.” he reprimands. “shall i sing you a lullaby so you can sleep quicker? megumi never lets me.”

even before you can reply, he starts beatboxing and you realised in your sick state that it was the intro to twinkle twinkle little star.

regardless, having gotten an answer, you close your eyes again and let the sleep drag you under. vaguely, you realise gojo must have arrived at your apartment immediately after you had informed yaga that you were sick, stopping only to grab the ingredients to his cursed object cure. you'd have to thank him when you wake up, if you remember.

with a soft exhale, you slip away, gojo's rendition of twinkle twinkle little star your escort.

guess who is sick. guess who is sick studying anatomy. guess who is sick studying anatomy and with a gas stove that is out to get her. the answer may shock you!

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo imagine #gojo drabble #fushiguro megumi #gojo satoru x you #ieiri shoko

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kiss-me-cill-me · 4 months

Text

Predator

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: You are obsessed with Jonathan Crane. And tonight, you're finally going to show him just how much you love him - even if he might not remember the encounter. But when things don't go according to plan, you are the one forced to deal with the consequences. Not that you're complaining...

Warnings: DUB-CON smut (the con is extremely dub on both sides here, folks), mentions of non-con, stalking, yandere!reader, loss of control, mind games, needles, mentions of drugs, mentions of sex work, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, degradation, praise, name-calling, multiple orgasms

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Your heels tap against the tile, clicking like a raptor’s talons, as you make your way across the hotel lobby. You smile, leaning over the counter to talk to the concierge, and try to look a little embarrassed.

“I'm so sorry to bother you,” you say. The hotel clerk is staring, not quite subtly, at your breasts, which is exactly where you want him to look. “But I seem to have lost my room key. May I have another one?”

The clerk collects himself; puts on his business voice as his fingers poise above his keyboard.

“Of course,” he replies. “Name on the reservation?”

“Crane. Jonathan.”

The clerk types rapidly for a moment, and then looks back at you.

“I'm sorry, miss, but I'm only showing one person on this reservation. You're not, ah…”

“Mmm.” You smile. “My boyfriend is here on a business trip. Speaking at the big conference in town. I'm not… exactly supposed to be here with him. I'm sure he wouldn't have told his work I'd be staying with him.”

Your voice drops just a bit lower, hinting at conspiracy. You consider winking, but decide against it. No need to oversell things.

“Boyfriend. Is that right?” the hotel clerk drawls. He looks you up and down briefly.

Rage flashes white hot behind your eyes, there and gone too fast for him to notice. This man assumes that you're some kind of prostitute. You can see it on his face, and it angers you. You're infuriated that he doesn't believe what you’ve told him. Though of course, it's not as if you're telling the truth.

“That's right,” you agree, pleasantly. “And I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush. I'm dying to get out of this dress.”

You only have to act a little. The tight black dress you're wearing really is uncomfortable, but to play the part you have to dress the part. And besides, you want to look your best tonight.

The image of you undressing seems to be enough to convince the man, who turns back to his computer and starts typing again. You're not proud of throwing yourself around like this. Honestly, you would prefer it if no one but Crane got to enjoy you tonight - even if having him actually see you would throw a wrench into your plans. But you have to do what it takes to get your prize, and you're not above using the tactics that work.

“Could you just confirm the room number for me?” asks the hotel clerk, in a last-ditch effort to preserve some of his professionalism.

“Three-oh-three,” you say with a smile.

The clerk hands over a key card.

“Have a nice night,” he tells you.

You thank him. Snatch the card and walk away, toward the elevators that are waiting like steel traps at the other end of the lobby. That was easier than it should have been. You tuck the card safely into your purse, next to the little syringe and the three condoms. Traveling light tonight. The doors open as you reach the first elevator, as if they were waiting for you.

You smile.

You feel your heart beating heavy in your chest when the elevator doors finally open on your floor. Well, not your floor, really, but Crane’s floor. You've invited yourself, but that doesn't make what's about to happen tonight any less special.

Before you know it, you're standing in front of his door, the numbers above the peephole staring back at you as you pause for a moment. You're almost lightheaded, just from being here, so close to fulfilling the dream you've had for months.

Jonathan Crane. A genius. A visionary. And the man at the center of your every fantasy. For too long, you've watched him from afar - at first not daring to let yourself dream of having him, but then, slowly, realizing that you have no life without him. That he is the center of your universe, and that your purpose is to trail after him like a desperate satellite. Once you knew that, it became impossible not to be with him. Unbearable to bear spending every day on his periphery when all you wanted was him, him, him.

You steady yourself. Close your eyes for a few seconds just to savor it. Just being here. Then, you take the card out of your purse and swipe it, quickly tucking it back away before you open the door. The handle turns easily - why wouldn’t it, after all? You are, clearly, meant to be here - despite the fact that you are most certainly not supposed to be here. You step into the room, letting the door close behind you, and take another moment to bask.

“You know, I’d really prefer if you’d knock,” says a voice, suddenly coming from inside the room.

From where you’re standing you can’t see much, but you freeze, instantly. You’re stuck in that strange little hallway that seems to be at the entrance of every hotel room, with just a few coat hangers and a full-length mirror for company. And you can’t move because that’s his voice coming from around the corner. You would recognize it anywhere.

As you stand frozen, two things occur to you. One: it’s strange that Crane sounds like he’s expecting someone. And two: it’s even stranger that he’s here. His schedule says he’s at one of the conference’s dinners right now. You were supposed to have time to prepare. This is not going according to plan.

“I told you,” says a slightly annoyed Crane, his voice getting closer, “that I’d have your money tomorrow. So if you could just-”

His words cut off as he sees you, clearly not whoever he was expecting, and your heart skips at least three beats as you finally come face to face with him.

“Who are you?” he asks, reasonably.

“O-oh, I’m… terribly sorry,” you reply. Your heart is now hammering at a million miles a minute, making up for lost time. You feel yourself fumbling for words, but manage to wrestle control of your tongue. “I must have the wrong room.”

Crane rakes his eyes over you suspiciously. You can see from the tilt of his head that he doesn’t buy it, and now he’s sizing you up as a threat. You let yourself swoon for just a moment. He’s so intelligent. This is exactly why you’d planned to lie in wait for him; you could never outsmart him and you very likely also couldn’t best him in a fight. Not that you’d ever want it to come to that, but if it did… Well, you doubt you’d be able to keep your mind on self preservation for very long once he got his hands on you.

“How did you get in here?” he presses.

“This is the room they gave me,” you explain. “There must have been some kind of mixup at the front desk.”

It's a slightly different story than the first, but hopefully a more believable one. You open your purse; reach in to pull out the key card and show him. Or maybe you'll go for the syringe. But before your fingers can wrap around anything, Crane snatches your purse and turns swiftly on his heel.

“Hey!”

You follow after him as he strides to the large bed, and dumps out the purse’s contents. The syringe, the condoms, and a few errant bobby pins spill out across the duvet. The key card falls to the floor.

“It’s rude to go through a woman’s purse, you know!”

Your anger flares in his direction before you can control yourself. You bite your tongue, horrified that you've snapped at him.

“I'd say it's pretty clear that the rules of civility don't apply to you,” Crane retorts, as he reaches for the syringe. “Just what exactly were you planning to do with this?”

“That's… personal?” you mumble.

“Try again.”

God, he's so sexy. How are you supposed to concentrate on getting out of this when his voice is all graveley and dark like that, and he's staring at you with those eyes that look like they could pierce through skin and bone, and-

“Well?”

Crane is growing impatient. You scrabble together your thoughts and open your mouth to speak, plan still only half formed.

“Ah, I mean, that's my medication,” you explain. “It's for… migraines.”

“Hm, really?” Crane replies. “Then you wouldn't mind if I administered it to you.”

“No!” you say, a bit too sharply.

He's already removed the cap from the needle, and has taken a few steps toward you when your voice rings out. He stops in his tracks, and you swear you can hear your heartbeat thunder around the room. A tense moment of silence passes, before Crane finally speaks again.

“So, this isn't your migraine medication,” he states. “And you're a strange woman who's just shown up in my hotel room, with a purse full of drugs and condoms. I'm calling security.”

Crane calmly walks to the bedside table, stabs the syringe into its wooden surface, and picks up the phone out of its cradle. Your heart rate spikes as he starts to dial.

“Dr. Crane, I don't think you should do that,” you warn.

“And why the fuck is that?”

“Because I don't want to have to tell them… who you really are.”

Crane pauses, and cocks his head at you again. You can feel yourself regaining control of the situation. Like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders; it feels good. So good that you can't help but smile at him as he scrunches his eyebrows together and frowns.

“What do you mean by that?” he asks.

The word passes over your lips like a sin, spreading its venom over your tongue as you say it.

“Scarecrow.”

Crane's eyes widen. You feel red heat rise to your cheeks. He wasn't expecting you to have leverage, and the fact that you've managed to surprise him fills you with an immense pride.

“Who are you?” Crane asks softly.

“I'm a fan of your work,” you reply. It might be the first truth you've told all night.

Crane replaces the phone with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair as he looks up at you.

“Okay, who are you working for?” he asks. “Who sent you?”

You shake your head.

“No, no, no, Dr. Crane - I mean it,” you giggle. “I heard you speak at a different conference a few months ago, and I… Well, is it crazy to say that I fell in love?”

Crane fixes you with a glare that says, yes, it most certainly is crazy. You don't even notice as you rattle on - Jonathan Crane is your favorite subject, after all.

“From there, I wanted to learn everything about you,” you continue. “Where you live, where you work, where you shop for groceries. Some of it was easier to figure out than the rest, of course, but once I learned your schedule it became clear to me. You spend a lot of time out of the house late-late at night.”

Crane studies you carefully as you go on your monologue, but you're too wrapped up in it to care.

“So I dug deeper, and guess what I found?” you tease. “Dr. Crane has a secret, and now it's our secret to share. You and me.”

You've closed some of the distance between you, and now Crane is so wonderfully close that you could reach out and brush your fingers against him. You resist, not wanting to scare him away, but look up at him expectantly as you wait for his reaction. You've just laid your heart bare for the first time in forever. He has that effect on you, you guess; it's impossible to deny him anything.

“So you're obsessed with me,” Crane says calmly. “I can't lie; it is kind of flattering.” He smiles. Only for a moment, before his expression turns dark. “But you still haven't told me, what the fuck were you planning to do with this?”

He gestures to the syringe, still sticking up with its needle planted in the bedside table, greenish liquid swirling inside of it. You lower your eyes, suddenly bashful. It feels so utterly silly now; you feel like you've actually started to build up a rapport with him, and you don't want to risk harming Crane’s perception of you. Still, knowing him, it will be worse for you if you don't tell the truth upfront, so you're honest yet again.

“It's a blend of a few things,” you admit. “An aphrodisiac, a relaxant, a very mild sedative. I was planning to use it on you so I could…”

“Rape me?” Crane supplies.

“Don't say it like that!” you beg. It sounds so ugly when he says it that way. “I just wanted to show you my love. I wanted to share it with you. That's not a bad thing, is it?”

You take another step toward him, desperate to show him what you mean. If only he'd let you show him. It would be so good for both of you. As you get closer, Crane backs up until he's sitting on the bed, then leaning back into the mattress. You lean down, trying not to hover over him too much, your fingers barely ghosting the sheets as you plant your arms on either side of his body.

“Please,” you whisper. Crane doesn't look afraid, but he is eyeing you carefully. “Please just let me show you?”

Crane considers the situation for a moment. You wait with bated breath, not daring to let yourself imagine what will happen if he says yes. The room spins as you forget to take in enough oxygen, and you feel yourself dip an inch closer to him.

“If I let you live out your twisted fantasy,” he begins, slowly. “You won't tell anyone about what you said earlier?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” you promise, your smile immediately brightening at his words.

Crane nods, just once. Curtly.

“Fine then,” he says. Your heart explodes in your chest. “But you’re not using that syringe on me. And you're going to do all the work.”

As he's talking, he's already shrugging out of his shirt. You practically drool at the sight of his bare chest; struck with the irresistible urge to drag your fingers over it. You feel yourself smiling wildly. This is so much better than you'd ever imagined it. Your beloved is actually a willing participant! Why had you ever been prepared to settle for anything less?

Crane slowly unbuckles his belt, and then looks at you expectantly. Your fingers feel almost removed from your body as you reach out to pop the button on his pants. None of this feels real; you must be in a dream. You hope he doesn’t notice how much you’re shaking. It wouldn’t do to have him get any ideas about wrestling his way out of this.

“Let’s go through your little plan together,” says Crane, as you tug down his zipper and start to pull on his waistband. “You were going to drug me, knock me out - and then what?”

The only thing separating you from your prize now is the thin cotton of his boxer-briefs. Beneath, you can tell that he’s already half hard. The realization sends a throbbing ache between your legs. The musky scent of his arousal - or maybe it’s yours - starts to seep into the room, and you lick your lips to get a taste of it like a snake.

“Was gonna get you ready for me,” you answer, already slipping into a haze of fantasy.

“How?” Crane asks.

“With my mouth…”

Maybe it’s your imagination, but you swear you see his cock twitch at your words. The air catches in your throat again, and you have to force yourself to take deep breaths through your nose.

“Go on, then,” Crane prods. “Show me.”

He’s sitting up slouched on the bed, arms bent just a little so he can look down at you as you bring yourself to eye level with his cock. He is definitely getting hard; you don’t even have to do anything to him, honestly. But you want to, and even more important than that - Dr. Crane is telling you to. You can’t deny him.

You pull down the thin fabric, and watch as he springs free. His cock is beautiful - just like you’d imagined it would be. There’s already a bead of precum on the tip, just begging to be licked off. You wrap your lips around him eagerly and worship the head of his cock, tasting the salty tang of him as you kiss it. Lovingly. Gently. That’s what you want to be for him as you part your lips and take him deeper, moaning around his length.

Crane has other ideas.

He ruts up into your mouth, letting out an absolutely sinful groan as he does it. The sound has you clenching your thighs for dear life as a wave of arousal and pressure runs through you. You want to touch yourself desperately, but know you need to hold on. There’s no way you’re going to waste the energy to get off on your own fingers tonight.

“Sorry,” Crane says. “Forgot I was supposed to be unconscious.”

You can’t reply with his cock in your mouth, but the biting sarcasm in his voice makes you feel things that are probably best left unsaid. Thank goodness you abandoned your morality a long time ago.

In direct contradiction to what he’s just said, Crane tangles a hand in your hair and starts pressing you further down onto his cock. You gag as the tip of your nose touches him, and let out a muffled whine.

“What, too much for you?” Crane laughs. “I thought you wanted to get me ready.”

You try not to whimper as you nod your head. You can feel your mascara starting to run as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and try to blink them back in. Once you’re composed enough to refocus, you start to swirl your tongue against him. Crane’s grip on the back of your head tightens, and you feel a sense of pride swell in you, pressing down the panic. This is exactly what you wanted - to make him feel good. To show him your devotion. You bob your head, pushing past the point of your own comfort to take him as deep as you can.

He lets your throat clench around him for a few minutes before he abruptly pulls you off. Your mouth makes a wet pop as it sucks around nothing, and you look up at your beloved with something that borders on sadness and lust.

“What next?” he demands. “I know you didn’t just come here to suck me off like a cheap whore.”

You stand up and try to collect yourself. Wipe the spit that’s pooled at the base of your chin. Organize your thoughts into some semblance of an intelligible response.

“Want to… to feel you inside me,” you pant.

“Of course you do,” Crane says. He has something in his hand, and he holds it up to show you. The condoms. “You even came prepared. But, let’s not pretend for even a second that you were actually going to use these.”

He throws the roll of condoms behind him, and they disappear somewhere over the side of the bed. Your mouth is hanging open in shock, and Crane smirks at your disbelief.

“It’s not fun if there’s not a little risk, right?” he says. “Don’t tell me that’s not why you came here in the first place - to get off on the thrill of doing something dangerous.”

“I… I came here for you,” you insist.

Though it is getting harder and harder to think straight as Crane slips himself fully out of his lingering clothes. When he’s done with that, he moves on to reaching up and grabbing at the zipper on your dress. He pauses with his hands at the back of your neck.

“And what drew you to me in the first place?” he presses. “You know I’m a dangerous man. You know my deepest, darkest secret. But instead of scaring you away, it only pushes you closer. You can’t resist the fear that you feel at the thought of being near me. Wanna know something? I think, deep down, you wanted to get caught.”

Your head is already spinning too much to comprehend what he’s saying. All you know is that his voice has dropped several octaves and it’s making you incredibly, almost painfully, wet. Your eyes roll back in your head as Crane tugs at your zipper and helps you slip out of your dress. Your bra and panties are black lace, and Crane seems to admire them for a moment before unclasping the hooks and pulling off your bra.

“You’re pretty fucking twisted, but you do have a nice rack,” he comments. “I’ll let you take care of the rest.”

With shaking fingers, you slide the lacy waistband over your hips, relishing the soft scratch of fabric as it moves down your thighs. Once they’re pooled on the floor, you step delicately out of your panties, and look down at Crane, still sitting on the bed in front of you.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he says. “I warned you that you’d have to do all the work.”

You straddle him, moving a bit too fast in your eagerness. You’re getting clumsy, but you don’t care. Planting your hands on his shoulders, you feel the way he glides into you as you lower yourself. So insanely good. The stretch as his cock is buried inside of you makes you see stars. You gasp, and then moan as your hips reach his.

“Feels better this way, right?” Crane teases. “A little risk always makes freaks like you cum faster.”

“Mmhmm,” you agree, barely listening to what he’s saying.

“Go ahead and get yourself off,” Crane says. It almost sounds like a challenge. “Use me like a glorified dildo, just like you wanted.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you start moving, bouncing up and down on his cock as you chase your high. Crane stays still, letting you do all the work just like he said he would. You grind into him, desperate for friction against your clit, and wish more than anything that he’d reach up and play with your nipples. It’s a lewd thought, but you’re so far gone that you don’t care anymore, and eventually you move your hands to pinch them yourself.

The air in the room is getting hotter; thick with sex and filled with moans as you get closer and closer to your release. Crane stares at you, somehow managing to keep a straight face while he watches you fuck yourself on his dick. You press yourself close as you can as you grind down again.

“Gonna come!” you whine.

And then you do; waves of pleasure crashing over you as the coil in your stomach finally lets go. Your legs shake, both your eyes squeeze shut, and you have to hold onto Crane’s shoulders to keep from falling right off the bed as you gush onto him.

You’re panting with exertion as you come down from the high. Brain still foggy from the rush of endorphins and the elation of finally fulfilling your fantasy. And the best part is knowing that Crane got to feel all of it. The way you clenched around him; the way you screamed, shameless, as your love for him coated his cock. Getting to share the moment like this was better than you’d ever dared to dream of.

“Good girl,” Crane says. “Now do it again.”

Your eyes shoot open in disbelief. Crane looks up at you, smirking.

“You heard me,” he growls. “You’re not done yet. I want to see you play with yourself.”

The only reply you can formulate is a moan, but Crane pays no mind to it as he grabs one of your sweaty hands and shoves it between your legs.

“No moving, now,” he warns you. “Use your fingers and that’s it. My cock stays in you, but you don’t get to use it.”

It’s so hard not to swirl your hips, even just a little. You want so badly to feel that pressure of him, moving against your walls. Even staying still, he fills you up deliciously - but you want more. But, you do as he says and rub your clit, until you’re on the edge of another orgasm.

“I-I’m close,” you whimper.

“That fast?” Crane taunts. “You’re really that desperate for me?”

You nod, biting your lip. You’re so close you can feel the heat rising in your chest. Your fingers press harder; your breathing goes shallow.

“Please fuck me!” you beg.

“Mm-mnn,” Crane refuses. “This is what you wanted, remember? Make yourself come for me.”

His words are all you need to tip past the point of no return. You cry out, almost shocked at the pleasure that rips through you once again, even more intense than the first time.

“Fuck…” you gasp.

You lower your head to Crane’s shoulder, exhausted after two orgasms back to back. Your sweat is slick against his skin, and it’s so good to rest for even a moment. Your whole body is buzzing so intensely, it feels like you could fall apart at any second.

“Think you can do one more for me?”

Crane’s voice is rough, and right in your ear. He’s relentless. Weakly, you shake your head no. You loll off the side of his shoulder, slumping against him as your body gives out.

“I think you can,” Crane insists. “Come on, you brought three condoms - must have had big plans.”

“Can’t…” you say.

It comes out as more of a breath than a word. Every ounce of your energy is gone.

“How disappointing,” Crane sighs. “And you haven’t even made me come once. I guess I’ll have to fix that.”

In the next instant, your back is pressed against the bed. Crane hovers over you, smug grin spreading across his face.

“I know this isn’t part of your plan,” Crane tells you. “You wanted to be the one in control. It scares you more than anything not to be. But honey, it’s time to accept the truth. You weren’t in control from the moment you stepped in this room.”

You feel his cock drag slowly out of you, before slamming back in so hard that the force lifts your hips off the bed. The shock makes you yelp.

“Doesn’t it feel so good to let go? You begged me to fuck you earlier. Really, I’m just giving you what you want.”

“Want… want you to cum in me,” you pant.

Your eyes are heavy, but you open them to look at Crane as you say it. You watch his eyes darken as he looks down at you.

“Just like I thought,” he says. “You wanted it to go like this. Your little cocktail of Ambien and Viagra was just a safety net, pretend, so that you wouldn’t have to admit to yourself just how much the idea of losing control over me turned you on. But something got twisted in that fucked up little head of yours, and now you can only cum if I tell you to. Is that right?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe.

“Good.” Crane smiles darkly. “And now you’re going to come one more time for me. We’re not stopping until you do.”

You can tell that he’s serious, and you can already feel your third orgasm building. He's right, about all of it. He's read you like a book, and laid bare the things that you couldn't even admit to yourself. There's a terrifying intimacy in the way he seems to get inside your head, and maybe that is what you wanted all along.

You don't have long to consider it, though, because Crane is pulling at your wrist and bringing your fingers up to his lips. He sucks on your pointer and middle fingers, taking them into his mouth and swirling his tongue as he looks down at you. You're frozen in his glare, unable to look away despite feeling like you're on the verge of passing out.

When he's done, Crane moves your hand so that it's pressed between the two of you, wet fingers brushing against your clit. You squirm, and Crane smiles again.

“Good girl.”

His thrusts are slower, but more powerful now. Even without moving your fingers, your clit is getting rubbed with each surge of his hips, as he forces your body into the mattress.

“S-so close,” you gasp.

“I know, sweetheart,” Crane rasps in reply. “I can feel you trying to hold it back, but you won't be able to for long. Come on my cock again.”

As he orders, you obey. It really is impossible to deny him. Your chest feels like it's about to collapse as you stop sucking in air, and your mouth hangs open, useless, as you freeze in time for just a moment when the orgasm finally floods through you, dulling all your other senses. When you regain the slightest amount of control over your body, you cry out for him, rut your hips against his, bring your hands up to claw at his shoulders.

“I told you you'd do it,” Crane pants. “Now it's my turn.”

He pumps into you again, the friction against your too-sore clit almost unbearable. But you're so drunk off his cock that you don't care. The pain is pleasure by this point, and you hold tight to him in a desperate attempt to make him finish inside you, just like you wanted.

Crane is so much stronger than you, though, and he tears away just as he reaches his peak. He isn't careful with his aim; painting you and the bed with white lust as he empties messily, all over you. It's in your face; your hair; and splattered across your chest like fresh blood. You bask in the feeling of being marked by him.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Your chest is heaving with each breath. Crane, still on top of you, brushes a hand against your cheek and uses his thumb to collect some of his spent cum. He brings it down to your clit as he slips out of you, pressing against the still-sensitive nub.

“Ah!”

Overstimulated, you arch your back at his touch. His thumb is rough, but the lubrication of his cum on it feels good. He chuckles softly, and moves away.

“Get some rest,” Crane tells you. His eyes gloss over the bedside table, to where the syringe still waits. “You have a very long night ahead of you… I don't think that we've gotten even, yet.”

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan crane #LemmyFics

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sports-on-sundays · 2 months

Text

and I can change / CL16 / Part 2

Summary: dad!Charles x French!ex!reader - Charles would do anything to convince you to forgive him. He'd do anything to revive his family.

Warnings: Again, Y/s/n is 'your son's name'. And again, his age is unspecified- you decide what you think. crying (LOTS of crying), mention of drunkenness, mention of sex, mention of cheating, broken relationships, broken family, censored cussing

Requested?: Yeah! Requested by some sweet souls who read part 1! @barcelonaloverf1life @architect-2015 @emz2092 @cilliansgirl @lunamelona @lightdragonrayne @leclercgirl16

Author's Note: You guys asked for it, so I gave it! I hope you enjoy! Same song as inspiration. Also I'm thinking after this part I'll write a part 3, and then after that maybe a little epilogue, to wrap this up. Tell me what you think. Also, this is the link to part 1 / and the link to part 3

"Y/n, people change.

"And I can change, too."

You lay on your bed, engulfed in the darkness of the room surrounding you. The darkness seems to go deeper than just your surroundings- deeper, and into you.

Over and over the scene plays through your mind. Those words that Charles had uttered. The way he had clutched your hand in both of his, as if it were his only lifeline. In that moment, the desperation his eyes had denoted was incredible.

Charles, why? Why couldn't you let go? You're making it all so much more complicated.

But you know what he would say. Why? Why, Y/n? Because this isn't just about myself. Don't you see the brokenness in our son? Don't you see it?

Guilt washes over you, and then rage.

I shouldn't be the one feeling guilt. He should. He's the one who messed up our family. He's the one who's fault it is!

The way he cried, though.

The desperation.

The thing is that he is feeling guilty. Or at least so it seemed.

But does he really deserve a second chance? Do you?

Your phone rings at 12:00 A.M. On the dot. Charles has always been on the dot. Unless he's drunk, that is.

Why is he calling?

Right when I'm thinking about him, too.

Although this really isn't too surprising, when you consider it. For the past week and a half or so, you've stayed up until roughly 2:00 in the morning, staring at the ceiling, thinking, unable to convince yourself into peace and slumber.

And now a call comes.

Charles, why?

It feels terrible as you answer. "Charles. Don't call me."

"Y/n," he says in a calm voice. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you snap, trying to keep it down. Your son is sleeping (hopefully) in the next room.

"For reacting so emotionally. I'm sorry. For years this has weighed on me, but crying and begging won't get us anywhere."

"We're not going anywhere, whether you cry and beg or not." You hang up.

A month after that call where you rejected Charles for what you hoped would be the last time, there's a knock on the door on a Saturday. You walk to it, and freeze when you look through the peephole.

Why is Charles Leclerc here?

Anxiety hits you. The house is a mess, you've got no food to give him, you look like a mess in your pajamas and unbrushed hair-

How can he just show up at your door like this?

It's obnoxious.

You honestly are about to pretend you aren't home, but then Y/s/n suddenly runs in, squealing, "Mama, who is it?! Is it the mailman?"

You sigh at your son's strange fascination for the mailman. You're not completely sure why he enjoys the young, dry, monotone mailman, and for years just assumed because he was generally a nice bloke, and little kids are weird, until you realized with an ounce of dread that the mailman resembles Charles, in a way. After that, you've never encouraged his enthusiasm for the mailman, just in case that was the reason, whether conscious or not.

"No, no," you sigh, unlocking the door. "It's not the mailman, love."

"Who is it, Mama?"

As you swing the door open, you murmur, "Well, love, none other but your father."

"Daddy!" the little boy, still in his Lightning McQueen pajamas, squeals, running to hug his father. You glance away, staring at the floor.

Charles hugs your son, kissing him, and exclaims, "Aw, there's my little buddy! How are you, man?"

"I'm good, Daddy! Are you coming to live here now, Daddy?!"

"Ugh- Not quite..." He picks up your son, and looks to you, immediately saying, "Sorry it's such short notice."

You grit your teeth, murmuring, "You mean no notice?"

"Right," he nods with a quick exhale.

While the presence of your son is a burden for you, preventing you from showing your true feelings, it may be an advantage for Charles, to get across what he needs to get across. Whatever that may be.

Because this is all just a game. Everyone with their own different motives. Y/s/n wants Mama and Daddy to love each other because he wants one place to live. Charles' motives are unknown, but probably are just manipulative and selfish- about making himself feel better. And your motive? You don't want to relive the past, so will avoid Charles at all costs.

Charles' and Y/s/n's motives align more with each other than your's.

You look at your son. Who you love so much. He looks at you with hope. Charles looks at you with... a very similar expression.

These two.

How can you love one and hate the other?

They're both family, as much as you hate to admit it. Because one of them, you wish you could erase.

No. But you don't. Because if you'd never met Charles, Y/s/n would never have been born. And you can't even begin to imagine your life without him.

You hold the door open, and gesture to the couch. "Sit down, Charles. I'm going to get dressed, and then put the kettle on." You say all this through gritted teeth.

How can he just walk in as if he owns the place?

He nods. "Thank you, Y/n." You watch in the doorway to the hall as Charles sits down on the couch with his son on his lap. You watch as he says softly, picking up a toy car from off the rug, "This car is awesome, Y/s/n. Where'd you get it?"

"Mama got it for me! For my birthday!" Y/s/n takes it from his father's hand with much pride, and starts driving it across Charles' chest, up onto his neck, and eventually onto his cheeks. The whole time, Charles laughs, his hand on his son's back to keep him from tipping off his lap.

"That's a super cool car. Does it have a name?"

"Uhhh," Y/s/n frowns. "Zoom! Because he goes zooooom!"

"Oh, it's a he?"

"Of course," Y/s/n says, as if this fact should be obvious. Then he giggles, "Because girls smell."

"They smell?! No way. Girls don't smell."

"Yeah, they do," he crosses his arms, frowning at his father. "You don't know any girls. You only know... Uh, Cah-los."

Charles laughs out loud. "The only person I know is 'Cah-los'?"

"Yep! And Uncle Arthur and Uncle Lorenzo, but that's it!" your son claims in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Their conversation continues, but you finally turn to leave and get yourself fixed up. You quickly shower, brush your teeth and hair, put on moisturizing cream, perfume, and deodorant, and put on a beige hoodie, grey sweatpants, and slides, before going to make tea. The whole time, you mind swirls.

Why is he here? Why is he here on a Saturday? Why is he here, without even asking to come? It's so... obnoxious.

You finish making two cups of tea, finding with awe as you make them that you remember exactly the way Charles likes his tea, and you're doing it automatically.

Because I used to do this so much.

You walk back in with the tea and see the two boys sitting on the rug now. Charles is tickling Y/s/n's tummy, and both of them are laughing- Charles with more of a chuckle and Y/s/n with more of a squealing giggle. When Charles sees you, he slowly stops, saying with a little sigh, "Alright, bud. Mama's back with my tea, and I mean to drink it."

"But Daddyyy!"

"Nope!" he grins, standing up, ruffling his son's messy hair. He then walks to you, and you hand him his tea. He lights up when he tastes the tea and looks at you, muttering softly, "My God, you remembered how I like my tea...?"

"Don't jump to sh*t, Charles," you murmur, soft enough for Y/s/n not to hear.

"Right," he sighs, sitting down again on the couch.

You set your tea down, walking to your son. "Alright, love. I want you to go in your room now, okay? Remember the Lego plane you were building? Why don't you work on that? I want to see it once it's finished, okay? And if you need anything, call, okay? Don't come in here. Just call, and one of us will come."

He looks questioningly. "Why, Mama?"

"Me and your father have important things to talk about. And if you don't listen, there will be consequences."

He blinks, pouting.

"I'll turn on your storybook audio for you. Come on." You bring him to his room and get him set up, until you're sure he's completely distracted with the Legos and the storybook. Only then do you come back to the living room and sit down awkwardly next to Charles.

He's still wearing his red windbreaker from when he was outside, and a black scarf hangs loose around his neck. His hair is a bit messed up, but he looks perfect, like always.

Too perfect.

"Let me take your scarf and jacket. And your shoes."

"Right," he says with a swift nod, handing you his scarf, coat, and sleek black boots. You put them by the door, and sit down, viewing the cozy grey sweater adorning his frame. You have a passing thought, considering how much unnecessary money he might have spent on such a garment.

"So?" you ask in a tense voice. "What is this all about, Charles?"

"There are some things we need to work out. You're right- one of the many things I've done wrong to you is always being a f*cking coward. You're right. I didn't say what was on my mind, and I faked it, and I kept quiet, because I didn't want to upset you. But now I see that the only thing I can do now is speak up, be honest, and be a man. You rightfully left me because I wasn't being a proper man. I wasn't being your proper man. I was being a terrible husband and a terrible father. But now we need to uncover what's true- we both have different views, both of which are likely exaggerated or incorrect in different ways."

"I don't care, Charles," you say quickly, flat out trying to ignore his admittance to wrong. Perhaps because you don't want it to be true. Because if he's sorry, that means you have to forgive him.

"So you're telling me you'd rather believe lies, just because it makes you feel better? What kind of thinking is that?"

You hate to admit that he's right. So you say nothing.

There's silence. But then he says, "So tell me what happened."

"You know what happen-"

"Tell me, Y/n." His voice isn't rude, but definitely firm.

You swallow, shaking your head. You don't want to work this out. You want to forget Charles. But clearly, that's impossible. "You were irresponsible. You'd get drunk, never be home, never help me. I'd be all on my own... You... You'd use me for your own pleasure but never show true, selfless love... Then you came home drunk saying stuff about a pretty woman and sex and getting pregnant... So you cheated... And I divorced you because I couldn't take it any more." You can't believe it, but you're trying not to choke up as you whisper, "Charles, what we had seemed perfect. Until you messed it up." Your mouth tastes like poison.

Charles stares down, his eyes swirling with everything but empty, at the same time. "Y/n," he whispers. "I was terrible. You're right. I was never around because I was immature and scared. I didn't understand. To get away from it, I drank and had fun with friends."

Your lip curls. "You're not the victim."

"And I never said I was! I was scared of being a father. I was scared of messing up. I wasn't ready and I let everything happen too quickly. I was a coward and I left you. Even though you divorced me, I was the one who left you. That's what happened. I was stupid. I was a terrible person. It's all my fault."

"Why would you be any different now? There's no way for you to prove that. Before the marriage you were fine. It was when we married that you went downhill. It was like... you couldn't stand me."

He looks torn apart. "I loved you. I... I... I still do. I knew I wasn't being a good husband or father and to forget about it, I drank."

"And why wouldn't you still do it now?!"

"Because I don't. I feel more guilt now than I did then! I feel more responsibility now than I did then! And that was my greatest fear! Responsibility! But now I don't drink excessively! Now I don't avoid reality! Because I need you... Our son needs us. Together. Don't you need me?"

"Not the you I know."

"You don't know me anymore. I'm not the same person I was." His voice is so uncommonly firm, it slightly shocks you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

He goes on, "That night, I didn't cheat. I was intoxicated. A young woman was trying to seduce me, but I refused because I had you. You, my beautiful wife, both inside and out. I wanted to convey to you that I said no because you were my wife. However, I failed to communicate this properly, and the next morning, I had completely forgotten the conversation. I chose not to tell you because I thought it would be better if you didn't know. I was afraid you would be angrier with me for being in that situation. I was a coward, and I didn't want you to be upset with me. I didn't realize for years that you believed I had cheated. If I had known, I would have assured you that I didn't cheat, just like I am doing now, and that I never would. Because I didn't. Despite all the mistakes I made, cheating on you is something I would never, ever do. I have always loved you, and only you, far too much for that."

Your hands tremble in your lap as you stare at him, listening.

Now you're the one getting emotional.

Charles leans in close to you- too close for comfort- and whispers, "I've changed... Please. I just want a second chance... To right my wrongs and give you and our son the lives you deserve. I need to give my all to you... I need to make it up to you... It's... It's crushing me."

"Why do you need a second chance?" Your voice, for once, isn't aggressive. It's gentle. Softer. Your voice cracks as you say, "You should have done it right the first time."

You see him swallow. "And you know what? I didn't. I f*cked up. I f*cked up everything. I f*cked up your life and I know it. I'm sorry. I wish I could go back in time and fix it and make it all better. I was stupid, Y/n. I was terrible. I hurt the most beautiful woman and her baby in the world. I'm the least." He takes your hand again in both his, but this time it's a gentler grasp.

"But you're not. You're famous. You have so many fans."

"Do you know how many times I've thought I don't deserve all this? If only I could share it all with you."

"Charles," your voice cracks again, and an unexpected, terrible longing fills you. "I want to believe you, but I can't. I'm broken, Charles, because of you. I can't afford to let you break me again..."

A tear rolls down your cheeks, and immediately he reaches up with his thumb, gently wiping your cheek, "No, Y/n, please don't cry... I don't want you to cry because of me any longer... Please..."

"Charles, I can't do this..." more tears fall.

There's hurt and confusion, but mostly longing and guilt in his eyes. "Please... If you'd only trust me, then we could make this right. I could make this right, after all I did wrong."

You can hardly believe yourself as you let your broken, silently crying self fall into Charles. You allow yourself to rest your head on his shoulder, and you allow his arms to wrap around you, giving you his warmth. "Charles..."

"Yes...?" There's a painful hope in his voice.

"I don't know if I can do this..." you cry into his shoulder now.

He whispers right in your ear, "Just give me a chance. Let me be there for you... Let me prove to you... Let me..."

You can't give him a yes or a no. Two sides war inside you- the mask and the face. You feel him stroke your hair as you cry, at the same time as remembering stroking his hair when he was drunk and needed comfort.

This is some sort of paradox, isn't it?

"Charles," you murmur, leaning away after you've gained control of yourself. "The answer is 'I don't know' right now, okay... Consider it... better than hating your guts with an adamant 'no.'"

As he gazes into your eyes, he leans closer. Softly, he places a tender kiss on your cheek and whispers, "I'll be ready whenever you are. And I'll never, ever stop waiting for you."

Weeks pass, and Charles can't understand why, after all that happened that day, still you insist on avoiding him like the plague.

Well, the reason is just that- avoidance. You're avoiding Charles because you don't want to face the possible truth. You're avoiding him because you don't want to make big decisions. You don't want to try again. You don't want to...

Well, you don't want to fall in love again.

And on that day, the way he treated you...

It reminded you of the man you married, and not the man you divorced.

And that scares you. Because you'll never forget the man you divorced.

So you're stubborn and resistent, and you're avoiding him.

So you sit, staring at the screen of your cell phone. Rereading the text on it. Over and over.

Charles Leclerc: I'm sorry for such a long text Y/n but you probably won't read it anyway, so what does it matter? I need to talk with you and you're doing exactly what I've done, what I'm apologizing for. For years I avoided this stuff and one of the reasons we split was that i couldn't stand up and address and tell you my problems. I was being a f*cking coward. And I've said sorry more times than I can count. I thought you might be on the road to forgiveness, to giving me a second chance. I know you felt the same way as me when you leaned into me and let me hold you when you cried- there's something more here, and I don't want you to ignore this. Can't we just try this? Please Y/n? I'm finally willing to step up, be a man, work through all this sh*t with you. Talk about it. I'm finally willing to be brave, and as soon as I am, you're doing the same thing you've yelled at me for years for doing- staying silent.

Charles Leclerc: I love you, Y/n, and this is a problem I desperately want to fix, but the truth of the matter is that you're being a f*cking hypocrite.

Me: How does it feel to be in the position you put me in for years?

You feel mean for typing that, and you're not sure how much you mean it. Maybe you meant to be kinder.

But the anger took over and your thumbs did the talking.

Charles leaves that message on read.

You sit in the cold metal chair, surrounded by pudgy, middle-aged parents and their gross kids all around you as a lone young mother sitting by herself. You're only here to see your son, and none of the other aspects of this situation bring you an ounce of joy.

All of a sudden, a shiver runs down your spine as a firm hand gently lands on your shoulder. Your head snaps up, meeting the gaze of Charles Leclerc. A look of disdain crosses your face, causing your heart to ache as you bluntly ask, "Why are you here?"

Charles takes a seat beside you in the vacant chair and casually remarks, "I've come to attend my son's school concert. And you?" A glimmer of amusement dances in his eyes.

Your jaw tightens in pure irritation, and you manage through gritted teeth in a tense, quiet tone, "Why did you choose to sit next to me?"

Charles hesitates, his expression softening, as he makes an effort to hold your gaze. "Well... Because I..." He swallows and says, "I'm not going to give up on you. That's why. So I figured I'd sit down next to you to watch my- our- son's concert. So..." Abruptly, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The veins in his hand are visible as he clasps yours tightly.

Your muscles tense, yet for some reason, you don't pull your hand away.

So throughout the whole school concert, Charles sits, gripping your hand, and seems to refuse to let it go.

And the moment the teacher is done on stage after the little production, thanking people for helping and the kids for doing such a great job and other stuff you don't listen to, Charles turns to you and says, "So, we have some minutes to spare."

Your eyebrows scrunch together. "Come again?"

He chuckles, but it doesn't feel called for. "You weren't listening to her? She said the students can be picked up from their classrooms by their parents in fifteen minutes."

Your jaw clenches again. "Charles, why?"

"Because I know you want it," he says incredibly earnestly. The inside of your heart melts as the outside hardens.

"But I don't think I do."

"But I know you do. Now come on." Your ex-husband stand up, pulling you up with him.

"Where are we going?" you ask. "And please let go of my hand. You've been holding it so long, it's starting to get sweaty."

He clicks his tongue and doesn't respond to either of these, then guides you down various hallways until you reach the school's exit. Finally, he sits down with you on a bench outside the school, and releases your hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Let's just hang out here for the next ten minutes, okay? We should talk," he says awkwardly, facing you.

"I don't get it. Charles, there's nothing you can do to-"

Charles interrupts, holding your face gently, gazing into your eyes. "Please, don't. Don't say that," he pleads, his thumb brushing your cheek. "There's something we can do. We can make this work... Please..."

His desperation, his begging, makes you want to cry. "Please just let it go... Let me go..."

"No, I don't want you to be trapped... Don't you see you'll be more free with me? You won't have to work as hard.. I'll take care of you and our son... I'll take half the work in the house you have to deal with... I'll... We'll... I just want you to believe that we'll be happier... I'm not saying we need to jump to anything today. I'm just saying, let's be kind to each other... Let's go out to eat sometimes, or go to our son's events together. Let's act just a little bit more like a family, even if we aren't yet. I just want to- I need to- I- I- I..." He trails off. His hands fall off your cheeks, and his shoulders slack. His head goes down.

It's like just the hard look in your eyes alone crushed him.

Like that alone is the huge weight he's bearing.

"F*** me, Y/n... F*** me," he whispers, his hands in his lap trembling. "I don't deserve you. I hurt you. Doesn't matter how much I changed. I still have to live through the consequences of my actions, don't I?" He seems to be talking more to himself, but you have no idea at this point. "Just f*** me." He exhales shakily, before suddenly standing up. He stares you right in your eyes, and your heart breaks when you see the hurt, the destroyed desperation. "It's fine, Y/n." He's trying to keep a level face. But his voice cracks. "I'll leave you alone. I'll let you go. I can see all this is just hurting you more. I never meant to hurt you more. I never meant to bring up the past to hurt you. I wanted to help you... I wanted to help you heal..." He drags a hand over his face. "But clearly I f***ing didn't. Clearly I messed it up again. I f***ing messed up again." He swallows. His eyes glimmer with wetness as he practically whispers, "The last thing I want is to hurt you. So I'll drop it. I'm just being selfish again, aren't I? I think this would be better, but you don't. And that's hurting you. And I never wanted to..." He swallows, his nose crunching up. Suddenly he yells, "I never wanted to hurt you ever again, because I love you, for f***'s sake! I love you, but I did hurt you, because, in the end, no matter what, I'm going to f*** it up anyway! So bye, Y/n!" Suddenly he turns on his feet. Like he doesn't want you to see him cry again. But you can hear the tears in his voice when the last thing he calls back is, "It will go back to normal, and we can pretend none of this ever happened! Pretend I'm a stranger! It's the best for you, anyway, apparently, and all I wanted was the best for you!"

You stare in shock as you watch him get in his car and drive away. You remain seated, gaze straight ahead. Tears well up in your eyes, and your body quivers, yet you manage to compose yourself, rise on unsteady legs, and compel yourself to return to the school to pick up your son.

But that just wasn't right.

I should have stopped him. I should have called him back. I should've.

How far can revenge go before it's gone too far?

For days, the guilt, the hurt, the rue- they weigh on you. Every moment of your days, it consumes your thoughts. Regret and confusion and anger fill you in every step, engulfing your every move. And if you thought you weren't getting any sleep before, now it's even worse.

You long to fix it, but you are unsure of how. Despite everything... You can't see how Charles isn't being honest. You want to have faith in him. A small part of you may even want to love him, just a little bit.

You're also fearful. Fearful of reaching out to him, because you don't know what you'd do. You have no idea.

But now you're dropping your son off at Charles's house. You swallow, and suddenly, on a whim, when you see Charles walking outside, waiting for Y/s/n, you get out of the car, too.

"Mama?" your son asks with a confused expression, still maintaining a little smile on his face.

You smile back down at him and say, "I'm walking you up to your daddy's house today, is all."

He shrug and nods, apparently accepting this.

He's such a good kid.

As you approach Charles, your smile twitches while you study him, but you say softly, "Hey, um... I... We..." Your tone sounds weak.

"Yes?" Charles asks, looking up. He looks perfect. As always.

Your eyes lock.

Please, Charles. I don't know how to say this. Please just understand.

His eyes remain blank. You let out a sigh.

And suddenly, you hug him.

Charles seems taken aback for only a moment, before he immediately hugs you back and says softly, "Hey... Want to come inside with me and Y/s/n?"

You nod. "Yes... Yes, please."

So Charles leads the two of you up to his flat. You sit down together on the couch, once again.

Last time you did this was the moment Charles cried out to you.

"Y/n, people change."

You swallow at the memory.

Is this another paradox? This time, will I be the one crying out to him?

Y/s/n is about to hop on the couch between you, but suddenly Charles scoops him up and says, "Hey, hey! I didn't get my hug from you yet, did I?!"

Your son giggles, getting comfortable on his father's lap, before giving him a big hug. "I scored a goal, Daddy..."

"You scored a goal?!" he grins. "Seriously?"

"Yeah! Mama cheered me on! I scored a goal when I played football!"

Charles looks so bright. Happy with his son. So proud. He doesn't get to see him as often as you do. "No way. You've got to be joking. Was it the winning goal?"

"Yep!" your son says proudly.

You find yourself smiling.

"Oh yeah, what was the score?"

Your son shrugs. "Dunno! But we won!"

You smile and mutter softly, "I think it was 4-1." Y/s/n plays in the little league team affiliated with his school.

"Yeah, but my goal made it 2-1, so I won it," he brags to his father.

Charles grins. "Oh, I'm sure it did. You know, I don't know where you got that talent for football from. Do you think Mama is good at football?"

Your son just shrugs with a grin, enjoying the affirmation from his father. "Dunno! But Mama is good at cuddling and playing with me."

Charles laughs. "Yeah, your mama takes good care of you." He glances at you with sparkling eyes, before looking back down at his son.

The two continue babbling on about sports and football and what not, until Charles finally ruffles his son's hair and says, "Well, buddy, I reckon it's time for me and Mama to have some alone time."

Y/s/n frowns. "Aw, why?"

"Because I want to talk with Mama about things that you won't care about. Boring grown-up stuff. Doesn't sound very fun, does it?"

Y/s/n shrugs, still looking uncertain.

"Hey, don't look so down. How about this? I'll go put on Cars for you. How's that sound?"

Your son grins at this, immediately jumping up, his demeanor changing abruptly. "Yeah, yeah!" he squeals, and you watch as Charles leaves with him to go set him up with that in another room.

But soon Charles is back. He gently shuts the door behind him as he enters the room, and immediately sits down next to you, facing you once more. "Hey, Y/n..." he says in a tentative but gentle tone.

You swallow. "Hey, Charles..." You feel yourself getting nervous again. "You're so... You're so good with Y/s/n."

He smiles. "You are, too."

There's no, And I'm sure we'd be even better with him together.

Charles meant it when he said he'd give up on it.

But you move closer to him. You take his hands. "This is a lot for me, Charles. I'm scared. I'm having issues with trust."

He nods slowly. "I know... I know..."

You swallow, and hug him again.

He holds you, hugging you back. He kisses your cheek. He whispers, "I understand if you're afraid. I understand if you're scared, or if you're having issues with trust. I'm so deeply sorry I've broken you like that."

Y/n, people change. And I can change.

The words come crashing into your mind like a ton of bricks, emerging from the depths of your memory.

"Charles-" you break in, your voice cracking. "Those words have haunted me."

"What words...?" he mutters softly.

You swallow. Breathe slowly. And you whisper, "You said to me 'Y/n, people change. And I can change.'"

"I have changed," he whispers.

"But," your voice cracks. "You said a lot of other s***, too. I remember, during our honeymoon..." A tear rolls down your face as Charles continues to hold you. "You said I'm yours and you're mine. You said we'd be forever. You said you'd do anything for me. You said we'd have three kids together, and you'd never stop loving me, and we would be a happy family. You said we'd grow old together, Charles. That's what you said. But all those promises- they were broken... They were broken."

"You didn't want them to be," he whispers calmly. "But don't you realize? Perhaps those promises were not broken, but rather, they have just not yet been fulfilled."

You look up at him, blinking. More tears roll down your cheeks. Charles gently wipes them away.

"I want to be able to fix what I did wrong. I want to be able to fulfill those promises I made to you. That's what I want, Y/n."

"Charles..." you breathe.

He looks so perfect.

"Yes?" he asks gently.

Your lip quivers, and you lean into his shoulder, and you sob.

And he lets you.

For however long, he holds you there, rubbing your back, letting you weep. Finally, you get a hold of yourself, and slowly pull away. You wipe your wet eyes with the backs of your hands, before sighing. "Charles, if we were to do this... If I were to give in..." You sniff. Your voice cracks again as you utter, "Please, don't hurt me again. I can't survive it again. I can't let you put me through that again..."

He pulls you to him again and whispers in your ear, "I won't. I won't. I won't let you down this time. Please don't be afraid of me... I want to love you... Let me love you... If you'll just let me, we can fix this... We have have a relationship in which we communicate more. Oh, Y/n..." he sighs. "Don't you realize how much I care? I- I would give my life for you."

You blink, staring at him.

Everything looks so promising. That's why you're scared.

It almost looks too promising.

"You say you would give your life for me. But would you really? Maybe you would you give your life for me if it meant losing it. But would you give your life to me while you're still alive? Would you clean the dishes? Would you help me when I'm sick? Would you grab an extra ingredient from the store if I needed it? Would you drive Y/s/n to school when you could? Would you really? You're gone half the year, as it is."

His jaw clenches, then un-clenches. "I would do anything and everything I could do for you. I want to share my life for you. Until death. And I'm one hundred percent sure on that. I've had years of thinking about this." There's hope in his lovely eyes.

So much hope.

You sigh, staring down at your lap.

"Y/n. I'm sorry. Please. Not only do I need your forgiveness. But your son does, too." He hesitates. "And I hope you know no matter what happens, the guilt of what I've done to you will weigh on me my whole life. That's why I want to fix it."

You gently slip your hand in his and whisper, "Please don't hurt me."

He wraps his fingers around your hand, holding it. "I won't."

You nod slowly, another tear rolls down your cheek, and it feels like all the molecules in your body are being ripped apart as you barely whisper, "Okay, Charles. We can try this again."

369 notes · View notes

itsjusthockey · 5 months

Text

December - Adam Fantilli

Officially in Adam era. Enjoy

I miss him at Michigan

w.c: 1,923 (credit to gif maker)(don't steal my work)

You learned quickly that December is a lot colder without him here. All the Christmas lights seem a little less bright, the hot chocolate tastes a little more bland, and the joys of the season are still there, just slightly muted.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. He was busy, so were you. College and hockey don’t stop, and the world will never cater to your relationship, no matter how much you wish it would sometimes. Instead, you both learned to figure it out. You FaceTime, call, and text as much as you can. Adam even suggested writing letters, but with his handwriting, you suggested something else.

You both send each other care packages, his typically filled with snacks you knew he’d love or books you insist he needs to read. Yours were always filled with new merchandise and one of his sweatshirts that still smelled like him. It is a good system, and you love how you make it work. But alas, Adam isn’t in Michigan, and you wish every night that he was.

A pound on your door jolts you out of your daze, and you check what time it is on your phone; it’s around 6:30, and you aren’t expecting anyone to your apartment. You’re confused when you look through the little peephole, but that all of a sudden disappears when your second favorite Fantilli is on the other side of the door. He’s not alone either, standing patiently with Rutger.

Each boy is clad in Michigan gear from head to toe, and Luca giggles about something when you open the door. The boys turn to you with the wildest smile that immediately makes you suspicious.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” You ask, narrowing your eyes a bit.

The boys dramatically roll their eyes, and Rutger places his hand on his heart in mock betrayal.

“Are we not allowed to visit our favorite person ever?”

You roll your eyes at Rutger and shift in the doorway, opening space for them. With bright smiles, they shuffle in, dropping their bags and immediately making themselves comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, Rutger opens your fridge and grabs out Capri Sun.

“I love this, don’t get me wrong, but why’re you here? I know you’ve both had a busy day.”

The pair grow quiet, and Rutger looks toward Luca to lead.

“Adam said you were a bit sad today.” Luca pipes up. “And we’re good at making you happy.

A small part of you feels terrible; it’s not their job to check on you, but most of you want to cry happy tears. You love these boys, and it means a lot that they still care about you, even when Adam is gone.

“So, we’re taking you out. No arguments, go change.” Rutger says, shooing you to your bedroom.

You give in because, of course, you do. It has been a bit of a rough day, and it didn’t help that your boyfriend has only texted you a few times today, telling you about how busy his weekend is going to be and he might not be around much.

You pull on some of Adam’s old Michigan gear, and within a few minutes, you’re walking out of your apartment with the boys. They don’t tell you where they’re taking you, but you just follow, content with being with your friends.

“She actually said that to her face?” Luca asks in disbelief.

You are telling the boys about some friend drama when you reach your destination. It’s a cute little pasta place close to campus, and It is one of your favorite spots. Adam took you here a lot in the last year, and you haven’t been able to go as often now that he’s been gone.

You smile as you follow Luca in, Rutger trailing behind you as you continue telling your story. Soon enough, you’re seated in a booth, food ordered, and you’re listening to them tell you about their own lives, hockey, and whatever the hell else.

You’re soaking up every minute with them, and you realize as you’re talking that you miss being around them. You miss the jokes, the laughs, the chaos, and you know that you have to get out of this little funk. They’re still your best friends, and you have to start seeing them more.

The pasta comes, and you dive in. It tastes like heaven, and you’re transported back to all the times you’ve eaten this meal with Adam. Your heart twinges slightly, but you shove the emotion down and continue laughing with the boys.

“So what’d you get A for Christmas?” Luce asks, mouth full of pasta. “Promise I won’t tell.”

You shrug your shoulders a bit. “A couple of little things. But I was thinking about visiting him, but I’m not sure he has time.”

You looked into it a bunch, but every weekend before Christmas was jam-packed in both of your schedules.

“You guys will figure it out.” Luca hums.

“Yeah, besides, he hasn’t seen you in a while, and I bet all he wants is to unwrap you like a pres-“

“Gross Rut,” Luca interrupts him, and you both laugh at his disgusted face.

The rest of the meal goes by, and at the end of it, you’re feeling much better about life. You’re super happy with this reunion, and you want it to continue, but Luca's phone buzzes on the table, and he gives Rutger a look.

“Ready to go?” Rutger asks, and you nod, heading back outside into the Michigan cold.

It’s a beautiful night, and when you step out, you see that light snow has started to fall. It looks picturesque as you stare at the snow and the decorations for the season. You feel your heart swell, then get slightly sad again, but you smile anyway.

“It’s perfect out.” You whisper to the pair, and they nod. “Are you guys going to come back up? Watch a movie or something?”

The pair share a quick look, and Rutger shakes his head.

“We can’t, we gotta head back.”

You’re a bit disappointed, but you don’t show it. They both have lives, and you can’t expect them to stay forever just because you’re a little lonely.

“All good, this was so nice. Thanks, you guys.”

Both the boys smile at you, and you walk back to your apartment. It’s still snowing, and when you reach the building, they stop at the entrance.

“Are you good to go back up yourself? My mom’s calling me.” Luca says quickly.

You nod your head, say a quick goodbye, and watch as the boys walk briskly away. You’re a bit confused, but you wave anyway as they speed off.

You make your way to the elevator, and you feel good as you climb the floors. You’re happy you got to spend time with some of your favorite boys, even if it was just for a while.

When you step out of the elevator and round the hall to your place, you smell a Christmas candle, and a wave of nostalgia hits you. It’s your favorite Christmas scent, and you almost want to cry. However, you don’t because as you come to your door, you realize the smell is wafting from your apartment.

You’re so completely lost, but when you unlock the door, everything falls into place.

There he is, standing in the center of your apartment wearing a cozy ugly Christmas sweater you’d bought him and smiling as though he’s the happiest man in the world.

You freeze, taking in the decorated apartment. You see a small little Christmas tree with a few presents, lights that line the space, and your favorite fucking candle lit on your dining table.

You drop your keys to the floor, and tears flow as he crosses the room to meet you. When he envelops you in his arms, you cry even harder, knowing that this is probably the happiest moment you’ve had in a long time.

“Hey baby,” Adam says into your hair. “Merry Christmas.”

You release him just enough to see his face. His beard has grown back, his eyes are a little glossy, too, and his smile is one of the brightest you’ve ever seen.

“Did you miss me?” He asks, wiping a tear from your face.

You pull back even further and give him a slight glare. “Yes, you asshole.”

You pull him back in, but this time, you pull him down slightly to meet his lips for the first time. In a simple moment, it’s like a world of color appears again before your closed eyes. Almost every thought in your brain is stripped out and replaced with him. He’s here. Really here. He’s here pressing his lips to yours and pulling you closer. He’s cupping your face, running his hand up and down your back and into your hair. He tastes familiar, and everything about him makes you feel complete. You finally feel whole again within his arms.

When you finally convince yourself to pull away, you meet his eyes again. You want to tell him you love him, but instead, your brain fails to string any thoughts together. So you simply pull him back to you and hope your kiss will show him those three words.

———————-

The night goes by slowly, and you couldn’t be more thankful. You spend hours talking, laughing, and staying cuddled on your couch. Only removing yourself when it gets late enough and you can barely keep your eyes open. You eventually make it to your bed, and everything is right as you lay against Adam’s chest, listening to his heart steadily beating.

“So Luca and Rut were your pawns?” You ask Adam, tracing little shapes on his chest.

He lets out a small laugh, and it's music to your ears.

“I mentioned I needed help surprising you, and the team had to draw names to see who would be the distraction.”

You smile at the thought and cuddle even closer to him.

“I missed you.” You say after a minute.

You grin as he pulls you impossibly closer and kisses you gently on the head.

“I know,” he says. “But this doesn’t last forever. It’s just tough right now.”

You nod, agreeing with him. Right now, it sucks, but soon enough, you’ll be done with school, and he’s already out there making a name for himself. You know he knows how proud you are of him, and you support his dreams, even if it means you have to spend a couple of years like this.

You have your own life and your own dreams to keep you busy. But even then, you crave being with one another, and a piece you is always missing when he isn’t around you. But you do it anyway. You love him, and it’s these little moments that remind you why you put yourself through the pain. When he’s with you, when you’re together, everything is aligned, and it's nothing but perfection.

Yeah, December might be much colder when he isn’t with you, but when he is, it’s like you’re on fire. The only feeling you have is endless warmth.

448 notes · View notes

pileofmush · 19 days

Text

you don't know what i deserve .·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

ft. okkotsu yuuta

it’s 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. you're on your own—just you and the dead body.

info : ̗̀➛ tags: gn!reader, neighbor au, strangers to lovers, yuuta & reader are a little strange, happy ending // cw: death, light angst, vulgar language, canon-typical violence...but pretty mild imo

thoughts : ̗̀➛ helllooo. back on my bullshit. let's call this a very belated birthday present to my beloved <3 // read this on ao3

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood.

Which is not something you think about often, but now you are forced to confront this fact in real-time. People… have a lot of blood.

And it stains. No matter how many times you wash your hands. There are still flakes of blood wedged underneath your fingernails. Part of you thinks it'll never go away.

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now, in the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!”

Cue trumpets and flashy poses; the makings of a battle. Your comfort anime blares in the background of a morbid scene, the flickering TV casting a soft glow on a sight that will inevitably haunt your nightmares.

Because it's 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. Still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. You pace in your tiny living room, unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. The pretty Sailor Guardians won’t save you now. You’re on your own. Just you and the dead body.

How romantic.

The chill from outside has swept into your apartment thanks to that annoying fucking prick who left your window open. Honestly, people these days have no decency. The least he could’ve done was close your shutters after tumbling through your bedroom window like a deranged acrobat. Now you’re, like, moderately cold.

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

Blood seeps into the earthy Persian rug that you got for half-price at a flea market a few months ago. It’s dark; puddling, like... like a knocked-over glass of chocolate milk, spilled all over the kitchen table. Or, maybe chocolate syrup would be more apt. It doesn’t matter, though. You can always get a new rug. You know, if you make it out of this situation of yours intact and not in a dingy prison cell for homicide.

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed.

The police, of course, are out of the question. No matter your side of the story, it wouldn’t hold up in trial. No, no, no. A foreigner murdering a Japanese citizen? Even if it was in self-defense, it wouldn’t matter. Forget prison—you’ll probably be hanged.

So, you could run… But you probably wouldn’t get far. Or, you could do what every naive murderer in the movie about karmic retribution does and try your darnedest to get away with it.

“Option two it is!” you quit pacing and announce to the room. Thankfully, the body doesn’t respond.

A weak knock at the door sounds off—a gunshot. Your heart stalls, your head snapping to the entrance of the apartment. Who the hell is at your door? The person at the door knocks a second time, a little bit more insistently, and you start to sweat. “Hello, is everything alright? I—I heard a scream.”

You step up to the peephole and squint. A mild-looking man shuffles his feet outside your door. It’s your next-door neighbor, bathed in the ugly yellow lighting of your apartment complex. He smiles like he knows that you can see him.

This… isn’t ideal. You could choose to not answer him, but that probably wouldn’t work. What if he called the police? You take a breath. “Everything’s fine,” you call out.

The man’s smile freezes in place, somehow more eerie than a frown; his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. “Oh!” he says. “Are… Are you sure?”

You turn away from the peephole, a little unnerved. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard a lot more than a single scream.”

A slow, dreadful feeling starts to seep into your gut. “Pardon?”

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.”

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows.

No—that’s impossible. You were the only one to scream. Yasuhiro… He didn’t get the chance to. So this is just a concerned neighbor checking in on you. Nothing more, nothing less. You can prove it, prove that you’re okay.

You open the door a smidge so that you can peek through, then step outside and shut the door behind you. Your neighbor, what’s his name again? Okkotsu, right? Okkotsu’s brows lift at the sight of you, then relax. He’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweats that should probably be criminal in Japan. His eyes flicker up and down your frame. You suppress a shiver.

“Just a horror movie,” you broach, offering him a polite smile. “I’m an easy fright.”

Okkotsu pulls a hand out of his pocket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. His gentle smile has dimmed. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he says in an apologetic tone.

You both notice the tremor that runs through your body. Nosy fucking neighbors and their lack of sense when it comes to minding their own business. You stare mulishly at the floor. His shoes are simple. Black; scuffed. His left foot taps once against the floor. Whatever. You don't have to answer to him. Gathering up your resolve, you start to speak. “Listen, Okkotsu-san,” you say but are cut off quickly.

“Is that blood?”

That makes you freeze, eyes glued to the floor. A cold set of fingers dips under your chin and gently lifts it. Your gaze meets his: two pools of an endless, starless night. It flickers to a spot beside your ear knowingly and you reach for it.

He’s right. Blood sticks to your fingers, not yet dry. Lurking in the crevice behind your ear. You missed a spot.

“Well spotted.” It’s fruitless to lie now. You know it, he knows it. Now it’s a matter of who’ll crack first.

“Are you… Are you injured?”

Physically? No. Psychiatrically? Well, you just murdered a man, so.

“I’m unharmed.”

Okkotsu blinks owlishly. “Is that so?” He murmurs curiously, tilting your head to the side to observe the blood staining your skin.

You readjust your head and mimic him, blinking slowly. “Okkotsu—”

“Yuuta,” he interrupts.

You blink again. For such a mild, polite-seeming boy, he really is quite rude. And confusing. And terrifying. And you kinda sort of want him to die. “Okkotsu-san” you repeat. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

Okkotsu Yuuta’s smile returns, and it’s dangerously innocuous. He breathes your name out like a question. Starless eyes wander to your front door, then go back to studying your own. “Can I come inside?” he asks, quietly.

Everything stills, even your heart. You’re not quite certain you’re alive, when you ask, dubiously, “The apartment?”

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

Which is absolutely fucking insane, but you have a feeling that your neighbor’s worse off than you are, and that’s truly saying something.

You hear him lock the door behind you before you start. Silently, you lead him past your living room, past Tsukino Usagi flying down the sidewalk on the way to school—the start of another episode, then—past your browning house plant hanging from the ceiling, into your quaint kitchen.

It’s nothing special. A small green stove with two bunsen burners on top. A sink; limited counter space. A couple of peeling cabinets. Tied in together with a white backsplash, shifting colors with each flicker of the TV. To the side, a small table sits, with two mismatched chairs tucked into it.

Oh, and there’s the dead body, too. Practically dribbling blood, painting your discounted rug muddy red and the surrounding blue tile purple.

Okkotsu lets out a soft sigh. “What a mess.”

You consider him from the corner of your eye. “That’s what I said,” you frown.

He shrugs, still looking at poor, dead, Yasuhiro. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yeaaaah. It’s true.

A giggle escapes you, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. “Fuck,” you whisper in between the giggles. “I’m fucked.” It’s true. Utterly and thoroughly—no condom used.

“Not yet,” you barely hear him say over the fracturing of your composure. This is impossible. You killed a man tonight, then showed a stranger the corpse. You’re an idiot. You’re a freak. You can’t hide a dead body. You really might as well bend over and get it over with. Fuck.

Hands gripping your knees, you struggle to catch your breath. When did you lose it? Ah, who cares? Dead. You’re dead. The noose is looped around your hollowed throat, tightening by the second. Perhaps there’ll be two corpses on your kitchen floor by the time the sun is up. Perhaps you should’ve just let him kill—

“Breathe with me,” Okkotsu mutters, right in front of you, long hands gingerly clutching your shoulders. Which is strange. You had no idea he got so close. His thumbs swipe up and down, around and around, and you are flummoxed. But Okkotsu is patient, his chest compressing and expanding with each measured breath, and you are compelled to follow him. Slowly, you come down from your panicked high. You let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding back to the imposing guest in your apartment. The other imposing guest in your apartment.

The body in front of you lays eerily still, impervious to your mini breakdown. It’s not purple, or rotting, or excreting out the last remaining fluids left in its underwhelming husk. It’s just—laying there. Laying, not lying, because it is no longer a breathing thing that rests; now an object to be placed. Dehumanized, in every way. Then again, what is dehumanization if not just another word for murder? What is murder, if not just the taking away of a person’s autonomy? Dead bodies can’t rest. It will never lie again.

The dead body lays.

And you wonder for how much longer you’ll keep your own autonomy.

When do the dead start to attract flies? Realistically, you know it can range from a day to a few days for a decomposing body to become…obscene, depending on the environmental conditions. It hasn’t even been a few hours. You doubt flies will start buzzing around any time soon. If you move to crouch down and touch it, it’ll probably still be warm.

The swipe of a thumb over your shoulder brings your awareness back to your neighbor.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, wiping the tears that have beaded up in the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, but you’re still trembling. That damn window is still open.

The hands on your shoulders release, and you look up to gauge his thoughts. He’s frowning. His eyes cloud, then sharpen: lightning against a black sky. “You need to get rid of the body, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you nod anyway.

“Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I bet we’ll be done before dawn.”

He makes to walk away but you stay rooted to your spot, trying to figure out why this strange, strange neighbor of yours who makes friends with stray cats and tends to the apartment garden is willing to become an accomplice of murder for you.

“Okkotsu, are… Are you in love with me or something?”

Your neighbor stops, then snorts, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to face you. A soft pout lies on his lips as he skillfully evades your question with a request of his own. “Hey, if you’re gonna ask me something like that, why don’t you use my name next time?”

You don’t ask again.

You have far bigger problems than interrogating Okkotsu Yuuta, so you push it aside and stalk toward the body. Okkotsu joins you, and the two of you peer at the deceased man before you. It’s… Still. The blood has stopped its puddling; a thin line stretches the column of its throat. His throat was slit neatly, gracefully, like an act of love. It wasn’t one, but, maybe you gave Yasuhiro what he wanted, in a terrible, twisted way. How magnanimous of you.

Yasuhiro wasn’t an attractive man. Limp brown hair framing a slightly uglier-than-average face. At least he had the decency to close his eyes before his last, dying breath. They were blood-shot and wiry, the last time you saw them open. Bouncing haphazardly in its sockets like they couldn’t discern which corner of the room you stood in.

Okkotsu perks up at the sound of your harrumph. “What?” he questions you, and you slide your eyes over to him. Okkotsu Yuuta is distinctly pale, a trait that you’ve always noticed and have always sort of admired on him. It suits the subdued, yet haunted look he’s got going on. Black lashes feather the whites of his eyes, as well as the endless void of his irises. Yeah, he’s almost doll-like, in that gentle, haunting way of his.

“You’re creepier than the corpse,” you tell him instead and turn away, just barely hiding your smile. The laugh that rings out from him sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

Okkotsu follows you to the bathroom, where you’ve grabbed pretty much all of your cleaning supplies. You stuff them in a bucket and he hauls it out of your arms, the two of you shuffling back to the kitchen.

“So how should we go about this?” You muse, staring at the body. The movies you’ve seen are the only reference you have for the disposal of dead bodies, but those usually end with the killer getting caught, so you’re not so sure about mimicking their methods.

“I’m not sure,” Okkotsu says, tilting his head in thought. “Severing his limbs without the proper tools would be difficult. I guess we could carry him and bury him somewhere unassuming—unless you have a car that we could use?” A quick glance at you confirms that you don’t. He rubs his chin, nodding to himself. “Right. A garden cart will do, then. We should check to see if he has any identifiers on him, first, though. Oh, and we can’t forget about the teeth. Do you have any pliers?” He turns to you casually, eyes widening at the sight of your awe.

Thin black brows furrow in confusion. “What?” He asks.

You blink. “Have you…ever…?” Your voice dies in your throat.

Thankfully, he gets it. “Oh. No! No, I’ve never murdered a person,” he denies, dipping his head and tugging the neckline of his plain white tee. A curious look crosses his face. “But I could,” he tacks on cautiously.

You hug your arms and give a half-assed shrug. You can almost feel the weight of a kitchen knife in your dominant hand; the quick, fluid motion of ending a life.

“Anyone could,” you acquiesce, dismissing the conversation. Okkotsu hums mournfully in return.

According to his ID, Yasuhiro Souta is a twenty-seven-year-old male who lives in Chiba. What he was doing tumbling through your window in the middle of the night is anyone’s guess. Well, he did tell you, sort of shakily before he made to lunge at you, that you were supposedly his Valentine for the night. How sweet!

Snip. You met him for the first time a little over two months ago. He dropped his wallet on the train, so you picked it up and handed it to him in a silly attempt to be a decent person. It resulted in the man refusing to let go of your hand for a solid five minutes. Yes, yes, what an adorable meet-cute! Snip. When you managed to pry your clammy hands out of his vice-like grip, it was your stop, and, oh, how fortuitous, it was Yasuhiro’s as well! He followed you off the train into a random coffee shop, and it was only when you got the help of the employees that he backed off, the doorbell chiming as the glass door swung behind his back. Snip.

You thought that was the end of it, and proceeded about your day, running errands for a few hours until you retreated home. It shook you up for a little, yes, but it was nothing too crazy. You doubted you’d ever see him again.

Snip.

You slice Yasuhiro’s ID with your scissors until it’s a pile of ashes.

Okkotsu’s on his knees, holding a pair of pliers to the light. Wedged between the metal lies a crooked tooth. He hums to himself, plopping the tooth in a ziplock bag. He wears a pair of green garden gloves he grabbed from his apartment; you’re wearing a matching set. The rubber’s a little too big for you, but you’re making it work.

It's as Okkotsu calmly adjusts the head in his lap, preparing to yank another tooth that you stare at your strange partner, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this situation. It’s been happening every so often: your acceptance of reality swinging in the opposite direction like the pendulum on a grandfather clock.

You shouldn’t have killed him.

You don’t care for Yasuhiro Souta’s life. You don’t care for the man who intended to assault you. But there’s not a chance in hell that this won’t get traced back to you.

You're fucked.

Why did it have to be like this? Why do bad things happen to good people?

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

And you crumble—crumbled—are crumbling when you turn to your neighbor. “Okkotsu-san,” you say, picking at your dirty nails.

“Yuuta,” the man insists. What a freak. He's a freak, and he's good, and you don't deserve it.

You take a deep breath, mulling over your doomed fate. It doesn’t have to be his, too. “You should get out of here. While you still can.”

There's an awkward pause. The strange man pulls out another tooth and plops it in the baggy. “There,” he says warmly, then draws to his full height. “Do you have a coffee maker?” You ball your fists around the plastic handle in your hands. Calm, calm, stay calm. “Did you hear what I just said?” You ask.

“Oh, I did,” Okkotsu hums. “I chose to ignore it.”

Your hands begin to shake as you repeat his words. “Ch—Chose to—”

Okkotsu says your name pityingly. “I thought we already had this conversation," he questions with pinched brows. “Why are we—”

“We?!” You interrupt, incensed. We. It's as if the curtains have been drawn open, allowing the rays of the illuminating, scorching sun to trickle through. It blinds you, and you have the urge to pull your eyes out and shove them down his throat. “You thought we? Who are you? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I think I know a few things about you,” Okkotsu smiles sweetly, gesturing to the dead body in your apartment.

“Do you, now?” You laugh and toss your hands up to the ceiling. “Great! I have an idea!" You glare, the metal edge of your scissors catching the light. "If you know what I’m capable of, then you should get the hell out."

A pause. You pant, more worked up than have been all night and it's fucking ridiculous and you hate it. You want to choke—you want him to choke. On your blood-soaked fingers, preferably. He'd probably lick them clean.

Unaware of your depraved thoughts, Okkotsu’s lips pull into a frown. He sighs, running a ghostly hand through his hair.

“I’m not scared of you,” he tells you, quietly.

You hold your breath. “Maybe you should be.”

Your insufferable neighbor takes a step forward, that stupid frown still on his stupid doll face. “What’s your plan?” He prompts. “Do you intend to confess? To go to prison?” You shake your head slowly and he softens. “You don’t deserve that,” he says, like he really means it.

Why did you let this man into your house? Why is he offering you hope? It’s too much. The scissors slide out of all your fingers save for one; your limbs sag with a weariness that’s settled deep in your bones.

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

Okkotsu stops and considers you. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and you want out. You want out, and he can get out, and you don’t know… You don’t know why…

“If you want me to judge you, I won’t,” says Okkotsu.

You shake your head at his dismissal, your eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t judge you,” he continues, and there goes his cold, calloused hand again, gingerly tilting your chin upwards. The pair of scissors in your clutches drops fruitlessly to the floor. When you look up, there’s something like pleading in his endless, starless eyes. “Trust me,” he begs.

You shouldn’t. You know it with every fiber of your being that you should not trust Okkotsu Yuuta. The man who blinks like an owl and stares at you like you’re a mouse he can’t wait to swallow whole. Who blushes pink whenever you hold the elevator door for him. Who has cold fingers that cradle you so gingerly—who touches you like he knows you—who doesn’t cringe at the sight of dead bodies but gives a damn about a bit of blood staining the outside of your ear.

You shouldn’t. Trust him. But you—you feel as if he’s reached inside your chest and plucked out your pulsing, blackened heart.

“Do you love me?” You ask Okkotsu Yuuta again, heart throbbing in his hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours. “Ask me again with my name,” he says quietly.

…You don’t know if you want to.

Releasing a breath, you push past him, snatch the ziplock bag from the floor, and stride towards the stove. “I’ll make coffee,” you say, already fiddling with the grinder.

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

“So what do you like to do when you’re not helping random people bury bodies?” You ask Okkotsu a couple of hours later. You stumble over a root in the dark, and Okkotsu’s quick to grab you by the waist and steady you. You continue, a bag full of your keys, water, pepper spray, freshly-bleached gloves, a burner phone that Okkotsu already had, for some reason, and two sets of clean clothes swinging against your back. You fidget with the shovel in your hands mindlessly, trying to get it to spin. A garden cart with a tarp draped over it creaks along the grass floor. The two of you have walked for who knows how long, but, according to him, you’re getting close.

The man beside you hums, surprisingly chipper for the nefarious activities afoot. “When I’m not busy, I like to garden and crochet. I also like making food for my friends from time to time,” he says in a simple, humble manner. The last part doesn’t surprise you. He’s brought you helpings of food on the most random occasions, showing up at your doorstep with self-proclaimed “leftovers” and shoving full plates into your arms with a velvety smile. That does beg the question, though…

“Have you considered us friends this whole time?” You squint at him in the dark, only the moonlight carving out the contours of his subtle, delicate features. You’re kind of surprised. You two made decent neighbors but only ever talked in short bursts outside your rooms. Your conversations rarely ever broke past polite mumblings about the weather.

Okkotsu pouts. “You mean, we’re not friends yet?” He asks, before breaking into a twinkling laugh.

“Shut up,” you bite, but you laugh too, lightly shoving at his arm. Okkotsu, bless him, pretends to stumble. It takes you a moment to suppress the heat burning the tips of your ears, but you do get it under control, eventually. “I meant… Before?”

His expression smoothens out before he gives a soft shake of his head. “No, not quite. But, I wanted us to be."

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustling under your feet and the ever-present, cacophonous sounds of nature. You spot a nest of sleeping birds tucked in between the branches of a tree and smile.

“Well,” you try to keep your cool, eyes sweeping over the forest's shadows, “Better late than never.”

It strikes you halfway to the burial grounds that Yasuhiro didn’t bring his phone with him to your apartment in his depraved, intoxicated state. He crawled up a tree, through your cracked-open bedroom window—conveniently avoiding cameras. So, once you’re done with this, you very may well be free.

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

“What about you?” Okkotsu asks you, something like ten minutes later. “What do you like to do for fun? Besides watch Sailor Moon, I mean.”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well,” you wonder aloud. “This is pretty fun, wouldn’t you say?”

Okkotsu lets out a little breath before he softly admits his agreement.

It rained earlier today, you forgot. The ground crumbles like clay when you swing the shovel into the ground. You and Okkotsu take turns making a grave, taking water breaks in between. There is hope alive in you, you realize, as the two of you work in tandem.

Yasuhiro Souta is lowered into the ground with all the dignity a dead man could possess. He lays atop a tarp and your old Persian rug. A stream rushes somewhere nearby, bubbling like blood, and you pray that the body will make good fertilizer. When your hand shakes, Yuuta grabs it.

You bury your clothes on the way back, a mile out. The sun peaks over the horizon.

When you return to your room with Yuuta in tow, your emotions overwhelm you: you are terrified and gleeful and sorry for all you’ve done.

It is mournfully quiet as you mop the purple tiles blue, bleach burning your nostrils and freshly scrubbed gloves. Yuuta’s left to clean the garden cart in the gardens. He returns shortly, though, offers you a small smile, and helps you scrub every inch of your apartment.

You scrub, and scrub.

And scrub.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuta says to you when you’re in the middle of wiping your brow. You’re sitting cross-legged on your rugless kitchen floor, where a dead body once lay. Sweat clings to your skin in uncomfortable places and you reek of bleach. “Shut the fuck up and scrub, Yuuta,” you command.

Yuuta’s serene smile is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen before.

You could probably fall in love with him, you contemplate as you watch your neighbor make fluffy pancakes in the comforts of his own kitchen. If you haven’t fallen in love with him, already, that is. You doubt you’ll ever have a connection with someone as profound as the bond you share with the soft-spoken man who helped you bury a dead body.

Love, you marvel, in the span of a few hours.

It’s disquieting.

After multiple showers, and after Yuuta’s stuffed you with more pancakes than you can chew, the pair of you are lounging on his tatami mat, a much-needed change in scenery. You have like, three hours before you need to go to work, which, Yuuta agrees, is crucial to maintaining a veneer of normalcy. Which means this impromptu nightmare date will have to come to an end—as all good things do.

“I should probably get to bed,” you say after a lull in conversation.

Yuuta nods, reasonably. “That makes sense, yeah.”

“Got work in the morning and all that,” you continue in a nonchalant tone.

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

Fine. “Walk me out, will you?” You request. Okkotsu Yuuta, ever the gentleman, agrees, even though the front door is only a handful of feet away. He pushes himself off his knees and stands at full height, though his starless eyes are, as always, trained on you. You would probably find Yuuta’s full attention a little unsettling if you had not just slit a man’s throat that night.

You avoid his gaze all the same—stopping at his doorstep with your hands twisting at your sides. Yuuta stops beside you and waits patiently for you to string your words together.

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

“Hi,” Yuuta interrupts, and you smile, filled with the courage to go on.

“So, the thing is… Well, I probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere far without you. I acted quite amateur back there, you’d think this was my first dead body I was trying to hide, or something, ha. Um, so yeah, thank you—from the most sincere and vulnerable depths of my heart. I guess I’ll see you around? Okay, bye.”

A hand wraps around your wrist before you can run home with your tail tucked between your legs. Yuuta murmurs your name in a soft, dulcet tone, and you’re not certain you’re prepared to hear whatever he has to say. You turn to face him anyway, because, well, you owe him that much.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” He chides.

The pit in your stomach swoops. “Not that I recall,” you lie with a straight face.

“Try again,” Yuuta smiles sweetly, like a haunted little doll.

“It’s been a long day, you know—”

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

“My brain isn’t functioning at its peak—”

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

A pause. You avert your gaze and allow yourself to get analyzed by Yuuta’s doleful, starless eyes. “Hey,” he calls your name, asks you to look at him.

You look at him.

“Good," he hums.

You roll your eyes, loop an arm around his long neck, and drag him to you.

Okkotsu Yuuta tastes like the earth. From dust to dust, you are at the end and beginning when you capture his lips between yours. He responds quickly, hands digging firmly into your waist as he knocks you into his door frame, and you quickly learn what it means to be savored. You intended the kiss to be a quick, rash, thing, but he slows you down, melds into you languidly like you have all the time in the world. When he sucks on your bottom lip, you both moan, breaking apart for air. Yuuta slips his hands underneath your shirt, and for once, his cold hands burn, lighting the fire for something you’re not certain you’ll be able to finish.

“Go ahead and ask me already, love,” Yuuta murmurs into your ear. And, well, fuck. You melt. “Yuuta,” you whisper as he nips at your neck. “You love me, yes?”

At that, he bites down at the hollow of your neck. You gasp, then sigh when he instantly cools the wound with his tongue. “Obviously,” he replies, quite simply, thumb swiping delicately at your stomach.

“Great,” you gasp, and Yuuta looks at you and beams.

And, there goes your heart again, pulsing in his cold, calloused hands. Cradle it gently, Yuuta, won’t you?

fin. if u made it this far, ily

#mushy writes .𖥔 ݁ ˖#yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuta x you #yuta x you #jjk x gn!reader #tw: blood #tw: death #m.jjk #m.yuuta #battle scarred;#yuuta my beloved <3

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melodygatesauthor · 7 months

Text

Then I Saw You

Basil Stitt X f!Reader

Beta Read By: @xbellaxcarolinax - Using prompts by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, a few Nonnies, and my own ideas.

PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!

Summary

You moved in next door to Basil Stitt two weeks after his incident. After everyone he cared about ignored his calls and acted like he didn't exist, he was starved for affection, and your pretty voice caught his attention immediately. He decided he'd do just about anything to have you all for himself...anything.

Tags/Warnings

Disclaimers: There is heavy non-con in this fic, it's not for everyone. If you're sensitive to that sort of thing in fanfiction, please keep on scrolling thanks.

NSFW, non-con, rape, sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, masturbation, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, porn with some plot, smut, creampie, breeding kink if you REALLY squint, non-consensual somnophilia, drugged sex, non-consensual drug use, minor mention of suicide but NO actual death or implied death in fic, also me making some shit up like how peepholes work, neighbor!Reader, dark fic, dark Basil Stitt. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (that means that what you see in the tags WILL be in the fic, don't act surprised when you get exactly what you were warned about.)

Word Count: 9.8k

Basil saw the moving truck outside when it pulled up by the curb. Two men got out, opened up the back, and started to bring someone’s belongings inside. His apartment was only one of the two on his floor. The old man across the hall went to a nursing home a couple of weeks ago…was he getting a new neighbor? Sure enough, he heard them opening the door across from his and moving things inside.

He looked around at his living space, a disgusting mess of old pizza boxes, empty alcohol bottles, and his broken belongings. No doubt he’d need to get a better handle on his outbursts. He’d already received a notice from the landlord with all the banging and shouting the person living below him had dealt with. Depending on the kind of person the new neighbor would be, he might get more than just a warning if they heard him being too rambunctious.

That’s when he heard your voice, a sweet thing that crept under the gap between his door and the hardwood floor that he was likely to lose his security deposit for after destroying it. He ran to the peephole, looking through the lens and seeing you for the first time.

His heart felt like it stopped beating. His entire body shook as he pressed his palm to the door. You were…beautiful.

“What the fuck…” he whispered to himself, as you walked into your apartment. “W-what the…” he stepped away from the door, “fuck.”

The second your door opened again he was pinned to his own, his good eye glued back at the peephole to get a glimpse of you. He whined, seeing your pretty smile as you handed the movers some money. Why were you smiling at them like that? Basil paused. Why did he care?

Maybe it was that you sounded, and looked, so nice. His calls to his girlfriend had still been unanswered, and the same could be said for his parents. You looked like someone who would care about him. Someone who could look past…

No.

Despite wanting to stare at you longer, he stepped in front of his mirror instead. There was no way you would be able to stomach looking at someone like him. He touched the reddened, rippled deformity on the left side of his face. An overwhelming dread poured into his chest, making him feel heavy with sorrow. How could anyone love him? His own mother couldn’t even be bothered to speak to him, even after all the voicemails he left.

“Yeah absolutely, I’d love that,” you giggled in the hall.

You’d love what? Basil thought, rushing to the door once again to see who had you feeling so upbeat.

You had a piece of paper in your hand. He didn’t like how one of the movers was smiling and looking at you. Was he flirting with you? Basil’s hand reached for the door handle, but he stopped. What was his plan? Was he going to walk out there, someone you’d never seen or met before in your life, and just tell the guy to fuck off?

In a perfect world…yes.

He’d step out there, no paper bag on, and tell the man off. Basil imagined you’d be so enamored with his actions that you’d kiss him, smiling at him the way you were smiling at the mover right now. You’d touch his cheek and look at him as though his face were normal, like it was just a couple of short weeks ago. Your lips looked so soft.

Basil whined, pressing his entire body against the door, cock rubbing between the wood and his abdomen. He saw you go into your apartment again, closing the door behind yourself. Over the next couple of hours he sat in front of the door, waiting…listening for your voice. All he heard was the sound of the movers going in and out, until finally there was nothing.

He stood there in the still of the silence, breathing slowly and trying to contain himself. He thought about opening his door again and knocking on yours, introducing himself as any good neighbor would. His breath hitched in his throat when he considered your reaction though. What if you saw his face…

What if you saw the monster he’d become?

“No, no, no…” he shouted, feeling emotionally overwhelmed at the thought of your rejection.

He would rather spend his life watching you through his peephole than risk your outright denial of him. At least in his mind, he could think up a million fantasies where you loved him, let him take you on a beautiful date, and where you were pinned underneath him, screaming his name while he made you come over and over again.

He was still so fucking hard. He needed you to step out of your apartment. He needed you now. Just the sound of your voice would do something for him. If he could just hear it, just a little bit, it was all he needed. He slowly opened the door and stepped into the hall, ensuring no one was there. He walked up to your door, looking through the lens to see if he could get a glimpse of you.

You walked by, and he thought he might collapse. You’d changed into something more comfortable, a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. As you should, it was rather warm that day. You deserved to be comfortable, perhaps even naked. Basil’s thoughts consumed him as he watched you bending over to open a box, pulling some things out, and disappearing from view. How lucky he was that you put those boxes right there by the door.

His hands gripped the doorframe tightly, and he rutted his hips involuntarily against the door. His whole body shook, watching you move so freely around your new home. He wondered what would happen if he just walked in and took you while you were bent over in a box. Your pussy was right there, hiding behind such a thin layer of fabric. Surely it would be easy to just…

He bit his lip so hard he tasted iron, rolling his cock faster against the door. His breathing was labored, needy, and desperate for you. Basil knew he wasn’t good enough for you, but you might like him if you just gave him a chance. He could thrust into your wet, velvety heat and make you scream out like it was the best thing you’d ever felt. Or maybe you’d cry out in terror because no one wants to fuck a monster.

He let out a low growl, feeling his cock ache while it leaked in his pants. You’d heard the sound, stopping what you were doing to turn and face the door.

That was it.

That was all he needed to see before he lost it. His body shook against the door while a soft whimper left his lips. Hot cum spilled out through his clothes, leaving a wet streak on the wood he’d been rutting against. He sighed, finally feeling some sense of satisfying relief. Even after all the nights he’d spent palming his own release, he’d never felt so good.

You did this to him.

He had to move, looking into the peephole to see that you were coming closer. Basil darted from your door, opening his quickly and locking himself inside silently. He didn’t want you to know he was there. He couldn’t let you know he was there. He couldn’t let you see his fucking face.

----

It only took him a few days to get your schedule figured out.

In the morning when you left - he presumed for work - you were dressed so nicely. He would’ve followed you but, on account of his horrific deformity, he couldn’t. So he settled for what little bits of you he could. He loved it most when you’d come home, tired from the day and retreating to your apartment so he could sneak over to your door and peek at you.

He would only allow himself a few moments of watching before his conscience forced him back to his own place where he would fuck his fist raw, passing out on the couch. Everything was fine, and he could see himself doing things that way forever, until it wasn’t enough anymore.

He needed more.

Basil found a gift card to a coffee shop up the road that he knew only had a dollar and some change left on it, and made his way to your door late one night about a week after you’d moved in. You were already in bed, at least, he assumed you were. It was two in the morning and he couldn’t hear a sound coming from your apartment. Basil stuck the card in between the frame and the door, wiggling very slowly so as not to make a lot of noise.

Click.

When your door opened slowly, he felt his heart fluttering wildly. This was it. This was the moment that he finally would get to see you. He stepped slowly, sock-covered feet treading silently over your floor. Your apartment was laid out exactly the same as his only mirrored, making it easy for him to get to your bedroom. He stopped when he got to the doorway though. There was a mirror on the wall to his right.

Turning to see his appearance, he lost all confidence. The grotesque creature looking back grounded him. He couldn’t go in there, not like that. What if you woke up? Maybe if he was still attractive he could make you understand why he was there, standing over you and watching you sleep, but not like the way he looked now. If he tried that now, you’d scream, calling him a freak, or a monster. He couldn’t risk hearing such horrid words coming out of such a pretty mouth, so he backed away.

“Another day…I’ll see you another day then,” he whispered with a soft cry leaving his lips. “Goodbye.”

On his way out, he stopped when his foot landed on something unexpected on your living room floor. He reached down, feeling something soft in his hands. He knew immediately what he was holding, but he brought it to the dim light coming through the window from the moonlit sky to look at it anyway. They were black, made with delicate lace…your panties.

----

Basil stared at your panties on his bed for at least two hours. He hadn’t smelled them yet because he wanted to pace himself. He wanted to savor them, enjoy them as long as he could before he had to steal another pair. Deep down he hoped they would fix him; that they’d be enough to satisfy the unquenchable thirst you seemed to fill him with. At the same time, he knew deep down that this was likely only the beginning of what would become something very, very, dark.

Taking the delicate fabric in his hands, he brought them to his face, rubbing the place that touched your cunt along his nostrils and inhaling so deep he thought he might faint. He shuddered, falling back and catching himself on his desk. He moaned, feeling them against his face once more.

“Fuck, fuck baby…” he whined, breath coming out in a ragged pant.

His tongue darted out, dragging along the place where your flavor was most potent. He whimpered, squeezing the desk so hard his knuckles ached. He licked again. You tasted too good, so delicious he thought he might die if he never got his mouth on the real thing.

Basil’s elbow brushed against the handle on the knife he’d stabbed into his desk multiple times. He snatched it up, holding it and turning it in his hand, letting the moonlight shine off the metal. He could see his mattress just over the edge, and had - what he thought was - a brilliant idea. His cock ached, and it was your fault. Once again he needed to satisfy his urges because you wouldn’t.

He stormed over to the bed, knife in hand, before stabbing a hole deep into the center, making sure it was big enough to take him. He didn’t even know where the knife landed when he threw it to the other side of his apartment, and he didn’t care. Basil wrapped your panties around his pillow before hastily removing his pants, hands shaking in the process. He’d never felt so fucking desperate.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself that the stuffing in the mattress was a good substitute for your beautiful pussy. It wasn’t, nothing would ever be a good enough substitute for you, but this wasn’t too bad. He slid himself in all the way, body shaking at the sensation as the cotton moved aside for him. Basil buried his face into your panties, taking in your smell some more, and licking them to breathe in your taste.

The bed rocked against the floor, probably loud enough to piss off the occupant of the apartment below him. He didn’t fucking care, he was busy.

“Mm, that’s it, baby, you feel so fucking good,” he whispered the words he wished he could say to you. “So tight, you’ve been waiting for someone like me to come stretch you out hm? Fuck.”

He wondered if you’d like the way he sounded when he was grinding into you. Would you like listening to his hungry moans and low growls? What about when he whimpered and whined? He always thought he sounded a little pathetic, but would you judge him for it? He couldn’t help it, when the pleasure overwhelmed him he had to vocalize it.

“Honey, you’re so sweet,” he kissed your panties, imagining that you’d squirm for him when he did. “Such a pretty little pussy.”

He was good with his tongue, he knew you’d like it if you’d just let him have you. There wasn’t a man alive that would spend hours with his tongue flicking over that swollen little clit until you were nearly pissing yourself from overstimulation, not the way Basil would. No one could love you the way he would.

His drool made your panties wet, the taste and smell already mixing with his own while he fucked the hole in his mattress sloppily. He got louder, practically yelling in a loud rasp while he mouthed at his pillow.

“You’re so good, s-so g-good.” His voice became heavier, deeper, more like a low, feral growl as his climax closed in.

Basil’s body stopped with his cock buried to the hilt inside the mattress. His body trembled and shook while he pumped shot after shot of hot sticky cum into the cotton. He was practically screaming, face buried into the pillow to muffle the sounds. His mind went blank, except for your face. He felt his cock twitching, emptying every bit it could into the damn mattress.

It was just a fucking mattress.

Basil’s heavy breathing slowed and eventually turned to sobs. He held the pillow close, crying into it, soaking the fabric with his tears. What kind of loser fucks a mattress? He thought to himself, feeling his cock getting soft inside the hole he’d made.

----

Basil woke the next morning with his drool adhering your panties to his scarred cheek. His cock was dried with cum to the hole in his mattress. He groaned, feeling like he’d had the night of his life…only to quickly realize that he looked like a pathetic mess that his own mother couldn’t even bring herself to love. He’d fucked his mattress.

What kind of loser…

His thoughts trailed off before he could finish repeating the sentiment of the night before. He peeled his face off the pillow and winced in pain while pulling his dick out of the bed. He heard your voice in the hall, calling him like a siren song to his peephole. He looked out there, and you were standing in the hall laughing with your phone to your ear.

“Yeah you can pick me up at seven, that would be great,” you said as you disappeared out of view.

“The moving man…” Basil said to himself, turning away from the door and running both hands through his hair with his eyes wide, his anger building.

He saw himself in the mirror again, face dropping as he was reminded of his disgusting appearance. His hair was everywhere, cock limp and just hanging there like a sad, pathetic thing. His shirt had pizza sauce stains all over, and discoloration under the armpits. In a moment - a very short moment - of clarity, Basil realized that even if he did manage to get you to move on from the scar, he wouldn’t be able to impress you looking, and smelling, the way he did.

“Alright, you’re going on a fucking date with some fucking loser huh?” He said, feeling the pain ripping through his chest. “Let me show you what you’re missing!”

He showered, feeling clean for the first time since the incident. When he stepped out of the shower, he noticed the good side of his face for the first time in over two weeks. The way the steam covered the mirror, only the unblemished side was visible. He touched it, feeling comfort in the fact that he could pretend for a moment that he was normal, that everything was normal.

He turned the hot water in his bathroom sink on, keeping the mirror steamed up while he took his razor blade and shaving cream out of the cabinet. He had to keep wiping the mirror so he could see himself, and that was probably why he nicked his cheek a little. He cursed, finishing the shave and then holding a small bit of toilet paper to the wound. As if he needed more deformities on his face.

Once composed, Basil walked out to his living room, realizing finally what a mess it was. He couldn’t possibly bring you in there with it looking like that. And he was going to bring you in there one way or another.

It took him all day to get his apartment back to a, somewhat, normal state. Basil had to push through several mood swings in the process, fantasizing about how impressed you would be, complimenting how nice his place was, and reality creeping its way into his mind and reminding him that you were going on a date tonight…

A knock on his door forced all the thoughts to a stop. Who the fuck was knocking on his door? He hadn’t bought pizza or groceries. The new mattress he ordered wasn’t expected until next week. Basil walked up to his peephole, peering through only to nearly collapse when he saw you. He stepped away from the door as if it were made of hot coals.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. His body immediately started trembling. “Um…I can’t come to the door right now!”

“Oh!” He held his chest when you spoke. You were speaking to him. “Well that’s okay, I just wanted to leave you some cookies.” You chuckled softly. “I honestly didn’t even realize I had a neighbor until I heard you playing some cool music yesterday.”

“C-cool music?”

Basil was still so in shock that you were even speaking to him that he’d forgotten how inconsiderate he’d been yesterday afternoon. He remembered playing music so loudly it probably could be heard by you and the downstairs neighbor.

“I’m sorry if it was annoying, I’ll keep it down next–”

“No it’s alright! I actually like it!” You couldn’t be that perfect, you couldn’t be. “Well, I hope you like chocolate chip, I’ll leave them here! I’m not the best cook but I tried.”

Your little giggle would be the death of him.

“I would like anything you made for me…” He said softly as he was struggling to breathe.

“What did you say?”

He cleared his throat, “I um…thank you so much I’m sure they’re great.”

“Okay well, have a good day! Maybe I’ll see you another time.”

With that, you were gone, and Basil’s knees felt so weak he had to sit on the floor. You talked to him. You fucking talked to him. You really did like him. You must have liked him, why else would you have come to his door and left him such a nice gift?

Basil waited by his door until he was sure you were gone before opening it and pulling the cookies inside. They were still warm, you must’ve just made them and waited for them to cool off before bringing them to his door. He held one in his hand, turning it around to decide which side to bite first. He finally bit into it, feeling the sweet flavor fill his mouth, forcing a smile over his lips.

You made those for him.

Basil ate too many cookies, and with the pang of despair rushing through him periodically at the thought of you going on a date in just an hour, he found himself with his head in the toilet bowl, vomiting uncontrollably. He groaned into the bowl, beginning to cry in frustration. He couldn’t keep himself together. You deserved to go on that date with someone else, someone who wouldn’t flush the delicious gift you brought them because they didn’t know how to establish self-control.

Your door opened at 6:55pm on the dot. Basil was, of course, watching you. He felt his cock aching immediately at the sight of you in that tight black dress. Watching the way it shifted as your hips swayed down the hall made his heart rate rise quickly. He couldn’t believe that someone else would be seeing you in that, touching you in that.

He had the urge to be destructive again, feeling his breathing become rapid and labored in panic. He went to the window where he could see the street below to watch you get into the man’s car, only to see you standing there shivering. Why hadn’t you worn a coat? Basil looked over at the clock, 7:01pm. The guy was late.

While he didn’t enjoy seeing you waiting in the cold, Basil did like knowing the man was unreliable. He watched you pull out your phone, likely calling your missing date. He could tell the man didn’t answer by the way your arm dropped to your hip and head hung in disappointment. You waited though, still hoping he would show up, just standing there in the cold.

For ten more minutes Basil watched you wait, full of hope, only to end up disappointed in the end on your walk back into the building. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy, wanting desperately to rush out into the hall and offer to take you out. He couldn’t though…that stupid fucking scar was ruining his life.

It hit him suddenly, that you would be hungry. He couldn’t let you go hungry, not after how sweet you’d been to him, so it was time to repay the favor. Even before the incident, Basil couldn’t cook for shit, and he wasn’t about to try now. This opened the door for another opportunity though…an opportunity to see you in person…

“No, no you’re crazy,” he said, looking at himself in the mirror.

He couldn’t see you like that, not with the horrible scar. And showing up at your doorstep with food in hand and a paper bag on his head would be even weirder than the scar. But if you were asleep, well, it would be hard to be afraid of him then…wouldn’t it?

With a plan in place, he called to order a pizza. He didn’t know what you liked yet, but everyone liked pizza, right? You were nice, you’d probably eat it even if it wasn’t your favorite. Plus you’d be hungry. He was banking on you being hungry.

The food arrived at his door a little while later, and the delivery man knew to just leave it on the floor. Basil took the sleeping pills he was prescribed and crushed them, sprinkling the dust over each slice so you were sure to get some in your system. Every bit of reasonable thinking was gone. He needed more than just your damn panties and a cum filled mattress.

He needed you.

Basil put the pizza in front of your door and knocked before scrambling back into his own place. He watched through the peephole as you stepped out, dressed in a comfortable pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt. You sniffled and looked down at the pizza with a confused expression. It was obvious that you’d been crying.

That’s what you get for thinking someone else could do better for you than I can. Basil thought to himself.

You lifted the sticky note he’d adhered to the box, reading over it slowly before a smile appeared on your face.

Thought you might be hungry.

The cookies were really good, here’s some pizza.

Your neighbor, Basil

Basil’s heart nearly stopped. You were smiling because of something he did. You were smiling because of him.

“This is so nice of you,” you said softly, looking at the door. “Would you…would you want to come in and have some too?”

There’s no way this was real. There’s no way you were actually inviting him into your apartment. Basil looked down at his clothes and straightened out his shirt. His breathing became shallow at the thought. This was so unexpected, he couldn’t believe it. Basil looked over at the table next to the door and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bowl he usually tossed his keys in.

“Um…I can’t, but you should enjoy it,” he said with a crack in his voice.

He was surprised to see the look of disappointment on your face. This must be his delusions toying with him again. You weren’t disappointed that he wouldn’t come to your apartment, that would never be the case. He stood there awkwardly, watching you through the peephole, waiting for you to leave.

“Well, you didn’t have to do this, but thank you so much, I actually am hungry.” You paused and sighed, “I’m glad you liked the cookies,” you said to him before retreating to your own apartment once again, pizza in hand.

Basil was trembling at the door for the better part of a half hour. He was stunned by your reaction, by the fact that you invited him over. It couldn’t be real. You’d fucking invited him over! If you’d known what a loser he was, would you have still invited him? If you’d known he fucked a hole in his mattress while intoxicated by the smell of your cunt would you still want him in your home?

----

He waited until it was late and he knew you’d be sound asleep. He walked into your apartment, noticing the pizza on the counter, the box still open, and three slices missing. Surely you’d consumed enough to be comatose for the time being. He stepped into your bedroom and froze.

“Wow,” he whispered, staring intently at your half-dressed form on the bed.

You hadn’t even covered up. Did you know there was a chance he might creep into your house and you wanted to be ready for him? Did you wear that tank top that barely covered anything and those lacy panties knowing he would like them? What about the way your lips parted…were you expecting him to kiss them?

Basil knelt down, reaching his shaking hand out to touch your cheek. Your skin was so soft. He felt a sob swelling in his chest. If his face was still soft, would you let him touch you while you were awake? Would you be able to actually look at him without being disgusted? He couldn’t even look at himself without being disgusted anymore.

“So pretty…”

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, in a small way he was testing to see if it would wake you. You stayed asleep, and so he moved forward, pressing his lips against yours. He stayed there for so long, just letting his mouth linger, feeling the way his skin felt against yours. He felt his cock growing already, aching and pressing against the zipper in his jeans. He wanted to feel your mouth in other ways, a kiss wasn’t enough.

“Someday I hope you’ll be able to enjoy this while you’re awake but…for now this is how we need to do this, okay?” he looked at you, knowing you wouldn’t answer, but hoping your subconscious would somehow hear him and understand.

Basil unbuttoned his pants, sliding the zipper down slowly and pulling the waist down with his boxer briefs as well. His fat cock bobbed out, already leaking from the head, slick strands dripping to the floor beneath him. He held the top of your head with one hand, and his length with the other, bringing the weeping tip to your pretty lips.

His body trembled immediately, feeling the way your mouth opened around his girth. He moved in further, feeling the wet heat of your tongue on the underside of his shaft. If he gagged you would you wake? He tested it, sliding forward more, watching those lips stretch around him. If you were awake you’d look up at him so pretty, eyes filling with tears as you struggled to take him all the way.

He stuffed himself all the way into your mouth, the tip of his cock resting in your throat. He could feel your body responding to the foreign object naturally, throat closing around him while you gagged, but you stayed asleep. The feeling was indescribable, causing his entire body to shake and tremble while he kept your head impaled on him.

“You’re too good baby, too good…you're gonna make me come…gonna make me come too fast! Ah!”

Basil pulled his cock out of your mouth and jerked his spend onto your cheek. He fisted himself angrily, beyond pissed that he couldn’t hold it in for more than one fucking minute. If the time ever came - which he expected it wouldn’t - that he managed to get you in bed while awake, if his face didn’t scare you off, the fact that he was a minuteman surely would.

He looked all around for something to clean you up with, but anything in your apartment would have to be taken out, or else you’d know someone was there. Basil decided to peel off his t-shirt, using that to wipe your face clean. He leaned against the wall, looking at you, still scowling and infuriated with his inability to perform, even while you were sleeping.

The longer he looked at you though, the more aroused he became all over again. Maybe getting off so quickly wouldn’t be a dealbreaker…not with you being his own personal aphrodisiac. He walked over to you again, touching your hip and squeezing your flesh. He pushed you onto your back, hooking a finger into the waist of your cute little panties. To his surprise, between your lips was sticky, warm, and wet. Did he do this to you? Did he have this effect on you?

Basil pulled your underwear down your beautiful legs slowly, staring at the slit between them hungrily. He felt some drool spilling over his bottom lip that he wiped away quickly. Tossing your panties aside, he crawled onto the bed, lowering his head between your thighs. He could smell you as he closed in, the same familiar smell he’d spent the other night drowning himself in.

Using two thick fingers, he spread your lips, watching the slick strands of your arousal stretch and break as they moved further apart. Everything was glistening and wet, and it was all for him. He leaned in, licking a stripe up and collecting what he could on his tongue, bringing it in past his lips and letting the taste settle in his mouth before swallowing.

He became immediately addicted, going in and pressing his face against your mound, moaning loudly into it. He wondered if you’d notice the feeling of his textured skin against your thighs. Would you find that disgusting? Of course you would. You’d probably yell at him and throw him out of your apartment just for looking at you with that milky broken eye in his head while he ate you out.

Not while you were asleep though. While you were sleeping he could plunge two fingers into your tight little hole and feel your cunt clenching around him. In your sleep you wanted him, you were pulling his fingers in deeper like you were starving and needed to taste him. It wasn’t enough, his fingers just weren’t going to do it for you, you needed more.

Positioning himself between your limp legs, Basil brought his cock to your entrance, gliding it between your folds to get it slick with your juices. If you were awake he imagined you might be moaning, whimpering, maybe even begging for him. He tested your threshold, seeing how well the last man in there had stretched you out. Not very well it would seem.

Slowly, he slid himself in, shuddering as he felt your walls closing down over every inch. He used two fingers to hold your puffy lips open so he could watch your cunt swallowing his cock. He needed to last, he needed to keep himself from coming too soon again. He might be a pathetic freak, but he wasn’t going to spill his load like one.

Fuck.

He wondered if this was how he would keep you. It was entirely possible he’d just pumped a baby into you without your knowledge, but that was okay. It was perfect actually. You wouldn’t want to have a baby without someone around to help you, right? He’d be able to swoop in and be there for you, to care for you.

He touched your stomach as he pulled out of you. He shuddered on the way out, looking down at the mess he made as it trickled from your pretty little hole. Basil had never been so proud of something in all his life. He may have been a hideous monster, but he made you look so beautiful just by stuffing you with everything he could. He wanted to do more. He wanted to do it again.

But he wanted you to be awake this time.

----

Another week went by of you and Basil trading food and notes throughout the day. It started the morning after he fucked your sleeping body that you came by with breakfast. He smiled and nearly cried again as he watched you put down the plate with a metal lid keeping it warm as if he’d ordered room service.

“Good morning. I don’t know if you like coffee but, you can come over and get some if you want,” you said, waiting to see if he’d respond.

He didn’t, instead he just stood there staring at you. He didn’t want to come over yet. Not while you were awake anyway. He couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing him and being afraid of what you saw. The thought of it was devastating and it hadn’t even happened yet.

“Um, no thank you. Thank you for the breakfast though I’m looking forward to it. You’re a great cook.” He said through the door.

You looked disappointed again. Were you lonely or something? Why did you care if your neighbor wanted to come over or not? You didn’t even know him, wasn’t that dangerous? He sniffed out a laugh at his own thoughts.

“It’s fine, my offer stands,” you started for your apartment again.

“I’ll cover lunch,” he said quickly before you disappeared.

When lunch came, he wanted to do something better than pizza. You deserved something good after what you’d done for him the other night, so he ordered from one of the fancy restaurants nearby and had it delivered to your door. When you retrieved your food, you furrowed your brow and smiled widely.

“Really? Gino’s? That place is pretty pricey.”

“Well, you’re really kind so… I thought I’d do something nice for you,” he felt nervous every time you spoke to him.

To his surprise, you left the bag in the hall and disappeared into your apartment. Did he do something wrong? He started panicking, thinking maybe he’d offended you somehow. Did you hate expensive food? Did you not like Gino’s? He reached for the handle, ready to pull the bag into his apartment and hope you forgot about it altogether when your door opened again and you stepped out with a folding chair in hand.

“Well, if you’re going to buy me an expensive meal, the least I can do is join you for lunch. Did you get something to eat?” You asked, sitting down and pulling out the meal he’d bought for you.

“Uh, well…” he felt his stomach grumble suddenly when he realized he hadn’t thought of his own hunger in the slightest, “I had a big breakfast.”

You chuckled, “Yeah so did I…here…”

Basil watched in awe, still shocked you were even giving him the time of day, as you sorted the containers of food and made two meals out of the one he bought. You reached for his door and then stopped, dropping your hand at your side.

“I know you like to keep to yourself, so I’ll leave this here and turn around so you can get it, okay?”

Why were you so understanding? Were you quite literally the epitome of perfection wrapped up in the most beautiful looking person he’d ever seen? Basil, at this point, was nearly certain he was having visual hallucinations. It wouldn’t be the first time since the incident that he’d thought he’d seen things…or heard things. Maybe this was just him going completely nuts. Maybe this was just an extension of his psychotic break. You put the box of food down and turned.

Slowly, Basil opened the door, not peeking his head out far enough that you’d be able to see even if you did turn around, and he pulled the food back inside. You didn’t even try to peek. You didn’t let - what he assumed to be - your morbid curiosity get the better of you. Basil pulled a chair over and sat with his half of the meal on the other side of the door.

He couldn’t see you now, but he could hear you, and that was good enough for him.

“So, you obviously saw me get ridiculously embarrassed last night,” you said from the other side of the door.

He smirked, thinking about how much he enjoyed you last night, and how much you seemed to enjoy him, despite not ever knowing he was there. You called it embarrassing, but to Basil, it was an amazing, and unwasted, opportunity to show you something better.

“Well, maybe it’s good that he’s doing this now instead of wasting your time later,” Basil said, taking a bite of his food.

He thought about Katherine and the way she’d been to him. She cheated on him for so long, and yet he stayed. Since seeing you, Basil considered that he never really loved her, he just hated the thought of admitting someone could cast him away so easily after so many years. He further hated the thought of losing the social status that came with having a girlfriend. Everyone seemed to respect you and treat you differently if you had a pretty girl on your arm. He would’ve dealt with the cheating to avoid the shame of admitting she’d cheated on him, but he never really loved her.

Not the way he loved you.

“You’re very right about that,” you agreed with a mouthful of food. “What about you? Are you seeing someone?”

Basil laughed loudly, “me? Is that a joke?”

“Hey, just because you’re a hermit doesn’t mean you don’t have some online girlfriend or something.”

“No…no, no one would be interested in me,” Basil felt the weight of his loneliness on his chest again.

“You seem like a sweet guy, and you do have great taste in music, I’m sure there’s someone out there who would love to date you,” you chuckled, “this kinda feels like a date.”

Basil put his food down, having completely lost his appetite in favor of this conversation with you. He stood, going back to the peephole. You must’ve heard him because you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours and stared.

“Why?” He asked. “This is weird.”

“What’s weird? Me talking to you about my dating life when you literally live next door to me? You probably know more about what’s happening in my personal life than anyone,” you said, shaking your head and putting your food on the floor too.

You got up and walked to the door, putting your palm on the wood paneling and resting it there.

“When I came in from that date, well, lack thereof, I called my best friend and my mom, and no one answered,” you looked at the floor and then back at the peephole. “Some stranger who I hardly know, but who also seems to be going through something, was kind enough to send me a pizza. That kinda checks off a lot of boxes for me as far as someone I might be interested in getting to know better.”

“What if you find out I’m actually a horrible person? Like you said, you don’t know me,” he retorted, thinking about what he’d done to that pizza you were so grateful for.

“Are you a murderer?” You asked bluntly, keeping your eye on the peephole.

“Well no, no I’m not.”

“Okay then I don’t think–”

“What if I’m hideous?”

“I don’t give a shit about looks really,” you sighed and sat back down in your chair. “I know this is weird, that’s why I just want to talk to you, get to know you a little. Is that alright?”

You were right. There was no harm in getting to know him, except it gave him hope. The last thing he could handle was the thought of you leading him on and then turning him down once you saw his face. What if getting to know you only made his obsession grow? How would he ever recover from the crushing despair if you rejected him once you saw what he really looked like?

“Fine,” he said, sitting back down.

For days you shared meals and stories, taking turns sitting outside the other’s door while getting to know one another. Basil was falling for you. It was more than just that obsession to fuck you now, it was that need to call you his. It was the need to have you smiling and laughing with him on a lazy Sunday morning or while apple picking in the fall. Simultaneously, it was the need to have you moaning his name while you took every inch he had.

He would overcome anything for you, even his greatest fear, which was risking your potential rejection of him.

He gave himself the excuse he needed to knock on your door and come inside. You’d had a heavy package delivered, and while he was certain you could handle it, he decided to offer some help. Basil knocked on your door, heart pounding with every step he heard you took toward him. He adjusted the paper bag on his head, knowing he looked foolish, but he wasn’t ready to show you everything yet.

You opened the door, and he saw your eyes scanning him up and down. This was the first time he was seeing you in the open while awake, and you took his breath away. It was evening, so the two of you had already had your dinner date. The UPS driver came late, and you probably hadn’t planned on company, hence the short shorts and ill-fitting tank top.

“Basil?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

You were judging him, he could tell. His palms started to sweat and he lost the ability to speak. Could he remember how to breathe?

“Oh, my package!” You exclaimed, walking over to it and trying uselessly to lift it.

“I got it,” he said, coming out of his stupor and rushing to aid you.

You thanked him as he brought the package into your apartment and placed it down on your floor by the couch with a heavy grunt. He stood up, stepping away from the package. His paper bag rustled as he did so.

“Thanks. I probably could’ve dragged that in here myself but…I appreciate the help,” you sighed, giving Basil a smile that nearly stretched ear to ear.

If you could see his face, you’d see how flushed his cheeks were at your charming expression.

“What?” He asked, keeping his eyes on you.

“I’m just happy to see you out of your apartment,” you explained sincerely. “You don’t have to keep the bag on unless you want to, but it’s going to be kinda hard to drink some wine with it on.”

You went to one of your cupboards and pulled out a bottle of Barefoot Moscato and two glasses.

“All I’ve got is white, and it’s cheap,” you said, pouring the drinks.

“Oh um…I’m not…I was going to go back…”

“Come on Basil, please just stay for one glass?”

How could he say no when you looked at him like that? So sweet and begging that it nearly brought a tear to his eye to even think about turning you down.

“Y-you really want me to s-stay? You don’t think I’m weird or–”

You laughed, “I mean, you are wearing a bag on your head, I can’t lie and say that’s not odd but…” you trailed off as you handed him the glass of wine. “We’re all a little weird right? I mean, I’m letting a guy I barely know have wine with me in my apartment with a bag on his head. Who’s weirder?”

Basil couldn’t help laughing. You made a good point, so he decided to try and relax, and the wine certainly helped. Three glasses in each and you were both feeling a bit more loose, but he was also feeling something else. While you were laughing and telling him about how annoying this girl at work was, your breasts were bouncing with every wild movement of your arms. He was mesmerized.

“-And when I tell you that’s all she ever does…are you listening?” The bag on Basil’s head shifted as he looked back at your eyes.

“Yeah, yes.”

You chuckled, looking down at your chest and back up at him, shaking your head.

“All you men are the same, just after one thing huh?” You asked, downing a fourth glass of wine.

Basil’s heart stopped in terror. No. No, you couldn’t possibly think that of him could you?

“No, no it’s the wine I’m sorry I was zoning out and I wasn’t even looking at them I…I’m so sorr–”

“I’m kidding. You think I would’ve answered the door when I saw it was you out there wearing this if I didn’t want you to look at me?”

Basil let out a half-hearted chuckle, trying to breathe again, “kidding, right…” he finished off another glass as well. It was then that he realized what you’d said. “You want me to l-look at you? Like…like you…” he gulped, “you want me to…”

You laughed, nodding and sighing at him affectionately.

“Basil, I think you’re a nice guy, I want you to look at me.”

His mind was fuzzy, and even with only one good eye, he could see clearly as you started to bring the straps of your tank top down. Either your self-esteem was so on the floor, and you’d take your top off for any man that gave you the time of day, or you were really into him. He didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them crushed, so he took what he could get, and enjoyed the moment, watching you lower your top down, showing your beautiful chest off in a lacy bralette.

You couldn’t see the way Basil’s jaw dropped, or see the way the drool dribbled down his chin, but he couldn’t breathe again.

“I’m going to assume that you like what you see, even though I can’t tell what you’re looking at…” you raised your eyebrows.

“Yes, yes I’m sorry I’m just…wow…”

“Wanna feel ‘em?” You asked with a hiccup.

Could you get cuter? Your big, gorgeous eyes were looking at him from the other side of the couch, begging for validation. You really needed someone as pathetic as him to validate you? Someone so beautiful needed his reassurance to feel adequate? You were practically asking him to tell you just how much he loved your tits and wanted them. Who was he to deny you?

“Um…I…”

Before he could stutter any longer, you were crawling on the couch over to him, sitting on your knees, your chest perked up for him to admire. Basil’s cock had been at half mast for the better part of the hour, and now it was threatening to bust through the seam holding it back. With a shaking hand, he reached out, touching your breast underneath the thin fabric of the bralette. You bit your lip as his thumb brushed over your hard nipple.

“You have really big hands,” you said with a giggle that made Basil’s body spark with an electric shock.

“You like that? Big hands?” He asked, bringing his other hand to cup your neglected right breast.

“I do,” your tone was sultry and sweet.

A breathy moan escaped as his hands massaged your tits, taking his time to rub his thumbs over your peaks, feeling the way they got harder under the bralette. He pinched them, enjoying the way you whimpered when he did. You were so sensitive, he knew you would be, he could feel it.

He felt something else too, the unmistakable and insurmountable arousal growing inside of him and pooling in his groin. He cursed under his breath, squeezing your tits tight while he felt the heat, shooting in spurts, and wetting his lap, making a mess of himself…right in front of you. Basil froze, afraid to move, afraid that you would see how pathetic he was, blowing his load after only touching you for a second.

“Did…did you just…” you started, looking down at the dark, wet spot on his lap.

“I’m so sorry, this has never happened to me before,” he lied, trying to cover himself with his hands. “I’ll go, oh my–”

“No wait,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder before he could leave. “Are you kidding me? That’s so fucking hot.”

That was it, the proof Basil needed to convince himself that you were all in his head. Though he usually couldn’t feel his hallucinations, not like this anyway. He would’ve kissed you right then, but he couldn’t. You still didn’t know what he looked like, and no matter how much of his odd behavior you were willing to accept, he couldn’t be certain you would accept his deformity.

“Can you bend over for me?” He asked, voice soft and pleading.

You bit your lip and nodded slowly, turning around and putting a throw pillow under your chest. Basil removed the bag from his face, letting it drop off to the side of the couch. He could see you much more clearly now, bent over so nicely for him, rear poised and ready for him to touch. He stood up and unclasped his belt, then pulled down his soiled pants and boxer briefs, discarding them on the floor.

“Can you promise me you won’t look?” He asked, holding onto your hips as he positioned himself behind you.

You giggled and nodded, “yeah, I won’t look, I promise.”

He leaned over you, “thank you,” he whispered in your ear, feeling your body shudder in response, “such a sensitive girl.”

You whined as he kissed down your shoulder, bringing his hands to your waist and holding tightly. He ran his cock between your ass cheeks, feeling the sweet friction they provided was going to set him off again so soon after he just came. You said it was hot though…

“I’m sorry, it’s coming again I can’t stop–ah!”

Basil moved his hips faster and faster until he was shooting heavy ropes of white all over your back, getting some on the couch. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment, despite your saying how much you liked it. You laughed again, wiggling your ass a little and rubbing it along his length.

“Such a needy boy,” you taunted, “get it in me next time.”

He furrowed his brow, running the fat tip of his cock along your slit. You still made him so fucking hard, no matter how many times he came, he could keep going as long as you were around. Basil watched your lips part, swallowing him whole until his pubic hair was brushing against your rear. He whined, feeling your walls flutter around him and hearing your satisfied sigh.

“Yes, oh wow, you’re f-fucking h-huge,” you said, gasping as though he’d been pounding you for hours, but he still hadn’t moved since he slid into you.

“You really like it? You think it’s big?” He pulled back, seeing how wet you made his cock until he slammed forward again.

You cried out, “oh god yes!”

Basil squeezed your waist tighter, finding a smooth rhythm that kept you wailing and drooling on your own couch. He watched you hold onto the arm of the couch, burying your face into the pillow and screaming into it like he was killing you. He pushed on your back, forcing you to gasp and groan, face being forced into the cushions.

He leaned forward, kissing your shoulder, “tell me how much you like it,” he whispered, “please, I need to hear you tell me how good I feel.”

“I-oh god I can’t-mm!”

“Please,” he begged pathetically, kissing your back again, “tell me it’s good, please.”

“It’s good Basil it’s…oh!”

He felt your pussy squeeze around him, and when he looked down he could see it throbbing while you gushed over his cock. You were incoherent, making high pitched whines as you continued losing yourself in the euphoria. He’d slowed his movements, trying once again to contain himself a little longer. It was clear you wanted more when you started moving on him again on your own, taking what you knew you needed.

“Basil,” you mewled.

He leaned into you again, “yeah?”

“I want to see you, please,” you said, voice pleading for the one thing he never wanted to give you.

Basil would give you his soul, his body, everything in his bank account in order to avoid letting you see his fucking face. He slammed into your hips, growing a little frustrated with your curiosity. Did you want to see it so you could mock him? So you could laugh at the man while he fucked you full? Why did you need to see him so badly?

“I want to see your face when you come,” you said as though you could read his mind.

Basil pulled out of you.

This was it.

He couldn’t keep hiding from you.

He sat back, feeling the cool leather of the couch against his rear.

“Fine,” he said coldly, feeling dread weighing on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

You turned around slowly until you finally met his gaze. Your lips parted slowly, eyes scanning over his face as though you were mapping it out, memorizing the details. As you leaned in closer, Basil turned his face away from you, shielding the deformity from your eyes as though it might make you hate it less. He could feel the tears welling, he was already anticipating your harsh words.

“Why are you hiding from me? Pretty boy,” you cooed in the softest voice, reaching out a hand and touching his scarred cheek, turning him to face you.

“W-what did you just say?” He asked, a tear spilling over and running down his cheek.

“I can’t believe you’d keep your beautiful face hidden from me like that,” you climbed over his lap, straddling his hips.

“Are you playing with me? Huh? What’s your angle? Are you going to go to work tomorrow and tell all your friends you fucked a freak?” He was getting angry, but trying to keep it from boiling over.

You giggled, “do you really think that lowly of me, Basil?” your face closed in on his and your lips brushed against the rippled skin on his cheek softly.

He choked out a moan as you lowered yourself on him, stuffing your cunt full of him once again. You liked his face? You really liked it? He threw his head back, hair falling out of his eyes as he looked up at you. He guided you as you bounced up and down on his dick, feeling it bruising the deepest parts of you. You brought your hands to the back of his head, holding onto his dark curls tight while you kissed him deeply.

“Mm, you’re so so-good-baby,” he growled lowly, “use me, use me to get off again, I want you to come on me again and again I–”

“Shh,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his, forcing your tongue past his lips, and the second he tasted you, he let out a whimpering moan.

He squeezed your hips tighter, intoxicated by the feeling of you, and the sounds of your wet pussy slapping against his lap. He started rolling his hips upward, feeling himself getting deeper and deeper with every pass. It was like your body knew he belonged in there, making room for him as it should. You let out a guttural moan, deep from inside of you, and Basil could feel your cunt starting to flutter around him again.

He latched his lips to your neck, and you immediately held onto both of his shoulders and lurched forward, hips freezing while your cunt contracted over him in waves. Basil came once again, cock throbbing while it filled your little hole with everything he had. He pulled your hips down, placing both hands on top of your thighs and holding you there while he rutted upward, sobbing as he did.

He couldn’t believe you let him take you. He couldn’t believe you called him pretty. Most of all, he couldn’t believe that when you were both finished, panting heavily on the couch as clarity set in, you didn’t call him an ugly monster and scream at him to leave your apartment.

“So you…was that…did I do alright? You liked it? You don’t think I’m hideous?”

“Basil…” you leaned in and kissed his nose, “you’re perfect.”

Miscellaneous Character Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#basil #stitt #basil stitt fanfiction #basil stitt fan fiction #basil stitt x reader #basil stitt x you #basil stitt fanfic #basil stitt fan fic #lightningface fanfiction #basil stitt oneshot #basil stitt one shot #basil stitt smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #lightningface fan fiction #basil stitt x f!Reader #basil x reader #basil x you #basil stitt headcanons

584 notes · View notes

grossditz · 6 months

Note

hii idk if it’s weird but can you write like gyuvin as a stalker and he forces you to do it with him…!! ahh idkkk

pairings｜kim gyuvin x f!reader

wc｜1.9k

warnings ｜ dom!gyuvin，sub!reader，stalker gyuvin，delusional gyuvin，noncon，dubcon，kissing，choking，gyuvin is really manipulative，groping，crying，nipple play，breeding，gyuv calls you dolly + baby，unprotected sex，dumbification，reader kinda goes braindead

an｜not weird at all love ☁️☁️☁️ i'm so sorry this took me so long but i hope you enjoy and visit back soon !!!

it was too hard to swallow the lump in your throat. heart hammering against your chest while you pressed your ear to your apartment door, suddenly angry you forgot to talk to the landlord about providing peepholes.

this was so childish. you were too old to be scared of little creaks of doors, but you were and you couldn't shake it. something— someone has been watching you for weeks now.

paranoia had become your best friend. checking if doors were locked every ten minutes, counting the amount of steps it takes to get from your office to the comfort of your home, avoiding standing near any windows, afraid if you were too close, too aware, that someone would be standing there. your life hasn't been in ease for weeks. finally hearing the quiet knock on your front door at two am reassured you more than it should've. you weren't crazy. you knew this whole time. but now that whoever it is has the advantage to get to you surely made that reassurance turn to fear. mumbling, "what am i gonna do...?" pacing around the area, as if he can't hear you.

"come on dolly. let me in."

gyuvin could make out any of your sudden movements. quivering voice breaking into long heaves of breaths the longer he jiggled around your door knob. he could already imagine the frown on your face, pretty cheeks wet and hot. finally, after weeks he could have you. "I can tell you’re inside, you forgot to turn the lights off baby.”

the sound of one of your quiet sobs from the other side of the door made his heart hurt. broke it down into pieces the longer the sobbing went on. why were you crying ? why were you so afraid ? It was only him, the man you’ve been seeing for almost a year.

"please leave me alone." your whole body is shaking, trembling hands forcing the door shut. not knowing who exactly was outside made your face darken. you were beyond scared.

"don't wanna hurt you," he tilted his head, though you couldn't see him. his whole demeanor, as if hes not harassing a stranger right now, was filled with too much calmness. “please let me in pretty.”

your eyes were teary and full. there weren't any words in your mouth, finding it extremely hard to think of anything but whats going to happen. and as your sobs went more silent, so did he. and for a while there was a deep silence where you could only hear him breathing behind the door. as quietly as possible, you reached for the house phone, and slowly started moving your shaky fingers tapping the numbers, heart out of your chest. this was eerie. he was too silent.

"no one will come. who would listen to you the way you've been acting recently?" you froze, your finger hovering the last number. "its past two. theres no one but us.”

the sobs escaping your lips in a broken rhythm again made him feel like the walls were caving in. he hated how in pain you sounded. pressing his forehead to the door, he whispered in a honey-coated voice, closing his eyes. "listen to me baby. put the phone down and open the door. i told you, i won't hurt you."

his words were too easy to get addicted to. so well spoken and articulate, slipping into your brain like a virus. slowly you put down the phone, rising to your feet. "If I let you in, you promise you’ll take what you want and leave?" your little voice inquired with such insecurity, making his lips stretch into a small smile. "I promise.”

you were too stupid to believe a stranger. unlocking the door and stumbling back onto the couch. soon, like a wounded puppy, you started appearing in gyuvin's view. pretty and angelic despite the way your lips burned red for how hard you'd been chewing.

"why so scared?" he made a step to approach you, chest now bumping into yours, forcing you deeper into the couch cushions. your eyes watered again, refusing to lift your head and look at him directly. "please... take anything.."

gyuvin smiled, a breathy laugh passing his lips. he caressed your cheek, cold fingers making you shiver more in his hold. his other hand slowly worked its way beside your head, trapping you. "didn't answer my question baby." you physically couldn't speak. voice knocked out from his overwhelming presence.

gripping your face and pulling you closer to him, gyuvin muttered, “why are you scared?” his words were punctuated, eyes serious and dark staring into yours. “i'm s–s–scared...” you responded. your mind was going numb looking at him, his cologne filling your senses making you hazy.

the same hand that held onto your chin trailed down your neck, meticulous and slow while gyuvin watched you, doe eyes staring into his, almost making him feel bad about what he wants to do to you. sighing deeply his hand attached to your throat, grip strong enough to make your eyes flutter. you couldn't stop the whimper from escaping your lips as he tilted his head, pressing the tip of his nose against your cheekbone.

“don't be. m' gonna take good care of you.” he whispered before pressing a kiss to your cheek. "i promised."

your body was so weak against his and the kisses he pressed up your jaw had your knees buckling, on the verge of begging him to do anything but touch you. his free hand wandered down to your waist, fingers slipping to grope your breast. "i'd never hurt a pretty girl like you."

nothing in your brain could comprehend the feelings that were forming inside of you when gyuvin ripped the front of your top, pulling it off in one movement. "baby... you don't seem so excited? don't you want this?" his voice was sickenly sweet yet his face visibly hardened when you scrunched up, eyes drifting to the ceiling. gyuvin didn't say or do anything. firm hands still holding you against him while silence filled the air again. then he was leaning in to kiss you. soft, slow and addicting. he kissed you until your lipgloss was rubbing off and latched onto his skin instead.

"pretty thing..." his words trailed, eyes looming over your body, "be good will you."

he was kissing you again. harsher, making you feel limp and unable to do anything but accept the fate you brought to yourself. he grunts against your mouth, hands traveling to your sides and pressing you further to him. you were so perfect, all he's ever dreamed of. all he wanted to do was pull shaky moans from you, mold you into his forever.

the next few minutes were intoxicating. gyuvin's grip suffocating you, his hands everywhere. and the next thing you know, his pants are hanging over your couch leg and hes tearing your panties, welcoming your bare skin onto his clothed one, marking you with his scent.

"all mine. no one can ever have you. my pretty doll, wanna ruin your precious face."

you whimpered on his lips, because he was flipping you over, now perched on his lap while his hands gripped your sides and started moving your naked cunt against the bulge in his boxers, your poor clit throbbing from the friction and dampening his underwear. "c'mon make a mess on me."

"i–i– no! st–op!” you clung to his shoulders, trying to gain more friction by rubbing your clit against him despite begging him to let you go. gyuvin swallowed a deep breath, a bruising hold on your skin as he leaned in to kiss you again.

"been waiting for this haven't you pretty? soaking right through me. you wanted this."

"gonna cum! please!" you screamed when his hands reached for your breasts to play with your nipples, lips wrapping around the bud. your back was arching, hands smashing down on his shoulder the closer you got to release. gyuvin thought your body was the prettiest thing he never deserved seeing, a sacred treasure. "cum on me. let me hear all the pretty sounds you can make baby.”

coming undone above him hit you heavy. throwing your head back, eyes rolling so far you could see the whites. so perfect you were. “please....” your voice meak and brittle as you came down from your orgasm. gyuvin placed a kiss on your left breast, right above your heart. "shh."

his entire being was consuming you. willingly subjecting yourself to him as prey, buttering yourself up for him with a single kiss. you convinced yourself you didn't want this, pawing at his chest, asking him to give you more while your eyes stayed zipped closed. he wasn't the one you wanted. you never wanted this. but still when he aligned his tip with your dripping entrance, you couldn't help the way your head fell victim, drooping onto his shoulder.

"fuck dolly," he cursed at the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him, forcing him inside. “pussy's been waiting for me? so tight and ready baby."

your insides swallowed him, as easily as you swallowed his useless promise. and with every thrust in you, the waves of repetition started dissolving you, crumbling you down. your hands were holding him as if you were not his anchor first, saving him from the darkness looping him in.

watching your bouncing breasts whilst you rode his cock, gyuvin didn't want to miss anything. afraid you'd disappear if he looks away once.

It was all too much, overwhelming all your senses and making your skin feel sticky.

too drunk in the feeling of your second orgasm coming right away, you only whimpered, hips stuttering above him. his hand flew to your neck, squeezing it like before. "you know you have to ask baby.“ you whine, starting to feel too lost, "use your words." the heat building up in your core began exploding with his hand choking you, the feeling in your gut controlling you like a puppet master.

"inside! please! cum inside!!"

"fuck baby i'll give you everything." he thrusted his heavy hard cock inside you, making you reach your high. “gonna fucking break you."

you were letting him use you like a ragdoll until he was gushing and pumping his thick cum into your womb. you felt so dumb, eyes already drifting closed on his shoulder.

gyuvin brought your head back up, looking you in your pretty droopy eyes. all fucked out just for him. intoxicated. "baby belongs to me right? gonna let me keep you all to myself? you promise?"

you nodded dumbly, drool seeping past your mouth and into his arm making a silly smile spread your newly captors face. pressing your bare chest to his, groaning at the feeling of your perky nipples against his torso.

"my good little girl. all mine.”

his words were soaked in underlying intentions. and you knew but you couldn't stop the way you were pressing deeper into his skin, merging all you had into him.

#gyuvin ୨୧ #zb1 smut #zerobaseone smut #zb1 hard hours #zerobaseone hard hours #zb1 hard thoughts #boys planet smut #kim gyuvin smut #gyuvin smut

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ilyasorokinn · 7 months

Note

briss becoming a dad in college and everytime the guys wanna party he's always like "I can't, i got a baby to take care of now" even after you tell all the time that he can go

LET LOOSE

okay, so i'm changing it from briss to quinn just because i want to. just a personal thing, so please don't dig too deep into this. also, requests are closed so please don't send anything in.

"THE HUGHES GANG" SERIES MASTERLIST

tw: children/babies, mentions of partying

"i heard there was a party at abbott." you looked over at quinn, who was sitting against the headboard of the bed, max babbling to him in his lap.

"oh, yeah." he nodded, absentmindedly.

"you gonna go?" you asked.

"wasn't planning on it." he shrugged, "were you?"

"no." you shook your head, "was just thinking you could go, and me and max could spend some time together," you suggested.

"you getting tired of me?" he joked.

you rolled your eyes, "no, but i went out last week with the girls, was thinking maybe you could have a night off, too."

"i'm good. really."

"all right, well don't say i never did anything nice." you shrugged.

later that day, quinn was packing up his gear and getting ready to head home and see you and max, "so, hughsey?" he turned around at the call of that nickname, "you going to that party?" will asked.

"oh, nah." he shook his head, "i can't, i got a baby to take care of now." he shrugged. will looked shocked by what his teammate had just said, and could only smile.

"look at you. mr. responsible." will patted him on the back, "good for you."

after dinner, both your's and quinn's heads shot up when you heard a loud knock on your door, "were you expecting anyone?" you raised a bar at quinn, who looked equally confused.

"no. were you?" you shook your head. you paused the tv and made your way over to the door, looking through the peephole before sighing and opening the door.

"norris." you nodded.

"mrs. hughes." you rolled your eyes and scoffed at the nickname.

"quinn, your boyfriend's here!" you shouted, opening the door wider and letting josh follow you in. quinn's head perked up and he carefully got off the couch, slowly as to not jostle max too much.

"what's up?" he gave josh one of those bro hugs, "what're you doing here?"

"well, i was hoping you were ready."

"ready for what?" quinn looked confused.

"for the party. over at abbott." josh stated.

"i wasn't going to that party." he shook his head.

"oh, really? cause y/n said you were coming. and told me to pick you up." quinn looked over at you and raised a brow.

"what? i'm giving you the night off. turn off dad mode and have some fun. i did it last week while you were here with max. just go, have some fun, let loose." you told him, giving him a smile.

quinn looked like he was contemplating everything before relenting, "give me two minutes." he handed max off to you before making his way towards your bedroom to get changed.

you and josh looked at each other with satisfied smiles and high-fived, "don't get him too hammered."

"i won't, but i feel i won't have to." josh told you, "he'll probably spend the night being oblivious to girls hitting on him and show them pictures of max."

"yeah, probably." you laughed.

requests are closed so please don't send anything in :)

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oceantornadoo · 10 days

Text

ex and the city (simon riley x female reader)

inspired by s2 ep18 of sex and the city (currently on a binge). miranda and steve are the cutest (pls don't spoil)

ANGSTY

fuck, it was him.

simon stood at the other side of your door, glaring into your peephole. you stepped back quickly, hand covering your mouth in shock. after running away from him on the street the other day, you hadn't expected him to show up. maybe you could just not answer, pretend it never happened and- "can hear ya breathin', dove." shit.

you quickly unlocked the door, trying to compose yourself. "simon! hi!" shit you needed to calm down. that is not how an ex-fiancee would treat her almost-husband. "shitty thing you did, runnin' like a rabbit fr'm me." your eyebrows rose. he was going for it. "i didn't run!" he looked at you, dead-eyed. letting the silence hang over you like a dark cloud, the air growing tense in your apartment hallway behind him.

"you ran." you ran a hand down your face, the other tightening your grip on your door. "well, i wasn't expecting to see you and- i just-" your voice choked, an attempt at hiding back your tears. "hurt my feelin's, dove." simon kept his arms crossed, staring down at you. he never did talk about his feelings much, but seeing the woman who was supposed to be his wife, his forever, run away from him? that hurt even a dead man like him.

"well i don't do very well with ex-boyfriends and..." you trailed off, staring at your toes. the tears were hot behind your eyes now, months of frustration and longing boiling to the surface. "dove..." he reached out and tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. the feeling of his gloves against your skin was so familiar you almost closed your eyes, but snapped them open when you remembered. "this is me. simon." you nodded, throat thick. you shrugged, struggling to find the words to convey how you survived without him for the past four months. you decided on a simple, "yeah."

"i held your head while you wer' sleepin'." simon took off his mask, tucking it in his pocket. his hair was a bit longer since the last time you saw it. his face a bit scruffy, sporting a few new scars from the last deployment you had screamed at him for. your neighbor appeared behind him, tilting her head back as she pretended not to listen. you turned away, rubbing at your eyes as they got red. he took the silent invite and ran with it, stepping through and closing the door before your neighbor saw you vulnerable. always protecting you physically, even when he couldn't emotionally.

"im sorry. im so sorry it- i just-" you rubbed at your chest, an aching spot forming behind your rib cage. "shh dove, s'ok, yer ok." he reached for you and then stopped himself. he didn't get that privilege anymore. "i just hadn't seen you in so long and i thought you might have died and i missed you simon..." your voice cracked at his name, the taste of it so familiar. like a warm hot chocolate on a winter's day, a cool lemonade on a summer's night. "im a shitty person! you'd never do anything that shitty."

he chuckled. you, always idolizing him, making him out to be a golden boy when really he was rotting, a half-dead thing for you to play with. "showed up to yer apartment in the middle of the day an' called yer landlord to make sure you were in. what'dya call that?" a sob rose from your throat, the humor of what he said hitting you hard. "yeah that was pretty shitty." you nodded, rewarding him with a weak smile and a half-angry tone.

"i miss you. in my bones, si." his eyes were wet, crinkling in the leftover eye-black. "im here, dove. what'rya doin' friday?" you let out a sob again, covering your mouth. "i have a date." fuck, he'd kill him. he'd let johnny plant mines and put gaz on intelligence and ask price to redeem that one favor from a year ago. he'd make it look like an purposeful accident, a gas leak or a water heater explosion. something where even the man's family couldn't get any money. he ran his hands through his hair, a nervous tick he only showed in front of you.

"can't pretend to be happy for ya, dove. can't be a better man on this." and suddenly you were hugging him, hands reaching over his shoulders as you stood on familiar tiptoes. his hands automatically circled your waist, the feel of it engrained in his soul. something he could describe from memory. "lets just...stay here awhile. okay?" he nodded into your hair, breathing in that familiar scent. he had another chance at making you his wife and he wasn't going to lose it again.

i kinda want to write one of these for all of the 141?? we'll see.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod 141 #ghost call of duty #tornadothoughts #fluff #simon riley wife #angst #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader

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ashwhowrites · 3 months

Note

Older! Rockstar! Eddie Munson x Rockstar! Reader, what if they have to do like a tour together, and they realize that they hate each other, like hate to share the stage, hate to spend time together, until the two of them end up hooking up after some drinks at some bar, then, they find each other being like all nervous with each other, because of what happened and bc they're catching feelings, but they hate each other, right? (You can write a tiny bit of angst for the "hate" part, smut and fluff!)

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun with this 🫶🏻 thank you for requesting

We got angst, we got smut and we got fluff

Rockstar love

Y/N was excited as hell when her manager, Samantha, told her she had a summer tour lined up. Y/N was a small independent artist and she couldn't headline a tour on her own, she was grateful for the opportunity to be an opener for one of the biggest artists in the industry, Eddie Munson.

She loved his music and she loved his style. Their writing dynamic was very similar and their music blended well. Even Eddie's manager couldn't pick a better person to open for him.

So Y/N was all packed up and ready for the summer of her life, on tour with someone that she admired. She couldn't possibly think of one bad thing to change her mind.

Well, that was until she met Eddie.

"Hi! I'm Y/N, I'm so ex-" Her introduction was cut off when Eddie's painted nails waved in her face.

"I know, baby. You are so excited to finally meet me, and you're my biggest fan. But I'm in a rush, so why don't you just give me your number and I'll call you tonight?" His smirk was so confident and smug. She couldn't believe he was this conceited.

She scoffed and crossed her arms. "Is that how you talk to women?"

Eddie blinked at her aggressive tone but shook it off. "Women? Nah, that's how I talk to my girl of the night. So interested or not? Like I said I'm in a rush for a meeting." He checked his watch, knowing he was meant to meet whoever his opener was going to be for his tour.

"Not. Nice to meet you, asshole." She gagged and walked off.

This summer started a whole lot worse than she thought.

"Eddie! Glad you made it!" Samantha said with a big smile, no idea Y/N already had a run-in with the man of the hour.

"I'd like you to meet Y/N, she'll be your opener for the tour!" Eddie's eyes switched over to the girl that sat at the table. He choked a little on his spit when he realized it was the girl from outside the building.

"Oh shit, you're my opener?" Eddie asked. He did not make a good first impression.

"I know, baby. You are so excited to finally meet me, but I'm in a rush so can we sign the contract and get a move on?" Y/N said, his words leaving her tongue in a sassy way that Eddie couldn't help but like and hate.

Eddie sent a glare her way but signed the papers.

After the meeting, Y/N was quick to leave. Eddie ran out after her, an apology on his tongue.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry for how I talked to you. Can I make it up to you? Maybe dinner?" Eddie asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

Y/N debated for a while but figured making amends might be better for the summer ahead.

"Dinner is good."

Y/N applied the final touch of her lipstick before she walked out of the small hotel room. Eddie's room across from her. She knocked on the door, waited, and waited.

She huffed when she checked the time and realized she'd been outside his door for five minutes. She gave up and went back into her room, figuring she'd just wait there until he came to her.

But he never did. After two hours, she heard his voice slurring in the hallway as he tried to open his door. She looked out the peephole and saw his arm wrapped around another girl.

She gave up on him immediately.

~~~

Half the summer was sour, they hated to be in the same room with each other. She knew she had a right to be pissed, but Eddie didn't. He hated her because she hated him. He never bothered to apologize or admit he was a selfish asshole. And that's all she wanted.

"Can you stop moving off your X? It's there for a reason!" Y/N snapped, she groaned as they had to stop rehearsal, yet again.

"I'm a rockstar! I'm meant to move around!" Eddie argued. He wasn't used to sharing the stage and he hated it.

"I'm one too! And in case you haven't noticed, I'm doing perfectly fine on my X!"

"You want a fucking gold star for being boring? Difference between an opener and the main show" Eddie snapped, Y/N didn't fight back. She just growled and began the song again.

"Y/N, THAT WAS SO GOOD!" Samantha cheered as Y/N walked off the stage. The first night of your was in the books and Y/N loved the way she felt on the stage. The crowd seemed to like her and she felt like she got them pumped for Eddie's set.

Even though she hated him, she looked his way for approval. After all, she was his opener and cared what he thought about his tour.

"Why the hell are you looking at me?" He asked, his guitar strapped to his body as he waited for his cue.

"I don't know. Just maybe thought you'd like to share your thoughts?" She said, a little shy that she had to admit she wanted to know.

Eddie was taken aback by the nervousness in her eyes, for once she looked vulnerable and not ready to shoot fire. But he couldn't give in, the hatred between them was too powerful and he refused to give in first when she chose to be a bitch towards him.

"I've seen better, you're nothing special." He shrugged and jumped on the stage as his cue was hit. The screams of the arena sounded muted as his words rang in her ears.

She marched off into her dressing room. She didn't bother to watch his set. Unlike him, she can admit when someone has talent and he doesn't deserve her compliments. Instead, she focused on the anger she felt and put it into a song. If he wanted special, she'd show him special.

Within a week, she finished the song and began performing it. It was full of anger and the crowd loved it. The music was loud and it shook the whole place.

Eddie knew the song was about him. She stood there, banging on her guitar as she swore about the big-headed men in her life. He was pissed, it was his tour and here she was bad-mouthing him to his fans. The fans didn't know it was about him, they just related it to a man in their life. But still, he didn't take the disrespect lightly.

And she didn't care. Ever since that first show on tour, she never asked for his thoughts again. She'd get off stage, place down her guitar, and walk straight to the dressing room.

It bothered Eddie that she never sat to watch his set, but he refused to let her know that he cared.

~~~

About a month and a half into the tour, they barely spoke. And if they did, it was to tear each other apart.

But when Y/N's new song was officially released and hit the radio, the crew wanted to go out to celebrate. And to her shock, Eddie showed up.

"I'd like to make a toast!" Y/N slurred, already a few shots in and the alcohol was taking over her body. The table raised a glass, and Eddie rolled his eyes. He might have been a little irritated by all the success she earned from a song that was about him.

"...and thanks to Eddie, the man who inspired the song. Thanks for being an asshole and treating me like shit. Cheers!"

Eddie bit his tongue as he took the shot in front of him, he didn't want to make a scene in a public place. He knew better than that. There would be cameras everywhere.

As the night went on, the more drunk she and Eddie became. The crew called it a night and left. Bad move to leave them alone.

"You know that I can't fucking stand you sometimes." Eddie hissed, trying to ignore the way her lips were wet and glossy from all the drinks she had.

"Yeah, I got the message." She laughed sarcastically. She hated how he got hot and had to throw his hair in a bun. With stupid curls hanging down to frame his perfect face.

"Why did you write the song? Just knew making money off me would be a career move?" He argued, the venom on his tongue was strong and she knew a fight was brewing.

"Oh fuck off. I'm going to the bathroom." She said as she rolled her eyes and walked off.

But Eddie was too mad to let it go. He followed her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them.

"Are you crazy!? This is a bathroom!"

"Answer my fucking question!"

"Yes, Eddie. It was a career move! You were a complete dick the second I met you and looked down on me all because I was an opener! I was grateful for the opportunity and now I realize, you are a selfish prick who only cares to get his dick wet." Her words were knives and perfectly sliced into Eddie's skin. Her eyes are dark as she gets in his face. Every word against his lips as he puffed and huffed.

The fire in his body with all the anger he felt. She stood tall and confident. Right in his face with no care in the world. Her lip snarled and her eyebrows scrunched.

"Jealous or something baby?" He smirked, he noticed the flicker of lust in her eyes before she remained unbothered.

"Of what?" She sneered

"The girl I took to my hotel room instead of you." His smirk was a target and she wanted to smack it off his face. He knew she was waiting and watching. And he had the nerve to never once apologize.

"Not. I like to end my nights with an orgasm." She said with a bitter smile, her hand reached behind him to grab the door but the growl that left his lips made her stop.

She looked up into his eyes and knew she struck a nerve. And she couldn't help but feel how wet her underwear became.

Before she could say another word, insult, or make a noise, his hot mouth was on hers. His hands dived into her hair as he took over her body. His tongue was in her mouth before she could blink. And she hated how easily she moaned.

Her body was against the sink as his hands scrammed to take off her jeans. He pulled away to unbuckle his belt and yank down his jeans, she took a second to catch her breath and remove her shirt. Her head against the mirror as his mouth attached to her chest, his teeth biting down on the flesh as she whined out.

She wasn't thinking, and she knew that. But his mouth felt so good and her cunt ached.

"Is that what this has always been about? Jealous I wasn't fucking your cute cunt?" Eddie teased, and he pulled away his mouth, which allowed her to understand his words.

"No, it's not. You were a dick the second I met you, and discredit me because I'm younger and newer to the industry. Don't flatter yourself." She scoffed. He was so big-headed and she couldn't believe he still didn't understand where he went wrong. "plus I wouldn't care about the girl if I wasn't waiting for you for dinner." She barked out. The hatred and anger filled her body again. Almost like it reminded her why she shouldn't be doing this. She pushed him back and reached for her shirt.

"Oh come on! Don't take it so personally. I forgot we had plans, okay?" He tried to defend but she was already throwing on her shirt.

"Forgot? Or decided that getting a quick fuck meant more?" Maybe in a way, she was hurt by the fact he completely shoved her off for someone else. She liked Eddie, and she always found him attractive and it sucked to meet him and see he was nothing like she thought.

"DO YOU WANT ME TO ADMIT THAT? Would that even make it better?" He laughed out, he couldn't believe it was even a big deal. "if I sat here and told you straight to your face that I wanted some wet pussy wrapped around me instead of sitting at a dinner with you, that make it BETTER? Huh?"

She shouldn't care, she really shouldn't. They weren't even friends and she had no reason to feel the burning jealousy in her stomach that someone got to spend the night with him when it was supposed to be her. She hated that no matter how much he made her hate him, she still felt something pulling her towards him.

She didn't have words, and she wasn't sure how to respond.

All she wanted was an apology

"Because that pussy was the best I've ever had and I don't regret it." He seethed out, and that struck a nerve in her. Apart from the jealousy and stupid high school games, he felt she wasn't worth apologizing to. She realized she'd never get that apology.

This time, she did go to smack the smirk off his face. Her right hand was high in the air as she aimed for his cheek, but his hand caught her. A deadly look in his eyes. They were breathing hard into each other's faces. She felt her cunt pulse, and he felt his cock pulse in his boxers, his jeans still on the floor.

She whimpered as he took control, again. He kept his grip on her arm, turning her around and pressing his cock against her ass. He held her arm behind her back, she was trapped between him and the sink.

No words were said, both relieving their aches as his free hand ripped off her underwear. The sound made her clench, then his fingers were inside of her. She moaned as he didn't care to be soft or gentle. Three fingers deep inside her cunt as his cock pressed against her ass. She moaned out and her head was thrown back into his shoulder.

His hand let her arm free, and she moved it to grip the sink, his fingers pumping inside of her. He was skilled, experienced, and knew exactly how to hit the right spots. Her head was fuzzy as she got lost in the feeling. With his free hand, he grabbed her chin and turned her head towards him. Her eyes closed in bliss as his lips touched hers.

His fingers moved faster inside of her as his lips tasted her. He felt the moan in the back of his throat as she clenched around him. His stomach flipped when her warm tongue worked inside of his mouth. He growled as her tongue dominated his.

The aching in his boxers became too much, he removed his fingers, smirking as she whined at the lost touch. But he was quick to fill her again, but this time with his pulsing cock. She moaned as she fucked into her. Nothing about it was romantic. It was heavy breaths, growls, moans, and the sound of their skin smacking. Her nails dug into the sink as he destroyed her. His mouth was on hers again as he moved his hips against her, loving the way she clenched around him. Her knees were weak when his fingers began to rub her clit.

She couldn't focus on anything except that burning feeling in her stomach and the build-up of her orgasm.

"Eddie." She squeaked, her hands moved up her body and reached behind her, feeling him underneath her fingertips.

"Shh, I know, baby. Let it go. I got you. Cum for me, gorgeous. Be right here." He said softly, she didn't think she'd ever heard him sound so sweet. She nodded as she gasped, letting herself go. She shook on his cock as she came. The relief she felt from every aching part of her body vanished.

She hissed as he slipped out of her, but she was fast to wrap her hand around him. Jerking him off as she looked in the mirror ahead. His forehead was against her shoulder as he breathed hard. His hands gripped her hips and he moved his hips to her rhythm.

"Watch yourself." She said, her tone demanding. He looked up, his blown-out lustful eyes took in their reflection. The sight of her hand wrapped around his red cock made his thighs shake.

He kept his eyes on her reflection as he painted the sink and her hand with his cum. He panted hard as she needed him off through it.

She washed off her hands and got dressed. Awkwardly handing Eddie his clothes.

He silently grabbed the jeans from her hands and put them on. He watched as she dressed herself.

"I'm, um, I'm sorry for the way I treated you and for ditching you," Eddie whispered, not to her but to the floor.

"Thanks, Eddie." She said, and she meant it. She knew that's all she would get. She gave him a small smile and walked out.

Where the hell do they stand now?

~~~

After that event, things between them got blurry. They found themselves feeling something different. Almost like they got out every bit of anger inside of them. Like the anger was just the first layer. And now other feelings were being revealed.

Y/N couldn't help but notice she was putting more work into her appearance. More makeup touches and asking for more sexier clothes for when she performs. She almost felt like she wanted Eddie's eyes on her all the time. Because she couldn't help but have her eyes on him.

Eddie couldn't help but stare whenever she was near. It was like his eyes automatically found her in the room and he couldn't get enough. He noticed things about her that he didn't see at first. He always found her attractive, but now it was deeper than that. He found a new favorite thing about her every day. He started watching more of her performances and found the compliments slipping off his tongue.

The air changed between them. Now they were nervous and didn't know what to say. They didn't talk about what happened but both wished that the other still thought about it.

They tried to ignore how nervous they were and how awkward it made things. Y/N felt like they both needed to talk about what happened to either go back to normal or discuss what was next for them because this situation was too weird.

It was nearly midnight when they made it back to the hotel after their show, Eddie went to head into his room when Y/N spoke up.

"Do you think we could talk?" She asked, the shakiness in her voice made it clear she was nervous.

"Uh sure," Eddie said, his nerves kicked in as he unlocked the door.

She followed behind and took a seat on the bed. He removed his shoes and then took the spot next to her. His shoulder against hers as he waited for her to speak.

"About the thing that happened," she started, already hating the conversation. Eddie coughed awkwardly as he stared at his hands. "I'm just going to be fully honest and I can leave right after. But, it hasn't left my head. I know it was full of hatred and anger. And it probably didn't mean anything and I didn't think it would. But it almost feels like I let out all that anger and now I'm left with other feelings." She admitted, slowly looking towards him to read his expression.

"What kind of other feelings?" He asked, he turned his head to look at her. He hoped she meant the same feelings he'd been feeling. The feeling of wanting each other again. And maybe wanting each other always.

"Feelings like that I like you and my stomach hurts when I think about all the girls in the crowd that want to go home with you." She admitted, looking down at her own hands as she blushed.

She was surprised when Eddie reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. He reached over and used his pointer finger to tilt up her chin. Her eyes looked into his as she anxiously waited for him to speak.

"I tend to be a dick so girls want anything to do with me after sex. But, I'm fucking grateful to hear you still like my dumbass." He joked, a smile on his face as she laughed. "Even though we had sex out of anger, there was something so real there and it hasn't left my mind. The way you pulled so much emotion out of me. I've never had someone do that. I like you too, and I'd like a chance to take you on a date and treat you the way you always should have been treated."

She felt her heart skip at his words, and a feeling of excitement bubbled in her stomach.

"I'd like that." She said as she tried to bite back her smile.

"Perfect, let's go right now." He said he stood up with their hands still laced.

"What? Right now! It's midnight!" She argued, her eyes looking to the clock.

"Don't care. I'm not wasting a second to take you out. The world is asleep, let's go have our fun before it wakes up ." He said with a wink, smiling as she stood up and together they ran out of his room like idiots.

Maybe the summer was finally looking up.

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sykostyles · 2 months

Text

let you love me 1.1

wc: 4.5k

summary: in which y/n is a 26 year old bakery owner and she can't quite get this whole "love" thing right; settling on finding solace in being alone. One day, Jackson Cole: an egotistical, but oh so charismatic professional quarterback comes along and swears he can change her mind.. and for a while he does. nearly two years of breaking down her walls.. but they seem to argue about one thing a lot. y/n's "negativity". she swears she's not trying ro be a pessimist.. it just works out better for her if she keeps her expectations low. But what happens when she meets a handsome stranger, who wants nothing more than to see her smile? Will she push everything away again or will she finally accept the love she deserves? or ; tldr sunshine! harry x grumpy! afab reader part one, three

a/n: welcome to part 2! I thought I would be done with this in two parts but the words just keep coming out of my brain. so there will be one more part to this! (and its already been started!)

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE ON PART ONE!! I can't believe this many people are interested in my brain child. I hope you all enjoy this part as well!

cw: this story contains suggestive and explicit language, minor descriptions of violence, and verbal abuse. please do not continue if these topics upset you!

Not much has changed in the apartment above the bakery, a good bit of your belongings remained here after you moved in with Jackson. You were thrilled when the gentleman who sold you the business told you it included the unit upstairs. “How perfect?” you thought. Slowly but surely you’d ended your lease on your previous place and made the arrangements to live above the bakery. You spent all of your time there anyways.

The last time you were here flashed through your brain and made you grimace. Images of wet lips, clashing teeth.. hands exploring curves.. All flashing in your mind. You’d been out with Jackson for your anniversary and neither of you could wait until you got back to your shared apartment, so a bit of a pit stop was made. But having those thoughts of Jackson at this moment only make you want to throw up the sweets you’d tested earlier.

Peeling your clothes from your body, you make your way into the shower and the spiraling thoughts ensue. Why am I like this? Why can’t I be loved the way I am? Is it actually me? Am I really the problem? Why? Why? WHY?? Sliding down the tile wall, your knees come to your chest and you just sob.

Twenty minutes turn into an hour, into an hour and a half and then nearly two hours. You’d been in there so long you didn't even realize the water had turned ice cold. You were numb to everything.

A knock on your door startles you out of your stupor. Quickly, you shut the shower off and grabbed a towel. “Nobody even knows I'm here,” you think to yourself, making your way to the door. Glancing through the peephole you see your best friend, Carly, looking rather distressed.

“Y/N I know you’re in there.” No, you don’t.. “Your car is outside.” No, it’s not.. “I can see the shadows of your feet at the bottom of the door.” No, you can’t.. “Y/N, open the door. Jackson said you took off when I came looking for you.” No, I don't want anyone to see me like this. “I know you can hear me, don’t make me call in a wellness check. You know I will.” Memories of officers knocking down your door at 3 am when you wouldn’t answer Carly's “are you alive?” messages flashed in your brain.

Your hands shoot up and unlock the deadbolt, swiftly opening the door for your friend to step inside, closing the door with a click behind her.

She turns to look at you, taking in all of your features, Severely swollen eyes, tear stained cheeks, and the frown weighing on your lips.

“I’ll kill him.” She says, turning towards the door. “No!” you object, reaching out to grab her arm. “Please, d-don’t leave.” You say, demeanor crumbling. Your legs begin to shake as you start to cave. Carly reaches out with both hands, stabilizing your arms. “Woah, okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.” she says as she guides you both to the floor, pulling you to rest on her front. “Everything will be okay.” she says. Will it? You think to yourself.

Carly was someone you met in your first year in college. Now she's a 27 year old journalist. Originally she was your freshman year dorm mate. It was instant friendship. I mean instant. You would have thought your first interaction was two friends meeting up again after not seeing each other for a while. Accompanying each other to frat parties, skipping classes together, what have you. Where one was, the other wasn’t too far behind. She helped you get over some of the darkest times of your life.

Losing both of your parents at the age of 20 isn’t something anyone should ever have to deal with, but having Carly by your side made it a little easier. She also didn’t judge, or object when you decided to drop out of college your junior year after their passing. And when the opportunity came up for you to buy the bakery, she knew owning it was your all time dream so.. she handed you a check for 5k.. saying it was her way of investing in your passions. Granted, the bakery wasn’t located on the Amalfi coast in Italy, but your shop where you’re at would have to do for now. You were grateful for her to say the least.

Jackson? Hated her. She tried to make you see your worth. Carly? Also not a big fan of Jackson. “Ugh a J name? Have I taught you nothing?” She’d joked with you when you told her about him. Even after you’d told her about his constant attention and nice gestures, she still wasn’t convinced. “They all just have that type.” she’d started, making you roll your eyes. “AND he’s a professional football player? Y/N!”

“I finally want to give a guy a chance again, and this is your reaction?”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go for it, I'm saying to be careful. These guys all have a reputation.”

“Carls, I swear it feels like he’s different. You don’t see the way he looks at me.”

“Babe, just promise me you’ll be careful, okay? I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Famous last words.

After half an hour of Carly consoling you on the floor against your apartment door, she peers down at you, noticing your sniffles had quieted. You’re staring off into space while your thoughts just race.

“Hey, I love you and all but my legs are seriously starting to cramp.” She says, breaking the silence. You chuckle softly, being broken out of your haze. “Sorry,” you mumble, pulling yourself to your feet slowly.

“You go get dressed, I’m going to make you a cup of coffee.”

“You don-” “Ah ah ah, go.” She says, turning your shoulders in the direction of your bedroom. “No objections.” You make your way down the short hallway. Silently thanking yourself for not taking every single article of clothing with you when you moved in with Jackson.

Settling on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, you make your way back to Carly.

“Now, we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” she says, holding a mug out to you across the island, “but you know I'm here to listen whenever you’re ready.”

You grab the mug from her grasp, and look down into it. “Am I too rough?” You asked timidly, not looking up.

“I'm sorry, what? Too rough? What makes you think that?” She questions, head tilted to the side, You give her a look that can only be summarized as “what do YOU think?”

“Did he seriously say that?”

“Mm, amongst other things.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee. “Apparently I need to be more obedient.”

“I swear I’ll kill him.” Her fist slammed down on the countertop, making you jump.

“He’s not worth it.” She reaches out, placing her hands over yours. “No, but you are.” You offer a smile at that. Though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, do you want to talk about it?”

You nod. “Yeah. I just.. need to mull over it in my head first.”

“How about I order us some of your favorite take out, pick up a bottle of our favorite wine, and we can have a night on the couch like we used to? Watch some terrible rom coms?”

“That sounds.. Wonderful, Carls. Thank you.”

“Course. What are best friends for? Now, you go get us a sweet treat from downstairs and pick us our first awful movie. I’ll be back in 20.” She says, placing a friendly kiss atop your head and ruffling your hair on the way out.

After Carly’s return, you both promptly made home on the couch you’d spent most of your college nights together. She listened to your recount of what happened.. More threats to Jackson’s life were made.. Of course you quickly reeled her back in with the wine bottle. Promises to be there for whatever you needed were made, not that it needed to be said. She made a wonderful distraction for you for the rest of the night.

But night turns into day and unfortunately, life moves on. Whether we’re ready to or not.

Carly makes sure you have your morning coffee before she has to make her way to her “big girl job” as she puts it. But I guess anyone with the privilege of working for the biggest sports magazine would make anyone feel a little intimidated by their job.

You begrudgingly make your way downstairs a little before your opening time and started setting all of your tools you’d need for the day. Going about your daily morning routine, trying not to let the gnawing feelings in the back of your head bother you as you help your few regular morning customers. Your favorite was probably Henry; a little old widow who always buys a peanut butter cookie to share with his very friendly pitbull, Rocco. He says peanut butter cookies used to be his wife's favorite, so he eats one every day to feel close to her. That story nearly ruined your day when he told you, but he immediately scolded you for crying. “Now, none of that. Life happens, dear. Pain is only temporary if you let it be.” His words didn’t seem to help you much right now, but you know he’d be scolding you for letting this affect you this way.

“Good morning, Mr. Henry. Rocco. How are we today?” You ask, reaching down to scratch behind Rocco’s ears.

“Oh, just peachy dear. Rocco had his yearly visit this morning and is in need of his reward.”

“Well, it’s not much of a reward when he gets one every day, Mr. Henry now is it?” Raising your eyebrow at the gentleman as you wash your hands.

“Ah, there she is. Good morning to you too.” He chuckles. How are you doing today, dear?”

“I gotta be honest with you, Mr. Henry.. It’s a rough day. Probably going to be a few rough days. But I know I’ll manage just fine. Especially if seeing you and Rocco is something I have to look forward to.”

“But won’t you be closed tomorrow? For the championship game?” He questions, handing you the cash for his payment.

Your heart sinks at the thought.

Crap.

"People will wonder why I'm not there and it’s going to start spreading. Everyone is going to know what happened. Or at least Jackson’s version of what happened. Maybe I should make a post letting people know. No. They won’t care. Who am I kidding of course they will. They all act like high schoolers. Am I going to be posted all over social media? How is he going to spin this? Or will it go quietly? Knowing Jackson, he’ll demand a press relea-"

“Y/N? You alright?” Henry’s worried voice snaps you out of your steady spiral.

“Yeah, sorry.” You sniffle. The back of your hand coming up to wipe the tears that had escaped. “Um, no. I’ll be open tomorrow. I won’t be at the game. Or any games for that matter. Jackson and I aren’t together anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey.” He reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“It’s okay, Mr. Henry. You don’t have to lie, I know you hated him too.” You push out a strained laugh.

“Well, yeah. He inhibited my ability to buy cookies on some sundays. And he was no good for you. But I'll spare you that lecture for now. I can see you’re upset.”

“I probably need to hear it, to be honest.” You say.

“One day, maybe. But you do your best to get through the day.” Picking his cookie box up from the counter he continues, “Fix your face though. No more tears. You have cookies to sell.”

You chuckle. “You got it, Mr. Henry. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course, dear. Have a great rest of your day. See you tomorrow, let’s go Rocco.” He says before he’s out the door, pitbull in tow.

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom to splash some cold water on your face and bring yourself back down. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you force yourself to smile and wipe the excess water off. “Pain is only temporary if you let it be.” You say to yourself, making your way out of the bathroom.

Spinning the cake on the lazy susan once it was done being decorated was always your favorite part. Seeing all of your work just perfectly pieced together, every flower laid perfectly, every swirl placed intentionally. Cake decorating was your main passion, but you picked up everything else along the way. Baking and decorating ran in the family after all. Your grandmother bought you your first cake kit, your first big kitchen aid mixer, got you your first cake decorating job at 15, etc. She really helped you form the love that you have for the craft now. Before she passed away when you were 18, she would bring you to this very bakery nearly every weekend to see the different cakes in the case. You owed your love for the craft to her, and you try to show your appreciation to her every day in your work. Always learning new techniques and trying new ideas. Your current obsession was learning this new palette knife technique where you quite literally paint the flowers on the cake with a palette knife. It’s turning out to be quite tricky, but Nana didn't raise no quitter!

You’re boxing up your last order of the day, back facing the door. The little bell sounds, “Hello! Welcome. I’ll be with you in just one moment!” You say, closing the last bit of the box down.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Love.”

Wait. That voice. That nickname.

Placing the box in the order cooler, you finally turned to the counter, taking in the man before you. You being shocked is an understatement, The man you face planted into yesterday was standing in your bakery.. Waiting for you to speak.

Speak, Y/N, Speak.

“H-hello. Can I help you? You manage to get out.

“Well, what’s good?” He asks.

Weird.

He’s not going to bring up yesterday?

You scoff. “I’m the owner. So it’s all good. But I might be a little biased.” You say, wiping your hands on your apron. “But my cupcakes are my best sellers.”

“I see that, your case looks well picked over.” He says, walking over to the display on his right. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Mm, probably the red velvet. They’re my number one. Chocolate peanut butter is my close second.”

“Everything is homemade?” He inquires with a raised brow, and a smirk of course.

“What do you think?” You challenge. Seriously, what is your problem, y/n?

“I’ll take one of each then.” He says with a smile, walking back to the counter.

“Coming right up.” Boxing them up carefully, you set them on the counter. You tap a few buttons on your register and give him his total. He hands you his sleek black credit card, making you internally scoff and roll your eyes.

“Thank you for stopping in. Have a great rest of your day,” You say, turning away from the counter.

“You don’t remember me?” You hear from behind you. You can almost hear the smirk on his face.

“Oh I do, but if I'm being honest, I just don’t really care that much. Have a great day, Harry.” You say, rounding the corner into the back room.

You hear the little bell sound again, signaling he left.

“Why are you like this?” you say to yourself.

The following few weeks were a blur. Nothing major came of you not making an appearance at the championship game. A few comments made on social media, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Just block and delete.

Henry and Rocco made sure they made their daily stop to see you of a morning. Henry even brought you a coffee from that shop down the street a few times.

Carly stopped by every day during her lunch break to check on you.

“You know you don’t have to babysit me, right?

“I know, but how else will I get my daily cupcake?” She laughs, peeling the paper off the bottom of said cupcake.

Someone else was also making a daily stop, much to your dismay.

You and Carly were sitting at the little table with two chairs you have by the big shop window, just chatting about each other's day when the doorbell chimes, pulling your attention from the conversation.

Looking towards the door, you immediately roll your eyes. “Just, give me a minute.” You grumble to Carly before taking your spot behind the counter.

“Hi, how can I help you?” Emerald eyes bore into yours as you spoke.

“Good afternoon, Love.” He smiles warmly at you, “I’ll take the same as yesterday. Seems those were a hit for my friend Ryan out there.” Glancing over his shoulder you see Ryan standing outside the door.

“He can come in too, ya know.” you say, boxing up his order. “And I thought I told you to stop calling me that.” you huff, smirking as you set the box in front of him.

“Mm, well, until you tell me your actual name, i’ve got nothing else to call you.” He says, handing you that same sleek black card. “Plus, if he comes in I can't have all your attention on me.”

“I’m wearing a name-tag, Harry.” You roll your eyes. “Bring Ryan in next time. I could use a break from you.” You smirk, handing him his card back.

“Reading your name-tag is different than you telling me your name, love.” He chuckles at you rolling your eyes again. “Ryan stays outside until I hear it come from you.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Harry.” “Must be why I’m so successful. I always get what I want.” He states matter of factly.

“Mm, and is that all you want?” You muse, raising a brow at him.

“On the contrary. There’s a plethora of things I want, but we can start with your name.” He smiles warmly at you.

Your breath hitches at his words. “It's Y/N.” You breathe out, his grin grows ten times in size.

“It’s lovely to officially meet you. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He states, picking up his box and making his way out to Ryan.

“What. The hell. Was that?” Carly muses from her spot at the table. You almost forgot she was here.

“That was Harry. He stops in every day. A right pain in my ass.” You say, plopping down in your chair.

“That didn’t seem like he’s a pain in your ass.” She starts, “Could cut that sexual tension with a knife!” she squeals. “Who is he?!”

“I have no idea. I quite literally ran into him a few weeks ago, and he’s been coming in here every day ever since. He’s a massive flirt as well. But I’m not interested.”

“It didn’t quite seem like you weren’t interested. You were hanging on every word he was saying.” “I was wishing he would leave.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N. He’s into you. I can tell.” “Maybe so, but I'm seriously not interested. I’m good with being by myself for now. It’s barely been three months, Carls.” “I know. You’ll make that jump when you’re ready.” I’ll never be ready. “Where did you say you met him? He looks so familiar.”

“Uh, I actually met him for the first time at the stadium. After all that happened with Jackson.”

“Does he work there?”

“No idea, babe. I ran into him right near the parking lot. I don’t even know if he was coming or going.”

“And then he just showed up here the next day? Kinda weird.”

“I agree. It could just be a coincidence. My business does have a pretty good reputation.. If I do say so myself. but it makes my brain hurt trying to think about it.”

“Agreed. But be careful. I still don’t like that you’re here alone all day.”

“Ah, but Jesse is returning from school in a few days so I will have my help back.”

“Oh good! I liked him.” She stated, standing from her seat. “Well babe, I have got to get back to the office. I have a few articles to finish and send off before the end of the day. Same time tomorrow?”

“Of course. See you tomorrow. Love you long time!”

“Love you more!” She says, making her way to the exit.

About another week had passed, and it’d been the same old same old. Jesse, your seasonal help, returned from school for summer break a few days ago so you haven’t been as lonely throughout the day. He was thrilled when he found out that you and Jackson were no longer a couple.

“Good, there are so many other better players out there that you could shack up with.”

“Jesse! Stop it right now.” You exclaimed, unable to contain your laughter. “Don’t make me mess up this cake.”

“I’m serious, Y/N! There are so many quarterbacks out there that don’t get sacked 12 times in a game. Or we could branch out to other positions on the team. What about a tight end? Or a linebacker if you like them bigger.”

“Oh my god, Jesse!” You cackle. “I don’t need you to play football match maker for me. I’m done with all of that.” You chuckle, setting your bag of icing down on the counter.

The doorbell chimes, breaking both of you out of your fits of giggles, and Jesse made his way up front.

“Good morning, how can I help you?” You hear Jesse ask.

“Oh, good morning. Is Y/N here?” That voice only belongs to one person. He’s early.

“Yeah, she’s actually finishing up an order. I’ll let her know you’re here. What’s your name?”

“Harry.’

“Got it man, be right back.” He says before disappearing around the corner where you stood. “Hey, there’s a guy named Harry out here for you?”

“Oh. Yeah, give me just a minute. Or you know what, can you finish this? Just needs a leaf here and here, and then it goes in its box in the cooler.”

“You trust me to finish a cake?” His eyes widened.

“It’s a few leaves, Jesse, not a rose. Just don’t fuck it up, and you won’t die. Simple as that, really.”

“Oh yeah, simple.”

“I have faith in you.” You say, rounding the corner. “And how can I help you today, Harry? You’re quite early.”

“Good morning to you too, Love.” “Harry, I’ve told you to stop calling me that. You know my name now,”

“I know, but I enjoy watching the lightning spark in your eyes when I call you Love.” He smirks at you.

Your cheeks flash a light pink. “What can I do for you today, Harry?” You mutter out.

“I’ll take one dozen of the red velvet.”

“Ooh, big spender. You’re gonna clear me out of my red velvet for the day. Do you and Ryan have a big sweet tooth today?” You joke, placing the cupcakes into their respective box.

“Not quite, I have a meeting and I promised a treat from this bakery I discovered a few weeks ago. Haven’t shut up about it. I never shut up about the owner either. She’s awfully pretty.”

“You’ve gotten quite bold, Harry.” You muse, sliding his order across the counter.

The doorbell dings again, pulling your attention from the man in front of you.

“Good morning, Mr. Henry, Rocco. I’ll be with you in just a minute.” As the words were leaving your mouth, Jesse emerged from the back room.

“I can take you over here, Mr. Henry.” Jesse claims, leading him to the other side of the case. Before following him, Mr. Henry sets a coffee cup down on your counter,

“Here you are, dear. Thought you could use that today.” Mr. Henry smiles at you.

“Thank you, Mr. Henry. You don’t have to keep doing that.” You scold.

“I can do whatever I want, thank you.” He smiles, taking his stand down with Jesse

Turning your attention back to Harry, you give him his total.

“That doesn't sound right. Shouldn’t it be more?” He questions.

“Mm, nope. I give a discount when you buy twelve at a time.” You say, handing him his card back. “Is there anything else I can do for you today, Harry?”

“I can think of a few things, but we have an audience. Naughty girl.” His words make you go red in the face, nevermind the pink tinge from before.

“You are insufferable. Have a great meeting.” You say, stepping away from the counter.

“See you tomorrow, Love.” He says before promptly heading outside.

You don't even realize you're smiling.

“Well now I have got just about a million questions.” Jesse’s voice startles you on your left.

“I second that,” Mr. Henry says. “Now what is it you kids say these days? Oh right. Spill.”

“Yeah, what he said. Spill, Y/N.” Jesse said, backing up the elderly man.

“Both of you are terrible. There’s nothing to spill.” You say, turning to wipe off the counter.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Jesse says.

“I know you might not be able to tell, but I was not born yesterday, dear. I know something when I see it. Now just who was he?” Mr. Henry quips out.

You chuckle. “I promise, he’s nobody. He’s been coming in here every day. He’s got a little crush on me, I will admit that, but I’m not looking for anything right now. Jackson still has me all messed up in the head.”

“Okay, but they say the fastest way to get over a guy is to get under a new one!” Jesse exclaims, “You never know what you’re miss- OKAY OW.” He says when you snap him with a towel.

“Now, I wouldn't listen to Mr. Horn dog over here, but maybe someone new is what you need, dear.”

“I hear you, Mr. Henry, I’m just not ready for that just yet. I appreciate both of your concerns though. Have a great day, Mr. Henry. Rocco.” You say with a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. “Jesse, I’m going to step out for a minute. I’ll be right back.” You disappear up the staircase to your apartment.

“Maybe we overstepped.” Jesse says to Mr. Henry.

“Perhaps, but maybe she needs someone to push her to that step.”

“I think I’ll take a step back from that. I don’t want to lose my job. She’ll get back out there when she’s ready.”

“I suppose you’re right. Have a good day, Jesse. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Have a good one, Mr. Henry.”

Mr. Henry and Rocco make their way outside, settling on a bench right down the street from your shop.

“Mr. Henry, was it?”

“Who’s asking?” He responds, looking up at the person in question.

“Names Harry. Harry Styles. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.” Harry asks, extending his hand.

“Mm, is this about the owner of that bakery down there?” Mr. Henry inquires.

“Would it be a problem if it was?”

Mr. Henry laughs, and takes Harry’s hand in his, giving him a firm shake. “What can I do for you, son?

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