jessy02

[jessy02]

Josh Hartnett in TRAP (2024) — Behind the Scenes (3/3) - (1, 2)

[jessy02]

The Fear Index 1x4

[jessy02]

This flirtationship...from the beginning (chapter 1) becomes so natural with their personalities (nikki and john )that they make increase that tension in this chapter 2.....John with his hinting at but at the same time direct..and provocative....Or you could come curl up with me,”....“I'm trying to,”....“Because you can, you know...If you need a place to stay, ....You said yourself, you'd move out tomorrow if you could...........nikki trying to evade him...slightly and ironically😄 ..... but No One can evade him🤷🥺.... and to her in some way , John makes her feel special,...she is subtly provocative..........“This would be the perfect opportunity to kiss me.... “How about I kiss you in the morning?”....if you don't wanna kiss me, you can just say s-”.........John is just worried, because of the effect that the edible could have had on her ...😊his lips forming over hers as he pressed her onto her back again........but he always wants to kiss her.. .....he's so adorable with nikki🥺....

Their first really passionate night ......his lips instead, pressing prickly kisses against her scarred forearm. his mouth tracing over the carved lines...this is so beautiful 🥹. nikki you bear your scars like war paintings.. your internal wars..nikki you're fighter in your life.🩵......But...I also know that I care about you, and I want...I wanna be with you...you make me wanna be...less of a piece of shit...John confesses that he feels like a better person with her and not so miserable despite being a man-child, Nikki cause that effect on him.🥹as her eyes began to glisten, tears of relief forming in the corners when he crawled onto the bed to sweep her up in his embrace..nikki exposing her sensitivity🥺.....She wasn't sure how much she believed he could grow up on her behalf and his own ...She doubts but John gives her above all... hope... and she needs this now, after all..and she feels that john really cares about her.....and they love being with each other...it's inevitable🥹

..

Because the Night - John Woodruff (Oh Lucy!) x Fem OC - Part 2 (of 2) *NSFW*

(AKA Fuckboys Have Feelings, Too)

warnings : consensual sexual content (including unsafe sex), profanity, mentions of alcohol and other substances, mentions of self harm and a sappy happy ending Read the first chapter if you haven't already, because if you don't, I'll know. That plush in your room? The one you don't remember receiving? It just kind of showed up one day? Yeah. That's mine. It's watching. And IT KNOWS, so I KNOW. My gif. CHAPTER 1 JOSH HARTNETT MASTERLIST

(( word count ~ 5,300 ))

“Thank you, again,” John muttered as he pressed his key into the lock of his apartment's front door, Nikki standing against the railing, clutched her own car keys. Of course his car wouldn't start. She swore to herself she hadn't willed it into existence, but it wasn't exactly a surprise when either the previous issues, or the lack of gas, or both, had resulted in an engine that refused to spark to life. It hadn't taken much convincing for her to drive him home, and he'd filled up the time between, singing along to her Spotify aloud as she pretended not to be endeared to him.

“Yeah, well...” she mumbled indifferently as she watched him open the door and step inside, disappearing for a few seconds toward the kitchen before he popped back into view.

“You coming in?” he questioned, slumping against the door frame. When he saw the hesitance in her eyes, he immediately began to speak again. “You don't have to stay, or...whatever. You might as well come in, though,” he shrugged, glancing behind himself into the void that he'd not yet illuminated with electric light. “You can rag on my bachelor pad,” he invited, a half grin pulling at his lips as she let out a breath and dropped her crossed arms down to her sides, stepping into the dark apartment and listening as the lock clicked into place behind her. She didn't even have time to form an anxious thought before he flipped a light on, and the two of them squinted at the bright scene around them, John stepping into the kitchen as Nikki shrugged out of the stolen hoodie.

“It's, uh...it's a lot cleaner than I expected,” she uttered as she glanced around. “Of course...it's a lot emptier than I expected, too,” she continued. There wasn't much on the walls, the floors, the shelves. A weight bench filled up the minuscule dining area, a sofa and coffee table in the living area, a surf board against a wall, and not much else.

“Most of my stuff is in storage,” he explained, stepping back into the main, open room, placing a bottle of water into her hand. “It's this or beer,” he confirmed. “I know you're too responsible to drink and drive.”

She was silent as she accepted the plastic bottle, unscrewing the cap and swallowing a mouthful. “I, uh...I was actually thinking about your offer,” she admitted, John glancing her way as he paused in his sweep of the empty food cartons from the table.

“Which offer? I think I made a couple,” he answered, gathering the last of his mess as he swiftly made the apartment more presentable. “All of which are still valid, by the way.”

“Yeah, um...just...a place to stay tonight, if it's not too much trouble,” she clarified, hanging his jacket on the highest hinge of the front door.

“No trouble,” he assured immediately, taking her bag from her hand and setting it down on the table he'd cleared. “Well...take off your shoes, get comfortable. Are you hungry? You didn't eat any of the-”

“I, um...If I could just get a shower, that would be great,” she cut in, digging her hands into the pockets of her shorts as she toed off her sneakers.

“I didn't even think about that,” John mumbled as he immediately led her to the bathroom, pulling out towels from the built-in linen closet.

“I mean, I'm not dirty, or...don't look at me like that,” she quipped as John paused to glance at her when she began vocally defending herself.

“Like what?” John mumbled, checking himself quickly in the mirror before he stepped back out of the bathroom, Nikki a few feet behind.

“I hope you don't think this is all gonna get you laid,” she declared as she diverted from his path, wandering toward another room she'd not yet explored. Much like the rest of the small apartment, his bedroom was rather clean, and awfully plain, save for a random assortment of blankets strewn across the bed. “Well, that tracks.”

“Hmm?” John mumbled as he appeared behind her, his hands on the door frame as he hovered at her back.

"Aren't you a little old to have nothing but a box spring between your mattress and the floor?" she quipped, glancing back toward him, his face mere inches from hers. “I suppose this is where the magic happens?” John opened his mouth briefly, but closed it again, no words escaping, just a faint smile across his lips as he glanced toward the bed, and back to the young woman before him.

“Well, we know where it doesn't happen,” he shrugged, and lifted his arm when she dipped below it to return to the living room, drawing out various toiletries from her bag.

“Scott's house?” she offered, and he nodded with a sigh from behind her.

“Maybe you'll let me make that up to you, someday,” he offered, leaning against the frame as he watched her disappear into the bathroom.

“Maybe,” Nikki mumbled as she locked the door behind herself, and turned on the hot water.

* * *

The apartment was rather dark again by the time she stepped out a half hour later, hair swirled up in a towel as she glanced around. Only the kitchen ceiling light lent any glow, save for what filtered in through the shades from outside. The bedroom door was open, but no one occupied the space, the middle-aged tenant instead watching her drowsily when she turned to look his way, sprawled out on the couch.

“Feel better?” he croaked as he stared back at her, his reddened eyes obscured by the lack of light, appearing more like thick lines of shadow across his face.

“Much,” she mumbled, tossing her head forward so the towel obscured the front of her body, rubbing the worn terrycloth over her hair to soak up what she could of the moisture. When she was satisfied, she stood back up, damp waves falling around her face and shoulders, John's eyes still trained on her. “I take it you're sacrificing the bed to me?”

John slow-blinked, and pushed himself up on one elbow, a blanket he'd dragged from his bed falling to his waist, everything above it bare. “Or you could come curl up with me,” he offered.

“That's, uh...tempting,” she muttered, though her tone made John wonder if she was sincere or just throwing more sarcasm at him. “Did you get a little stoned while I was in there?”

“Is it that obvious?” he managed, as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, watching as she padded around his apartment in a tank and loose shorts that supplied a fleeting glimpse of her rear at certain angles.

“There's a difference between drunk you and high you...it's subtle, but...what are you staring at?” she asked suddenly as she glanced around to him, and found his lazy focus zeroed in on her, or at least parts of her.

“You really want me to answer that?” John rasped, gripping the edge of the couch as he stood up, walking slightly unsteadily across the room to where she stood, Nikki watching him silently, immobile as she observed him.

“Behave yourself,” she mumbled as he closed in, wrapping his arms around her waist and dipping his face into her damp tresses, inhaling the lingering fragrance of her conditioner.

“I'm trying to,” he whispered, his coiled arms tightening slightly, pulling her in even closer, taking in another breath. “God damn, you smell good,” John rasped.

“Yeah, well...we can't all be blessed with such naturally soft hair, Mister Three-In-One,” she quipped, letting her forehead rest against his bare chest, his fingers playing at the drying ends of her pleasantly fragrant strands. “And don't touch my conditioner, it's expensive,” she muttered.

“You planning on sticking around that long?” he asked suddenly, and she glanced up at him, a bit surprised, herself.

“N-...No, I don't, uh...I don't know why I said-”

“Because you can, you know...If you need a place to stay, and you're tired of bouncing around,” he suggested, leaning back as he stood taller, watching her features for clues to her mindset. Before she could transfer her thoughts into words, he spoke up again. “You don't have to answer now, just...think about it. You said yourself, you'd move out tomorrow if you could-”

“John-”

“Nikki, just...just think about it. That's all I ask,” he expressed, drawing his arms away from her, just to lift his hands to nudge damp tresses away from her face. “We can talk about it more in the morning. You look like you're about to pass out.”

“Mmm...you're not wrong,” she mumbled, wondering if he would lean in to kiss her once more, admittedly disappointed when he didn't.

“Come on,” he spoke up as he stepped through the small apartment to flip off the light in the kitchen, taking her towel and depositing it over the shower curtain rod, and reappearing once more, grasping her hand lightly. “Let's go to bed.”

* * *

It was not the shift in the mattress, or even the light slap of bare feet on tile that woke Nikki up, just after three in the morning, but rather the lack of warmth. A door opening nearby, accompanied by the sounds of various sources of water stirred her further, and her eyes opened to near-complete darkness. She mumbled her bedmate's name as she slumped onto her back, patting her hand around on cheap linens, finding no other forms of life. Probably for the best, she mused, as she listened to the shuffling beyond the bedroom door, a familiar form stepping through the threshold a few minutes later.

John paused for a moment at the realization of her wakefulness, before stepping around the bed to his side, setting a chilled bottle of water on the floor, beside the edge of the box spring. “I didn't mean to wake you up,” he croaked in a sleep-hoarse voice, sliding in beside her outstretched form, his legs disappearing under the blankets, his back hunched over as he sat at her side. “I was kinda hoping I could at least give you a full night's rest.”

“ S'okay,” she mumbled, her back to the mattress, tank top disheveled, shoved up to her ribs. “I've definitely woken up to worse,” she continued, a drowsy smile across her lips.

“Good to know I'm not the worst,” John returned as he let his gaze travel over what the sheets exposed.

“Hey...I'm up here,” Nikki huffed with barely an effort to sound bothered, her hand closest to him reaching up to nudge his scruffy chin back toward her face. John immediately took the opportunity to grasp her hand, clutching it in his as he considered her sleepy eyes, and the rest of her features.

“If you don't want me staring, you might wanna turn back over,” he whispered as he drew her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the knuckles before lowering it back to the bed. When she said nothing, only continued to stare up at him, languid and content, he tilted his head to one side, thoughtful. “I don't think I've ever seen you so...wait,” his eyes narrowed even more than usual as he leaned in closer, the young woman before him looking uncharacteristically unbothered. “Are you a little high?” he inquired. Her shoulders shrugged almost imperceptibly.

“I might have taken an edible before I brushed my teeth,” she confirmed, smiling faintly when she felt the hand that held hers weave their fingers together. “I don't get a lot of opportunities to relax, anymore,” she continued.

“So you're saying my apartment feels like somewhere you can relax?” John asked, reaching with his unoccupied hand to brush her sleep-mussed bangs out of her face. She nodded slightly, reaching her own empty hand up to grasp his, John leaning his weight into his elbow as he held both her hands in his.

“You feel like somewhere I can relax,” she mumbled, her brain just fuzzy enough to not allow her embarrassment at such a confession. “And, just so you know,” she whispered as she clung to his hands, her gaze focused on his eyes as he hovered above her. “This would be the perfect opportunity to kiss me.”

“Is that so?” he whispered as his gaze raked over what the blankets failed to obscure. “I can't help thinking high you is trying to get me in trouble.”

She let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a few moments before she formed actual words again. “Who would you get in trouble with?”

“Sober you,” John spoke up immediately as he began to shift his body, lying more fully on the memory foam topper, prolonging the overextended life of his mattress below.

“Sober me...ate an edible...knowing what edibles do to me,” Nikki assured, turning on her side to nestle in closer to the forty-something year old man to her right.

“How about...” John began, but his words seemed fruitless as she buried her face against his bare chest, her breath tickling his skin.

“How about what?” she mumbled, easily melting into him when his arm encircled her, met with a faded waft of his body-spray.

“How about I kiss you in the morning?” he proposed, adjusting the blankets to drag them higher, her smooth legs grazing his lower half.

Nikki was silent for a few moments before she spoke up, lifting her chin to look upon his face. “You know...if you don't wanna kiss me, you can just say s-” Her mouth was quickly silenced by the figure beside her, his lips forming over hers as he pressed her onto her back again, his face hovering over hers as he drew a few inches away from her.

“I always wanna kiss you,” John whispered as he brushed more strands of unkempt hair from her face, his other hand drifting south.

“What else do you wanna do to me?” she questioned, sucking her lower lip between her teeth as she watched his gaze wander, the modesty he'd provided quickly reversing as he dragged the sheets back down her body.

“I don't think that's a question I should answer honestly,” he confessed, his fingertips drifting over her exposed stomach, lips quirking into a smile when he heard the emptiness gurgle from inside. “You shouldn't have turned your nose up at the tacos.”

“I wasn't about to eat food I'd just been paid to deliver,” she mumbled, wiggling a bit as she let her lightly buzzing body sink deeper against the cushy surface below. “I guess I am a little hungry.”

“So am I,” John murmured as his fingers drew invisible shapes over her soft skin. Shifting his dark eyes back to her own, he wordlessly searched for any indication of hesitance on her part. Finding none, John pressed the sheets and blankets further down her legs, toward the end of the bed, and adjusted as he leaned forward, not to her mouth, but to her bare midriff. His lips formed a smile against her skin as he heard more gurgling, and he pressed a soft kiss to the softer flesh, hands grasping at her thigh and clavicle, blindly, as she twitched against him from the tickle of his scruff against her naked skin.

“John?” she gasped out his name as his lips speckled her skin with feather-light kisses, trailing up the center, nudging her tank higher with the tip of his nose, kissing along the undersides of her breasts, gripping the thin fabric in his teeth to drag it up to her collarbone. When she began to speak his name again, he cut her off with another kiss, his lips softer than they had any right to be, the tip of his tongue grazing hers as his large hand traveled the opposite direction, disappearing below the waistband of the shorts she'd slept in.

“I promise to last more than fifteen seconds,” he whispered as his mouth inched along her jaw, her throat, his blunt fingernails dragging along the junction of her panties.

“I don't suppose you have any condoms,” Nikki prodded as the man above her tugged at her pajama bottoms, dragging them past her knees and tossing them away.

“Of course I do,” he answered as he settled his weight on an elbow again, gazing down at her eyes and not the mounds of soft flesh he'd uncovered. “I'm not completely irresponsible,” he continued, leaning over her to the small table beside the bed and drawing out an opened, black cardboard box.

“Anymore?” she mumbled as he dug out a few portions of sealed wrappers, dropping the box back into the drawer. John's eyes found hers again, and he was silent for a few seconds before he mumbled a brief 'Yeah'. “Sorry,” she immediately retorted. Now wasn't exactly the time to dig up his past.

“No, don't...don't be sorry. I know I've caused women...more than my fair share of trouble,” he admitted, his gaze drifting to her bare arm, and the various lines of scars that marred it.

“I hope you don't think those are over y-” Nikki spoke up, beginning to cross her arms over her stomach, but his hand was at her wrist before she could manage, drawing it up to his lips instead, pressing prickly kisses against her scarred forearm.

“These are the last,” he murmured, his mouth tracing over the carved lines, his words met with silence, her free arm finally sweeping over him to glide her fingers through his silky hair.

"Are you gonna be something else for me to regret?" she managed, and his lips left her skin as he glanced back up her body, her eyes focused on his own. His body shifted again, abandoning the collection of healing scars to seek out her lips once more, both her hands in his hair as he hovered over her.

"I hope not,” he breathed, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek, stilling in the air when she caught it with one of her own. “Do you still wanna-”

The hand still buried in his hair fisted in his chestnut strands, encouraging him back to her mouth as her other hand guided his lower, his digits slipping beneath the barrier of her modesty, two of them pressing inside. When her lips parted from the welcome intrusion, he prodded inside with his tongue, sweeping over hers as his fingers curled inside, the smaller hand that had directed his cupping him through the stretchy fabric, encouraging him deeper. “Are you still hungry?” she mumbled against his lips, and he groaned in answer, his mouth deserting hers to descend lower, taking the opportunity to suck a taut bud between his lips, trailing his mouth down her stomach, his fingers gliding out of her just to drag her panties down to her ankles. She breathed his name as he grasped her knee and dragged it to one side, her hand in his hair again as he descended, his bicep draping over her hip and his arm circling her thigh as he held her legs apart, and buried his face between them.

Nikki's breaths were unsteady and staggered as she melted against the mattress and John's strong arms, her fingers massaging lazily in his mussed hair as he lapped at her needy flesh, her hips rising and falling as much as his embrace would allow. When John felt slender fingers reaching for the waistband of his boxers, he smacked lightly at the thigh in his grip, drawing his mouth away from her glistening folds to speak. “I'm here for you, Nikki...just let yourself be a little selfish for once,” he insisted, his left hand gripping her firmly as his right snaked around, two of his digits disappearing inside her again as his mouth descended back over her. Redirecting her hand to his back, she scratched lightly at his skin as his fingers curled inside her, stroking slow and steady as he suckled at her tiny pearl, slicked his patchy beard in her juices. Her body twitched at the tiniest flick, every breath audible. “Is that the edible?” he asked as his left hand ghosted over her thigh, and watched as he felt her tremble at the feather touch. “Is that what they do to you? Even I'm not arrogant enough to think that's just me,” he confessed.

“It's, uh...it's both,” she admitted, whimpering when he withdrew his fingers from inside, sucking the fluids from those fingers when he raised them to her lips. “They make my body feel like it's...like I'm effervescent...like I'm fizzy all over, all twitchy...and it makes me ache inside,” she continued, but her words stumbled when he guided his fingers back inside her, pumping and stroking at her walls, and the constant flexing around his digits.

“A good ache?” John murmured as he continued to watch her face, brows drawn together, eyes squinting even in their closed state, bottom lip trembling as her whole body seemed to twitch of its own accord. She only nodded in answer, her breaths pushing with force from her throat as her throbbing insides clung to his digits. “And you knew this would happen before you ate it,” he continued, his concern over her state of mind at massive conflict with his urge to bury his face between her thighs until she screamed his name to the dump of an apartment complex.

“I figured...if it only lasted fifteen seconds again-uhh...” her whole body seemed to shake as his digits kicked into turbo, aggressively stroking at her fleshy walls, leaving her a quivering mess. “I...At least I'd have a good time, too,” she concluded, John drawing out his fingers again to trace circles over her clit, his body lining back up beside hers as he kept his slick fingers against her sensitive flesh.

“After all your protesting, tonight?” John whispered as he neared her ear, sucking the pierced lobe between his lips as his fingers continued to work at her needy bud. “And what if I'd been a gentleman?” he pressed, and she glanced up at him, glazed in a light sheen of sweat despite the cool weather outside, multiple fingers buried to the hilt inside her, the evidence of his 'interest' straining against his boxers.

“You're a lot of things,” Nikki mumbled as she pushed up onto her elbows, meeting his lips with hers as his fingers worked her insides, ever nearer to her breaking point, relentless in his efforts. “A gentleman is not one of them.”

“Hope that's not a deal-breaker,” John rasped as he pressed her back down against the sheets, his fingers speeding up even more as he stroked at her clit from the inside, twitched his thumb against it from the outside, and her arms shot around his shoulder and neck as her hips began to spasm, and her noisy breaths graduated into screams, stifled only by John's mouth as he consumed her cries, her walls convulsing around his digits until he finally drew them away. The forty-something aged man watched with fascination as she continued to twitch, the aftershocks of her drug-influenced orgasm capturing his attention. “Wow,” he finally murmured as he raked a hand over her thigh, gripping gently at the soft flesh. “Are they always like that?”

“Not always,” Nikki whispered, watching him watch her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt admired like this, like she did around him. How much time had she wasted, stewing over that one lackluster night?

When his eyes finally rose back up to hers, he returned the smile that had formed across her lips. “What?” he asked simply, and his eyes followed her hand as she reached toward the bedside table closest to her, grasping at a small, sealed pouch and passing it over to his expectant palm. “You sure?” he breathed, his other hand at his hip, thumb tucked into the elastic waistband, waiting for her assurance. “ 'Cause we don't have to-”

“Do you not want to?” she cut in, pushing back up onto her elbows again, eyes trained on his.

“Do I...does it look like I don't want to?” he queried, shoving his boxers down his hips, the proof of his interest bobbing, proud and ready. Kicking off his only shred of clothes and flopping down on his back, willing her to join him, John gritted his teeth as she slid her slick sex along his bare cock. “Ah, fuck...that's not fair,” he hissed as he tore open the pouch and dragged its contents over his member. “Come on, sweetheart...get over here,” he beckoned, his hand on her hip, thrusting up into the air when she slid herself against him once more. “Please, baby...don't just tease me,” he huffed, his head falling back against the sheet-clad layer of foam as she finally took him in to herself, and his hands immediately landed on her hips as she began to move.

“John?” he heard his name as she slid along him, Nikki grinding atop him as he lie below her, letting her use him as she pleased.

“Mmm...yes, baby,” he murmured as he thrust up from below, slow and steady, careful of the delicate creature blessing him with the embrace of her body and her nethers.

“Promise me you won't cum inside?” she whispered as she leaned over him, his hands clutching at her thighs, barely conscious of her words.

“Sweetheart, how would I even...Nikki, please don't st-,” his words muddled at the loss of her warmth around him through the latex, the sudden chill of autumn air, and the slick embrace of her bare walls as she tossed the condom she'd snatched off of him away, and plunged herself upon him. “Oh, fuck...oh, f-...Nikki, what are y-ughh,” he groaned, his hands returning to her hips as she ground against him. “F-...Fuck!” he snarled, and in seconds, Nikki found her own back against the bed, her feet dangling in the air above them both as John took control, burying himself over and over again inside her welcoming walls. “Please tell me you're on...s-someth-ugh,” he gasped out, words failing him as he sheathed himself inside her. Fuck, no wonder I came too fucking fast last time.

“Of...of course,” she struggled to get her words out as he pummeled into her. “Just don't...don't-umph,” Nikki tried and failed to form coherent words.

“Nikki,” he breathed as his gaze fell to where their bodies met, watched with a half-lidded gaze as she swallowed up everything he had, and rutted against him for more. “Don't go,” John rasped out.

“Don't...John?” she whimpered as his pace began to falter, as his hips jerked aggressively, his breath hot against her throat as he leaned in closer, her legs wrapping securely around his waist.

“Stay with me,” he huffed out, her hands gripping his ass as the edge of the mattress began to smack noisily against the wall. “Tomorrow...and the next day...and the next...until you're sick of me,” he implored, punctuating each pause with a kiss against her flushed skin. His voice became a growl as he suddenly snapped his hips away, managed only a few strokes before spilling over her stomach, breath coming out in puffs as he collapsed beside her, his hand immediately reaching out for hers.

* * *

“Mmm...too early,” Nikki mumbled as she felt the mattress beneath her shift, bright light filtering in from the curtain-less window above, grabbing a fistful of bedding and pulling it up over her head. It had been a few weeks since she'd woken up to something below her that wasn't a couch, and was grateful for the expansive room as she stretched her naked body out beneath the top sheet.

“It's almost ten,” came a very familiar voice, accompanied by a hand larger than her own, dragging the sheet down a few inches to expose her eyes.

“You kept me up 'til four,” Nikki whispered, staring into John's umber eyes where he crouched at the side of the non-bed, though nothing about her tone expressed regret of that fact.

“I don't remember you complaining,” he quipped, resting his chin on the edge of the mattress, and Nikki shuffled her body his way until she was close enough to steal his minty kiss. She dragged the sheets back up immediately after, suspecting her breath was likely far less fresh.

“Still not,” she murmured from beneath the linens, closing her eyes contentedly as he reached out to brush her sleep-mussed hair away from her face. “Are you kicking me out or something?”

“Hmm?” John let out a surprised noise, continuing to watch her from his spot on the floor.

“You've never struck me as the 'early riser' type,” she explained, flopping onto her back as she flexed her legs, all the way down to her toes.

“You consider ten in the morning early?”

“Early for you,” she clarified, groaning as she finally sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest, her bare back on full display. “Am I wrong?”

John didn't move from his spot on the floor, just crossed his arms and leaned more of his weight on the mattress. “You're not,” he finally admitted, and Nikki's brows knit together in confusion.

“John, I'm not awake enough for whatever-”

“I want you to stay,” he finally admitted, and the confusion on her face grew more pronounced.

“John-”

“I meant it when I said it last night, and...I know you think I'm a fuck up without a future-”

“I didn't say-”

“But...I also know that I care about you, and I want...I wanna be with you...you make me wanna be...less of a piece of shit,” John explained, a charming, lazy smile across his lips.

Nikki was silent for several moments, staring at him from her hunched over, mostly naked position on the makeshift bed, considering him. It wasn't until he reached a hand out to grasp one of hers that she finally spoke up. “I'm not interested in just being someone's roommate-with-benefits,” she began, and he shook his head, looking as if he were about to speak again. “And...you're getting a fucking job,” she continued, and he nodded, Nikki staring him directly in the eyes, silently relieved to find sincerity in them. “And...”

“And?” John repeated when her words came to a pause.

“And when you qualify for health coverage, you're getting a damned vasectomy,” she stated firmly, narrowing her eyes when the man beside her began to chuckle.

“Alright, yes...I can...I will do all of that,” he finally confirmed, reaching out with his other hand until both of them grasped her smaller one. “But...maybe we can start with calling up your friends and renting a U-Haul to move your stuff out of your apartment?” he proposed, watching her features for signs of hesitance.

Nikki watched him intently, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth as she considered him, letting out a breath though her nose, before she gave the tiniest nod.

“Yeah?” John asked, his brows and his hope raising as he studied her features.

Nikki continued to watch him, her slight nod becoming more pronounced as her eyes began to glisten, tears of relief forming in the corners as she accepted his arms when he crawled onto the bed to sweep her up in his embrace. She wasn't sure how much she believed he could grow up on her behalf and his own as he held her naked body so tightly in his arms, his lips against her forehead, the corners of her eyes, salty against her mouth.

Nikki didn't know what a future with John held, but she felt something she hadn't in months : relief.

And hope.

🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥

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COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND TAGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED.💙

[jessy02]

from the beginning to the end this chapter of cooper and delihah with this relationship makes me so happy 🙏Cooper knows that Delilah's coworker is not a threat to him but a little bit of jealousy is normal.🥺......Delilah we know that you are self-sufficient but please call your boyfriend and tell him that you are sick.He doesn't care how you look , he doesn't care about getting infected, he just wants to take care of you🥹....Cooper takes control of the situation, and cleans her apartment and ordering up various caplets and cough syrups for another delivery.....Because of this, Cooper is even sexier to me🤩....Cooper stepped into the shower... caught her against his body..as he set about cleansing her, applying shampoo to her hair...He repeated the process to re-shampoo, condition, and cleanse her body...grasping her carefully by her waist and turning her around to rinse the suds away.....lifting the towel back up to place it over her damp hair, massaging gently.... This is so sweet,  taking care of her, he is so meticulous, and even more seductive.🥰.....“Sorry,” she whispered,“Don't be sorry, baby,”Just let me know, next time.“I'm just not used to asking for help.But you've gotten used to a lot of things, lately, right?” She nodded......Is this because Delilah already knows in this part of the story that he is the butcher and she accepts his dark side 🥹and other things too..and ,what other things? ...🥺I didn't want you to see me, you know...gross,”“Baby, you're not gross. You're adorable “No, I'm not-”“Yes, you are...even when you're a mucus-y mess,”.....Thank you Cooper for telling Delilah , in addition taking care of her, she also needs you tell her.🙏.....are you going to take care of me when I get sick with whatever you have. Cooper whispered .....: Delilah of course!.. you promise that you will take care of him when Copper needs you🥹......after all creepy cooper has genuine feelings for her ....🥰 Delilah dressed herself in the set of pajamas her Butcher boyfriend had laid out for her.Delilah became mostly silent as she lay against the heat of Cooper's chest.

Delilah is loved and protected by the butcher😍.

Thank you very much for writing this chapter of Delilah and Cooper ....I missed them😭

An Exercise in Control - Cooper Adams/Abbott x Fem OC

* Part ? : A Winter's Interlude *

So...I am currently on day 4 of dealing with what I assume to be a cold, and since I'm feeling pretty wretched, and have no one to show me the slightest hint of care IRL, I thought I'd write a little something with Cooper taking care of my OC when she's sick. Slight spoilers, as this takes place after the main story (that is not yet completed). All you need to know if that Delilah has, at this point, found out Cooper is The Butcher, and she is living in her own apartment now. That's pretty much it outside of what is already in the posted chapters 1-3. Gif is mine.

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3

(( word count ~ 1,700 ))

🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪

“Hey, man, she's not here today.” Cooper heard the words come out of the bookstore employee's mouth before he registered they were directed at himself, and he swerved around on the spot toward the younger man.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his expression neutral. Cooper had encountered the young man before, and didn't love the fact that he happened to be his girl's co-worker, but he knew he wasn't a threat.

“Delilah? You're lookin' for her, right?” the younger man clarified. “She called in sick.”

“Is that so?” Cooper replied, his hand digging into his pocket for his phone, seeing no missed messages or calls when he checked the screen. Is she was sick, it was news to him.

* * *

“I'm...I'm coming,” a hoarse voice sounded from inside the small studio apartment that Delilah resided in when she wasn't at work, or at Cooper's house. “Sorry, the app isn't updating, I guess,” she croaked as she unbolted the lock, dragging the chain away, and opened the door to a far more familiar face than she expected. “Cooper?” she whimpered, her voice barely recognizable, as she stared up at the looming man, a look on his face she'd never seen so transparently – selfless and full of blatant concern.

“Why didn't you tell me?” The Butcher asked as he began to reach a large hand out, his movements stilling as he was met with a crackling cough.

“It's not a big deal,” she mumbled, continuing to stand in the doorway, grasping the frame and the solid wood, blocking his entrance. “It's just a c-” she began to insist, but another noisy cough cut into her words, and her grip on the door in her grasp weakened, Cooper taking the opportunity to infiltrate the diminutive apartment. “It's just a cold,” she insisted as she pressed her body weight against the door, shoving it closed again after her failure to keep her boyfriend out of her living space.

“I don't care if it's just a cold. You should have told me,” he insisted, his tone commanding, as he glanced over his surroundings. He'd spent more hours in the little apartment than he could count, but he'd never seen it so disheveled. Looking back to his paramour, he realized he'd never seen her quite so disheveled either, as least not under circumstances that didn't involve himself, and his seductive control over her. Sex was the last thing on his mind, however, as he looked her over. “Baby, you should have told me,” he spoke again, his voice far softer as he strode the short distance between them and pulled her into his jacket-covered arms before she could vocally protest.

“Cooper, sto-” Delilah began, but another round of rattling coughs escaped, her face warm, her eyes glistening when he pulled away just enough to peer down at her. “I don't...I don't wanna get you sick, too,” she rasped, but The Butcher was having none of that.

“I'm not worried about getting sick,” he insisted, his eyes darting back to the door at the sudden sound of knocking.

“It's my delivery,” she mumbled as he abandoned his hold on her to return to the door, opening it to find a stranger holding bags of food.

* * *

Cooper took control of the situation, despite Delilah's protests, instructing her to get in the shower while he set to work, shuffling through her collection of medicines, and ordering up various caplets and cough syrups for another delivery. Making a quick sweep of the apartment, he gathered up used tissue boxes and overflowing bags of their previous contents, freezing for a moment every time he heard a series of coughs sound from the bathroom. By the time he stepped into the steam-filled room, Delilah had given up on standing, and he found her instead sitting in the middle of the tub with the hot water pulsing against her bare back.

“Cooper, I'm serious, I don't w-” she began to protest again when he pushed the door closed behind himself, watched as he began to strip off his security guard uniform, fold it up and set it on the corner of the sink.

“I told you,” he retorted as he stripped down to nothing, and shoved aside the translucent curtain to reveal the equally nude young woman inside. “I'm not worried about me getting sick...now, stand up, sweetheart, let's get you clean.” Cooper stepped into the shower and grasped her hands for leverage, caught her against his body when her feet nearly gave way below her, and felt her warm, wet frame collapse against his.

“Cooper...” she murmured as he set about cleansing her, applying shampoo to her hair and working it through as her hands clung to his shoulders, head handing forward, staring at their feet. Every part of him really was so much bigger than her equivalent.

“It's okay,” he answered, gripping the detachable shower head to rinse her hair clean. He repeated the process to re-shampoo, condition, and cleanse her body, his actions thorough but surprisingly chaste. “We'll have to do this again when you're feeling better,” he quipped, grasping her carefully by her waist and turning her around to rinse the suds away. She nodded slowly, content to simply stand in the moist heat and feel his hands on her. Delilah was visibly disappointed when he finally turned the water off. “We can't stand in here forever, sweetheart. Your hot water is already running low,” he noted, and she nodded but spoke no words. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes watering as he began to towel her off, and Cooper felt her arms wrap around his waist when he worked his way back up to towel at her hair. Despite the seriousness of their predicament, his cock began to twitch to life at the press of her nude body against his, and he let out a sigh.

“I must not look that bad,” she mumbled, lying her temple against his chest, his strong arms wrapping about her and holding her even closer.

“Of course not,” he whispered as he rested his chin lightly against her crown. “But you sound miserable, baby.”

“I feel miserable,” she confirmed, closing her eyes, the fatigue of her body and mind making her even more compliant to his wishes than usual. A knock at the door, however, drew them both out of their moment of peace. “What's that?” she mumbled softly, before a cough took hold of her once more.

“Medicine,” Cooper stated, and her eyes were even more bleary as she looked up at him. “You can't expect to get better on nothing but soup and expired cough syrup.” She could do little but nod in defeat.

“Sorry,” she whispered, and he shook his head slightly, lifting the towel back up to place it over her damp hair, massaging gently.

“Don't be sorry, baby,” Cooper uttered as he tended to her. “Just...let me know, next time. There's no point in you suffering alone when I'm a text away,” he continued.

“I'm just-” another cough cut her off, and Cooper placed a palm against the middle of her shoulder blades, feeling her rattle against him. “I'm just not used to asking for help.”

“I'm aware,” he murmured, and she glanced back up at him, a weak smile on her lips. “But you've gotten used to a lot of things, lately, right?” She nodded, and he continued. “And this is no different. I want you to come to me when you need me...not hide away because...why were you hiding this from me, anyway?” Cooper asked suddenly. “I know it's not just you thinking you don't need help.”

Before she could answer, Delilah let out a noisy sneeze, closing her eyes tight, covering her face with her hands as Cooper ripped off some toilet paper and pressed it into her palm. “This,” she mumbled before blowing her nose into the paper, hearing the sound of her congestion in her chest and behind her ears. “I didn't want you to see me, you know...gross,” she admitted. Cooper stepped back as Delilah padded around to drop the used paper into the wastebasket, and she was surprised to see a serene smile on Cooper's lips when she glanced back at him. “What?”

“Baby, you're not gross. You're adorable-”

“No, I'm not-”

“Yes, you are...even when you're a mucus-y mess,” his smile broadened when her face flushed more, shaking her head and turning away from him to grab another towel, hanging from the curtain rod.

* * *

The sun had begun to set by the time the couple reemerged from the bathroom, and Cooper collected the delivered bag of medicines from outside, as Delilah dressed herself in the set of pajamas her Butcher boyfriend had laid out for her. Re-heated chicken noodle soup followed, along with a cap of revolting cough syrup, and promises that the flavor was worth the results. By the time the sky had darkened into inky black, the couple found themselves cuddled up on Delilah's bed, oversized soup bowl in hand, watched a short-lived television series she'd seen a dozen times over, neither occupant invested much in what played on the laptop screen.

Tissues were massacred unendingly by Delilah's nose, but the congested coughs became less frequent to her relief from the hideous cap of medicated liquid. Her throat scratchy, and made worse from talking, Delilah became mostly silent as she lay against the heat of Cooper's chest, his large hands grazing over her thighs and arms for comfort. Despite Delilah's concern over passing her sickness on to him, he had budged not an inch in his resolve, content to simply hold her.

“Are you staying the night?” she murmured against his cotton shirt, her breath coming out in warm puffs against the fabric.

“Of course...are you going to take care of me when I get sick with whatever you have?” Cooper whispered as his hands continued to stroke her limbs, Delilah tilting her head to gaze up at him, and the calm comfort of his features.

“Of course.”

🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND TAGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED.💙

tagging : @gissellec1 , @sashimeep , @callsign-fangirl , @hibiskooks , @jessy02 ,

@charliehoennam , @bleeding-heartz , @gt-rxn , @simplymurdock , @lucy-sky ,

@pinkflowerwombat , @one-of-thewalkingdead , @strangererotica , @the-butchers-baby , @pinastrihaven ,

@amethystblackkchaos

[jessy02]

i love it nikki for her scathing wit.. who do you not owe money professor? wandering dick syndrome i coined it... wich one do you have more experience being? boyfriend or a fuckboy😂. John with his little seduction game and incisive questions“I was just thinking...if you were still dating your ex, would you be here, beside me?”he studied her features, curious of how she really saw him. "Would you be tempted?" "I wish you'd stay,"...."Is anybody expecting you, tonight?".....“his fingers curling at the openings of her cuffed shorts, his blunt nails scratching her skin as he gripped the denim.....If you need a place to stay tonight,.I'd even let you take the bed,”....and later "I'd go back and fuck you right if I could .. omg🥴. this situation of friends who had a crazy and fast sexual interaction....drunk.... But john also so kind and cares about her.Nikki tries to oppose the irresistible John but she knows this is complicated....and i love it the other protagonist of this chapter the hoodie🙏

Because the Night - John Woodruff (Oh Lucy!) x Fem OC - Part 1 (of 2)

(AKA Fuckboys Have Feelings, Too)

warnings : mild consensual sexual content, profanity, mentions of alcohol, mentions of self harm, mentions of past infidelity (not between OC and John) I watched Oh Lucy! after witnessing the gif sets of *that scene* and, oops, 10,000 words of fanfic happened. This was originally intended as a one-shot, but I've split it up due to the size of it. The second half is 90% complete and will be posted within a few days of this 1st chapter. Sorry, not sorry, to the OC haters, but no one else seems to be writing for this character, so...I'll write what I like! Gif is mine.

(( word count : ~ 5,700 ))

“Oh, no,” Nikki mumbled as she stood at the front door of a stranger's house, bags of food clutched in her hands, waiting to be delivered. The dwelling wasn't familiar, but the loudest voice emitting from inside, and upon second glance, a car parked a few houses down, were unmistakable, and a groan escaped her throat as a man she knew all to well opened the door.

“Nikki?” he asked, surprised, glancing at his phone for the displayed information of his assigned 'Dasher'. “Damn, if I'd known you were delivering, I would have left a bigger tip-”

“And I would have declined the job,” she mumbled, shoving the bags of Tex-Mex toward him. “Goodb-”

“Wait! Wait, don't...” the currently unemployed, former university professor John Woodruff spoke up, his voice quickly softening, barely audible against the loud music from inside that flowed through the open door. “Can I borrow you?”

“Borrow...no. No way, I gotta go-”

“Please? I need a favor-”

“I don't care-”

“Nikki, I really...look. I got invited to this party, and I didn't know my buddy was trying to set me up, and she is just...she's really not my type, and she won't leave me alone,” John whispered, his proximity increasing as he spoke against the noise from inside.

“John...why would I help you-”

“I'll...I'll pay you. I will literally give you money to keep this girl off my-”

“Dick?” Nikki offered, a smirk threatening to overtake her lips.

“...I was going to say 'back', but yeah, that too, I guess,” he mumbled, giving her those big pleading eyes that had an established history of making her brain go stupid.

“You'll pay me?” she finally asked to confirm, and the middle-aged beach bum nodded in the affirmative. “Is that, like...on top of the money you already owe me?” she inquired, watching his face blanch.

“I owe you money?” he whispered in an even smaller voice.

“Who do you not owe money, Professor?” she asked, and John squeezed his eyes closed, defeat taking over his features.

“Please?” he hedged, his brows knitting together as he opened his eyes again. “I will do whatever you want, I just really don't need this right now,” he implored, his body slumping against the door frame, his head cocked to one side.

Closing her own eyes, Nikki began to shake her head side to side slowly, letting out a sigh as she finally looked up at the looming man again. “Fine,” she breathed, and his eyes widened in genuine surprise, smiling in relief before glancing back over his shoulder to the party-goers inside. “Am I, like...supposed to be your fake girlfriend, or-”

“Yes!” John nearly shouted before lowering his voice, finally taking the bags out of her hands, watching her reach into her back pocket for her phone to pause deliveries. “You...you're amazing,” he mumbled, even as she continued to frown at her device, putting it away. “Just...pretend to be my girlfriend until this chick leaves, and I will...whatever you want, it's yours-”

“I thought you said you were going to pay me-”

“Yeah, like I said, whatever you want,” he mumbled, and she let out a frustrated sigh as she set the alarm on her car and stepped inside the house, John disappearing just long enough to set the food down in the kitchen, and reappearing almost immediately.

“Give me your hoodie,” she insisted when he stepped close enough to hear her over the thumping music.

“My hoodie?”

“Yeah, that's what girlfriends do, right? Steal their boyfriends' hoodies?” she explained, her arms crossed over her body like she was cold. John chose to ignore, for the moment, the etched lines on the inside of her forearm as he shrugged off his zippered jacket and stepped around her to assist her in slipping into it. “So, who are we putting on a show for?”

“A show?” he asked, slightly confused, watching her drag the metal zipper pull up to her collarbone, the oversized article swamping her smaller frame.

“Yeah, what girl are you so desperate to not fuck,” Nikki clarified, watching him as he nodded, following his gaze until he settled on a blonde across the room, staring back at them. John's bare arms wrapped around her before she could breathe another word. “She's...cute,” Nikki mumbled, her arms winding around the unemployed man's back, turning her head to glance away when the other woman's eyes focused on her own.

“She's a moron,” John mumbled, setting his scruff-darkened chin atop her crown.

“I thought you liked dumb girls,” she whispered, feeling his chest rise and fall against her from the close contact.

“Even I have my limits,” he claimed, his stomach announcing it's hunger and distracting them both. “Are you hungry?”

* * *

“So...since when do you deliver food,” John muttered between bites of his taco, Nikki sitting beside him on the front porch, away from the bulk of the noise, staring off at nothing in particular.

“Since my housing situation took a turn,” she returned, glancing over to the man beside her. Nothing on his face indicated surprise.

“Yeah, I, uh...I heard you and your guy broke up,” he mentioned, and she nodded, hunching forward to lessen the instinct to look at him. Even when he was irritating her, he still managed to look obnoxiously pretty. “You okay? I mean, aside from the...housing...thing,” he muttered, stuffing the last of his food into his mouth, and rubbing his hands together to rid himself of tortilla dust.

“I guess...I don't think I ever really let myself get too attached to him,” she mused, playing at the edges of the hoodie sleeves that fell past her fingertips. “As it turned out, he had a case of W.D.S., so...”

John's brows came together in confusion as he watched her avoid looking at him, “What is W.D.S.?”

“Wandering Dick Syndrome,” she confirmed with a nod, glancing his way with a less serious look when he chuckled at the explanation.

“I, uh...I don't think I've ever heard it called that,” he noted.

“I coined it,” Nikki added, and John nodded, trying to hold back any more laughter. Just because she could make a joke about it didn't necessarily mean she was unbothered by it.

“You sure you're okay?” John finally asked again, his facade a bit more serious as he reached out to brush loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I, uh...I noticed you started, um...I didn't know you were still doing that,” he mumbled, indicating her left arm, swamped in the fabric of his jacket.

“They're not that fresh,” she muttered, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself, even in the temperate air. John's brows lifted at once as she let out a breath that tinged on a laugh. “You know, he, uh...he never noticed...not that I was exactly shoving it in his face, or anything, but...You know what?” she sigh, pursing her lips as she stared out at the road, cluttered with parked cars, their drivers filling the house behind the faux couple. “I don't really wanna talk about it.”

John was silent for several seconds, watching as she fidgeted more with the cuffs of the hoodie, trying to disappear even further into the oversized article. When he finally reached an arm out and wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling her in closer to himself, she put up no fight.

“So...why were you with that guy, anyway? I mean, if he wasn't worth getting attached to, or...” John queried, adjusting his body further to accommodate the young woman beside him as she nestled in against him, her temple against his shoulder, his large hand palming hers. Something about the lack of distance between them felt familiar, but he couldn't decide on the reason. They'd known each other for years, perhaps more than was ethical given the age difference between them, but nothing romantic or sexual had ever bloomed between them. Even so, something about it felt strangely natural to him.

“I dunno,” she finally spoke up, her left hand rising to meet his, their fingers clutching each others from over her shoulder. “I guess I was just...trying to fill up empty space.”

“So, you're saying you need your empty spaces filled-”

“Oh, my god, shut up,” she huffed, rolling her eyes, but her laughter escaped before she could contain it, and she felt the former professor's bristly chin rub against her crown, his free hand sweeping around to lift her own chin, enough for him to see some warmth return to her eyes.

“At least you smiled,” he whispered, his fingers brushing absently along her jaw. His gaze focused on her lips, the smile gone, replaced with something serene, and John's tongue ran between his own lips, quickly filling the space between before it disappeared, his body leaning in closer, Nikki's remaining quite still, save for her closing eyes.

“There you are!” came a deafening shout as the screen door slammed open, missing the 'couple' by inches, and distance automatically formed between them as John's arm dropped away from her shoulder, and they both looked behind themselves at the source of the intrusive voice. “We're outta beer, dude, we need you to go get more,” the boisterous man declared, caring not a bit about the intimate moment he'd pulverized. Before he could even speak up, John was immediately cut off. “Come on, man, you're the closest to sober...and I bought you dinner,” he reminded, his arms crossing as John let out a sigh. When John looked back at the young woman beside him, she shrugged but spoke no words.

“I...Alright,” he surrendered, dropping his arms as they completely abandoned Nikki, dragging himself to his feet as she did the same, crossing her own arms as she watched the inebriated man press cash into John's hand, and disappear back inside.

“Well, I think that's my sign to leave,” she mumbled as she began to unzip the borrowed jacket, but John's hand was on hers before she could separate the two, fleecy edges.

“Don't...don't go...come with me,” he encouraged, pocketing the cash with his other hand.

“I don't really think tha-”

“I know you don't wanna go home,” he cut her off, and her gaze rose to his umber eyes, his parted lips pursing as he stared back at her. “Besides,” he continued, glancing back at the house behind them both. “If you leave now, they'll never believe we're really dating,” he concluded, hopping off the porch and almost tripping as he nearly underestimated the height of the stairs, leading down to the congested driveway.

“Just what this situation needs...more alcohol.” Nikki's voice drifted off as she watched the middle-aged man jog through the grassy yard. Didn't it start a lot like this, last time, she pondered as she began to take strides toward the car she'd recognized earlier, old and worn and barely in one piece from the looks of it.

“You say something?” John asked, as Nikki reached the passenger door he'd opened on his way around to the driver's side, watching her as she slipped inside the car.

“Nothing,” she lied, feigning a smile at him before clicking her seat-belt into place.

After an uncomfortable minute or so of both passengers wondering whether the car was going to start, John making several attempts to fire up the engine before it finally caved to his intentions, the two set out down the winding road, passing several parked cars from the party-goers.

“I, uh...I hope it's the battery...I'm fucked if it's the alternator,” John spoke up in the silence, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, and not their almost-kiss on the porch. “Don't suppose you have any deliveries to pick up?” The look on his passenger's face when he glanced over was less than amused. “Sorry,” he quickly murmured.

“Aren't you unemployed? By choice?” she accused, her arms crossing as she stared at John, his brown eyes unusually focused ahead of him. “Some of us actually have to work to get by.”

“I wasn't trying to make fun of you,” he mumbled, his fingers flexing anxiously as he palmed the steering wheel. “I just...don't those gig jobs pay like shit?” he glanced her way, a bit relieved to see she wasn't staring him down any longer.

“It's not great, but...I need the extra money. And like you said, I, uh...I don't spend much more time at home than I absolutely have to. It fills the free time.”

“So, the extra money...you looking for a place?” he asked, bringing the car to a stop as the traffic light they'd been approaching shifted red.

“Not yet. There's nothing I can comfortably afford on my own, but...I really hate being home. It doesn't even feel like home anymore. Most nights, I don't even sleep there.”

John felt a discomfort in the pit of his stomach as he glanced her way, a handful of cars passing back and forth before them, “You aren't, uh...you haven't been...sleeping in your car-”

“No, nothing like that, I'm not...I haven't quite reached that level of desperation yet. I've mostly been bouncing around on a few friends' couches. I just hope I don't wear out my welcome before I've got enough money to move on,” Nikki explained, shifting her gaze from the road ahead of them to the man beside her.

“So...no chance of reconciliation?” John inquired as he drove, on the look out for a promising convenience store.

“I'd move out tomorrow if I could,” she huffed, shifting in the seat and drawing her legs up to cross them before her. “I mean...could you stay with someone who cheated on you? Several times, apparently.”

“I guess not,” he muttered, thoughtful. He wasn't sure if he'd ever had a partner cheat on him. Historically, more often than not, they just got sick of him and left. “'Could you be with someone who cheated at all?”

“Like...a man who's technically still married, but-”

“Separated,” John cut in.

“Not divorced,” she mumbled.

“That's...that's true,” he admitted, pulling off the main street and into a brightly lit gas station parking lot. When the car came to a stop, John shifted into 'park' and left the keys in the ignition as he climbed out of the car, motor still running, leaving without a word into the store, though taking care to not slam his door behind himself. He wasn't frustrated with her. After all, he had basically started the conversation that had led them to silence, again. And much as he preferred to hide from his responsibilities, he wasn't ignorant to the fact that most of those unpleasant aspects were consequences of his own making.

He was relieved to see a thoughtful look on her face when he returned several minutes later, packs of beer in his arms. At least she didn't appear angry with him.

John emptied his cargo into the back seat, and slipped back inside, into the driver's seat, buckling his seat-belt, just beginning to attempt speech again when Nikki suddenly spoke up.

“You know, I kind of have a theory about cheating. Do you wanna hear it?” she asked as she shifted her gaze to the driver. John nodded silently, dropping his hand away from the gearshift, making sure to lock the doors, shifting in his seat to give her his attention. “So, my theory is...you can't cheat on someone you really care about...someone you love.”

“I, uh...I'm confused-”

“Well, hear me out,” she mumbled, adjusting the seat until is slid back, dropping the back rest a bit, and placing her shoe-clad feet up on the dashboard. “I think that...if you're at the point in a relationship where you cheat, or...are considering cheating, or even tempted to put yourself in a situation where you likely would cheat...then you don't really love the person you're with, anymore. If you did, you wouldn't betray them.”

“So...are you in the 'once a cheater, always a cheater' camp?” he asked, considering her with all his faculties as she practically lie down beside him, his gaze following the shadows created from the harsh electric light outside.

“No,” she stated simply, turning her head to glance at him, his eyes taking a few seconds longer than necessary to make it back up to hers. “I think that...if someone cheats in a relationship, it's over. It's done. There's no coming back from that...there wouldn't ever be real trust, and it's basically telling the cheater they can keep getting away with it.” John nodded silently, and Nikki continued. “But...I do think that, just because someone has cheated in the past, it doesn't mean they'll cheat on someone else in the future. We just have to...I dunno, pay more attention? Know ourselves a little better? Recognize when something is over, and...not force ourselves to stay with people that don't make us happy?”

“Sounds like there's a story, there,” John mused, finally reaching out a hand, weaving his fingers between his passenger's.

“Not an interesting one,” she answered, shifting her gaze to their joined hands. “I cheated...a couple times, when I was younger.”

“Really?” John queried, his brows raised in surprise.

“I didn't exactly plan to...I dated a couple of crappy guys when I was nineteen, and...I guess, twenty-one? I think I put up with some subpar boyfriends, because they were the first guys I'd been with since junior year that wanted to be more than just situationships. It almost feels like actual boyfriends somehow seem to put in even less effort than fuckboys.” She paused for a few seconds before her gaze drifted up to his, again. “Why is that?”

“What do you...are you asking from the point of view of a boyfriend, or a fuckboy?”

“Which one do you have more experience being?” she asked simply, and John's brows drew together, eyes a bit more narrow than usual as he peered down at her.

“I'd rather not say,” he finally admitted.

“Which one you've spent more time being, or why one treats girls even worse than the other?”

“Both,” he answered, immediately, redirecting. “So, uh...you said you hadn't planned to cheat, so...what happened?”

“What hap-...Right, um...” she closed her eyes, having trouble concentrating. That was the trouble, one of many, that accompanied the older man beside her. Willfully or not, he had a knack for making even smart girls do foolish things. “Well, under...various circumstances...I ended up sleeping with other people while I was dating those guys, and I broke up with them not long after, but...cheating made me realize that I didn't want to be in those relationships anymore. It wasn't even a case of me, like...falling for someone else. It just made me realize how unhappy I was.” She glanced back to the man beside her, drinking in her every word, contemplation in his eyes. When he didn't speak up, she continued.

“So, the next time a situation came up, when I had an opportunity to cheat with someone I'd been involved with before-”

“Another ex-boyfriend?”

“No, another fuckboy...anyway, when he reached out, with the weakest attempt of an 'I just wanna hang out', I told him 'no', because it wasn't worth putting myself in a situation where I'd be tempted.”

John watched her for several seconds as she lie beside him, reflecting. He didn't speak up until she finally prompted him with a simple, “Well?”

“I was just thinking...if you were still dating your ex, would you be here, beside me?”

Nikki settled more into the reclined seat as she stared up at him, contemplative. “Pretending to be your girlfriend, or-”

“At all,” he interrupted, and she sucked in her bottom lip slightly.

“I, um...I don't know,” she admitted.

John was silent for several seconds as he studied her features, curious of how she really saw him. “Would you be tempted?” he finally asked.

Nikki opened her mouth, as if to speak, but no words came to her, and she glanced around for anything to look upon that wasn't his face, when her wandering eyes focused on the dials above the steering wheel. “I, um...I think we should head back, while you still have the fuel to.”

The ride back was fairly silent, and even as they gathered up the purchases from the back, and trudged along as they carried them inside, finding themselves among the other party-goers, they spoke very little. It wasn't until John unloaded the boxes of cans into an ice-filled cooler, and pulled out something fruity and sweet he'd picked up for her, that she finally spoke up again, “I should, um...I should really go...I think that blonde left, so-”

“I wish you'd stay,” he mumbled suddenly, his hands stilling in the spreading of the ice. “It's kind of nice to pretend.” To her own frustration, she couldn't bring herself to disagree.

* * *

The hour neared midnight as the party guests trickled away, neither Nikki nor John making any attempt to separate from one another. She'd lied, to herself at least, in the car. She'd never have stayed, if she'd been in a relationship. She enjoyed his company too much, and his attention, his handsome face, his voice, his everything. It wasn't that she wouldn't trust him, exactly...she didn't trust herself. And she let him do as he pleased, his chest against her back, his hands on her hips, thumbs in her belt loops as they swayed lightly to the music that had died down to a playlist of 2000's top 40. She was stirred from her contentment when he spoke up against the music, his mouth near her ear as he asked his question.

“Can I ask you something and get an honest answer?” he uttered against the cartilage. When her body stilled, he abandoned her belt loops to wrap his arms lightly around her waist. “Why were you so eager to leave when you saw I was here? I know it's not just about needing money.”

“...Internal conflict?” she finally ventured after a thoughtful pause.

“That's not much of an answer,” he responded, drawing her even closer when someone stepped past them, seeking out refreshment. “Is it just this, uh...” John paused, his hands gripping her sides as he drew her near enough that she felt the scratch of his jeans against the backs of her legs, skin bare below the hem of her shorts, “This...thing, between us...that we don't talk about?”

When she felt him lift the edge of his hoodie that fell below the back pockets of her shorts, dragging her layer of denim against the zipper of his, she felt something else between them beyond the awkwardness, his hands finding her hips.

“That's part of it,” she finally whispered when he leaned in again, and she felt the pleasant scrape of his patchy beard against her temple.

“What's the other part?” he whispered, their bodies swaying with the music, John's front against her back.

“I guess...I was kind of embarrassed, too,” she admitted, felt his arms wrap securely around her waist. “We do have a...weirdly large overlap of friends. I didn't need you hearing about it, too.”

“I hope you didn't think I'd give you a hard time over it, or-”

“No, that's not...I-”

“It's okay,” John murmured against her ear as he reduced the last hints of distance between them to nothing, every part of him that lined up, against her. “And he was an idiot,” he added.

“And what does that say about me?” Nikki managed, John's hands dipping below the edge of the hoodie that swallowed her up, reaching around her from beneath it to place his large hands closer to her skin, venturing no further as he waited.

“It says that you're...kind, and...patient. Maybe not the best judge of character,” he mused, and she let out an audible breath.

“Yeah, that's no secret,” she mumbled, and she felt his bare fingertips brush her midriff when they traveled past the hem of her shirt. “What are you doing?” Besides pushing my boundaries and tempting me into more mistakes-

“Pretending,” he rasped into her ear from behind, and she felt his hands at her waist again, felt him roll his hips when her back arched slightly against him, felt what she hadn't in a few years through the denim of his jeans. Ah, yes. The main reason she'd opted to leave before he'd even seen her face when she'd arrived.

“Well, you're...you're pretty convincing,” she mumbled as she felt his hands splay over the tops of her thighs, arching further against him when he ground against her.

“Nikki?” he rasped as he leaned over her shoulder, his fingers curling at the openings of her cuffed shorts, his blunt nails scratching her skin as he gripped the denim. When she managed a nearly inaudible 'Yes?' in reply, he continued. “Is anybody expecting you, tonight?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, turning her head to the side, glancing back at his shoulder, not venturing to gaze any higher.

“Like...is anyone expecting you to show up to their sofa?” he clarified, and she nodded slightly in understanding.

“I, um...I haven't reached out to anyone yet...I didn't exactly plan on being distracted so long,” she explained, and she felt him nod from behind, his thumbs brushing her thighs.

“If you need a place to stay tonight, you could just...I mean, I've got plenty of room,” he hedged, drawing his fingers back from the edge of her shorts when her body became still. “If you want to...I'd even let you take the bed,” he offered.

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea,” she mumbled, and she felt his arms wrap around her again from beneath the hoodie she'd stolen.

“Can I ask you something else?” he finally spoke up after a short silence. When she nodded, he continued. “I know how this sounds, and I promise it's not me trying to be manipulative, but, um...do you...do you not trust me?”

“I...I don't trust me,” she admitted, and he released her when she began to shift in his embrace, turning toward him to look up to his handsome features. “And, I...I know where all that leads,”

“W-...Where do you think it's gonna lead,” he asked, watching her eyes as she blinked away from him, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Listen, John, I...I'm dealing with enough. I don't need old feelings getting stirred up-”

“Wait,” he spoke up a little louder, and lowered his voice to continue when he noticed a few people watching from across the living room. “Sweetheart, I-”

“Don't...Please, don't,” she plead, glancing around as well.

“Don't what?” John asked, his brows drawn together as he watched the young woman before him, his fingers finding the strings of his hoodie that she still wore, winding them lightly around his fingers.

“Don't call me shit like Sweetheart,” she implored, directing her gaze back to him, trying not to think about his large hands edging toward her face. “I really don't need that right now-”

“So, tell me what you need?” he cut in, his voice tempered but firm, his fingertips brushing along her jawline.

“I...I need to just...I don't know, relax for once. Not think about my ex, or my instability...or who I'm inconveniencing-”

“You are not an inconvenience,” John cut in, nudging her chin up with his thumbs, watched her eyes studiously as he considered her. “I wouldn't...Nikki, I wouldn't expect anything in return, that's...”

“I...I should go,” Nikki finally sputtered out, lifting her hands to the zipper pull, John immediately catching them and stilling her movements.

“Keep it,” he offered, nudging the metal pull back up the few inches she dragged it down. “Just, uh...just wait, okay? Let me walk you out,” he mumbled, stepping away as soon as the words left his mouth, Nikki swiveling to watch him cross the mostly empty room, down a hallway, gone.

If I were smart, I'd just leave, Nikki thought as she glanced around at nothing in particular, waiting. If I had an ounce of self-preservation-

“Hey!” she turned toward his voice when she heard it over her shoulder, found him reaching for her hand, and she allowed herself to be guided out of the dwelling, into the brisk air outside. When they had taken a few steps down the emptied driveway, closer to her car than his, his feet drew to a pause, his hand still grasping hers. “Hey, um...I want you to take my number,” he remarked, carefully grasping her arm and tugging the sleeve of his hoodie up to the elbow, the scars along her inner arm in various stages of healing, ending three or four inches from her wrist. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a permanent marker he'd swiped on his trek back through the house, popping the cap off and scrawling numbers onto her arm. “You don't have to give me yours, but...if you decide you wanna talk, or...put me in your sleepover rotation,” he paused, watching her face as he spoke, grateful at the tiny smile that tugged at her lips. “I'd even keep my hands to myself...if that's what you wanted,” he quipped, and her slight smile spread into a full one.

“Because you did such a swell job of that tonight,” she noted, and he shrugged.

“We were pretending, right?” he pointed out, though their faces both displayed a look that acknowledged that wasn't exactly true.

“Are we still pretending?” she whispered out as she felt him inch closer, wrapping his arms around her waist once more, but keeping his hands as innocently placed as he could.

“No,” he finally admitted as he leaned in, tilting his head to one side, pausing for the briefest moment when he closed in, pressing his lips against hers when she showed no further hesitance. “Nikki?” he whispered when he edged away again.

“I can't-”

“You don't have to-”

“John, I...you really don't remember, do you?” she asked, staring at the screen-printed logo of a mostly forgotten surf brand across his chest. He looked quite lost when she finally glanced up at his face. “Do you remember a party at Scott's, a few years ago? In the summer?”

“I...sorta,” he answered, the memory hazy. How many dozens of parties had he been to since? How much alcohol had he poured down his own throat?

“Okay, do you remember that...that was the last time we saw each other until tonight?” she continued, prodding him toward an answer he wasn't certain of, yet.

“K-...Kinda? I was, uh...I was drinking pretty heavy, then,” he admitted, reaching up to scratch anxiously at his scalp.

“That, you were.” she agreed, and John's anxiety began to form an ache in his stomach as he stared upon her.

“Nikki, what...did I do something to y-”

“It's not...it's not what you're thinking, don't...it was consensual, but, uh...we slept together,” she finally admitted aloud what she had not confessed to anyone else, in all that time. “I was...kinda drunk, and you were really drunk, and, uh...it lasted all of fifteen seconds,” she revealed, letting out an audible breath as she smiled faintly, shaking her head slightly at the memory. “Not much to remember, I guess, but, um...it wasn't exactly my finest moment...or decision,” she continued, rolling her eyes as the recalled that night. “I mean, if anything, I-” Her words ceased in her throat as she felt John's large hands grip her shoulders, pressing his lips against hers once more, probably not for the second time, he realized.

“I'm sorry...I don't remember any of that...I mean, I remember seeing you, and...I think I remember getting laid, but...is that the real reason you've been avoiding me all this time?” he questioned, and she shrugged apathetically. “Fuck...no wonder you don't trust me-”

“John, shut up,” she mumbled, sighing as she lifted a hand to press her fingers to his lips. “I already told you...I trust you. I just don't trust m-” her words were cut off once more as his lips found hers again, but he didn't draw away just as quickly, as he had before.

“Nikki,” he mumbled, his arms winding around her waist, dragging her closer to his body, swaying lightly as he held her, as they had in the house. “I know you think I'm this...perpetual man-child,” John whispered, and his arms tightened so slightly when she let out a wordless sound in response. “And I can't take back whatever happened that night...but I would, if I could, if that would fix...what?”

“You know...saying you'd take back sex with me isn't as flattering as y-”

“I'd go back and fuck you right if I could,” he clarified, and her response dried up in her parched throat. “I'm not gonna lie and say I haven't thought about it...at least a dozen times,” he continued, his embrace unceasing. “I don't like seeing you in pain, especially when I can help...even if it just means giving up my bed for the night.”

“John-”

“Just think about it, okay? Even if it means...you waking me up at four in the morning or something, that's fine. Okay?” he urged, standing straighter when she finally peered back up at him.

“Okay,” she finally whispered, and he nodded, leaning in once more to place a practically chaste kiss against her lips. “Are you staying?” she mumbled as he dropped his forehead to rest lightly against her own.

“No, I'm gonna head home...not much point in staying if you're leaving,” he confirmed.

“Assuming your car even starts,” she murmured, and he smirked, brows quirked.

“Don't even joke about that,” he answered, glancing down to his car, parked before the neighbor's house, along the street. “Maybe you should walk me to my car, instead,” he advised, shifting his eyes back to hers.

🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥 🧥

tagging : @gissellec1 , @sashimeep , @callsign-fangirl , @hibiskooks , @jessy02 , @charliehoennam , @bleeding-heartz , @gt-rxn , @simplymurdock , @lucy-sky , @pinkflowerwombat , @one-of-thewalkingdead , @strangererotica , @the-butchers-baby , @pinastrihaven , @amethystblackkchaos

If I forgot anyone, I apologize, and please let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND TAGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED.💙

[jessy02]

All my thoughts are completely G-Rated.

John Woodruff // Oh Lucy! (2017) // Josh Hartnett (aged 38) // my gifs

[jessy02]

It's not just Jody who will be so jelly. I, in fact, am also...significantly jelly.

Cooper Abbott // Trap (2024) // Josh Hartnett (aged 45) // my gifs

[jessy02]

Everyone talks about *that* moment in the car, but no one talks about this adorable shit, also in the car, singing along to Vanessa Carlton...

[jessy02]

Silly runs and fantastically flattering haircuts and two months behind in rent, oh my! I've said previously that I believe in Josh Hartnett's floppy bangs, and green Ray-Ban sunglasses supremacy. I also believe in Josh Hartnett in a hoodie supremacy.

John Woodruff // Oh Lucy! (2017) // Josh Hartnett (aged 38) // my gifs

[jessy02]

Cooper was so possessive in the kiss at the bar was devastating to me but in a good way . 🥴 .... she risks for him 😭 her eyes darting around in search of cameras, and Cooper answered“They're disabled,”we're safe🥹... “I need you to tell me if I'm hurting you... it's not fair ”He's possessive but at the same time a sweet seducer ... kill me softly 🙏 ....her hot breath against his neck as her body melted into him...

You burn me and you pour water on me...now kill me slowly 🙏....he is the butcher/fireman🔥

wonderful 🤩 masterpiece

The New Normal ( Part 2 ) - Compartmentalize : - Cooper Adams/Abbott x Fem Reader *NSFW*

Based on the following request from @callsign-fangirl : "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you" with cooper? 👉🏽👈🏽 I obviously decided to turn it into a continuation of my first posted Cooper request, The New Normal (it just fit so well), I hope you like it girlie 🔪 As a reminder, this is canon divergent, where Cooper and Rachel got a divorce instead of her discovering he is The Butcher. Gif is mine. MY JOSH HARTNETT CHARACTER MASTERLIST CAN BE FOUND HERE. This is NSFW, and contains consensual sexual content ( NO Daddy Kink, NO Breeding Kink, and NO Degradation Kink ) and some mentions of violence. One aspect of it was also definitely inspired by something interesting I noticed regarding a certain 5-ish seconds of the movie...if you've seen my gif set, you'll probably be able to pick out which portion ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(( word count : ~ 3,800 ))

“It's okay, really...I'm not going anywhere, take as long as you...okay, I just don't want you rushing on my account,” The Butcher's girlfriend spoke into the receiving end of her cellphone, standing outside the front entrance of the bar they had agreed to meet up at. The night was chillier than expected, and she regretted not bringing a jacket, but the music was too loud inside the establishment, and she didn't want to risk any miscommunication. “She thinks you cheated on her mother with me, of course she isn't going to like me. Just...Cooper, she's never going to like me if she thinks I'm driving a wedge between her and her dad...Okay, just text me when you're on your way...I love you, too,” she mumbled into the phone before she ended the call, still getting used to saying those words out loud. It hadn't been her intention to cut into daddy-daughter time, but Cooper had let slip his evening plans while Riley was on the phone with her mother, and suddenly Rachel had some extra errands to run that had clearly been an effort to throw off his night. Admittedly, it was frustrating, but the young woman standing in the frigid air, pocketing her phone, knew it couldn't be helped by anything but time, and she glanced once more at her phone before slipping back inside.

🔪

Nearly an hour had passed between the call, and Cooper's emergence into the establishment, his umber eyes darting around immediately, in search of his young lover, his vision landing on a stool toward the furthest end of the bar. His kind, public-facing smile immediately appeared across his lips as he strode her way, peeling off his sturdy coat as he moved, dropping it on the stool beside the one he sat down upon, directly by her side. He began to apologize for his tardiness, but she shook her head, staring up at him with almost none of the shyness that she so often displayed around the firehouse. Clearly, she had started without him, he observed, her cheeks warm to the touch as he grazed a callous-roughened thumb over one side of her face, his fingertips caressing her throat and jaw. When she leaned into his touch, he took the opportunity to capture her lips in a kiss, and he tasted her sugary drink on her tongue. “How many have you had,” he whispered when he pulled away, both his hands on her face now, his thumbs running back and forth over her soft skin. Any anxiety he might have felt about changing their plans so last minute, and her possible negative reaction, was abated by the dreamy look in her eyes as she stared back at him with such transparent affection.

“This is my second,” she confirmed, glancing at the half-full vessel of a liquid whose vivid pigment was definitely not present in nature. “I'm kind of a lightweight,” she admitted with a half-smile and a shrug.

“I can see that,” he answered, a genuine smile taking over his features as she leaned in to claim more of his physical affection, her lips seeking out his own. Cooper's large hands drifted along the sides of her throat, over her shoulders, gripping lightly at the neckline of the dress she wore, sliding his thumbs between the fabric and her heated skin, nearly forgetting where he was until the sound of a clearing throat brought them both back to the reality of their surroundings. The fireman glanced toward the stone-faced bartender, clearly unfazed by the sight of couples trying to unwrap each other at the bar, and he ordered a bourbon, abandoning the edges of his date's dress to take her hand instead. They had the whole night to themselves. There was plenty of time for however they decided to spend it.

Time passed without much notice as The Butcher and his girl spent the next round of sipped drinks sharing the details of their day, Cooper doing most of the talking as he gushed about his daughter, the young woman beside him listening intently. She wasn't particularly interested in having any children of her own, but absorbing the words of the proud girl-dad beside her gave her a modicum of comfort. For all his violent tendencies against strangers, the secrets of his that she kept, she felt as she listened to him enthuse about his children, that he couldn't possibly be all monster beneath. Or maybe she was just getting better at compartmentalizing.

“So, how was your day? I feel like I'm doing all the talking,” he finally inquired when he realized how long it had been since she'd uttered more than just a reaction to his stories.

“Um...uneventful,” she shrugged, her eyes glancing away for a moment at nothing in particular before they began searching for her nearly fluorescent drink. When he didn't respond after several seconds, she glanced back up to him as she drew her glass to her lips. “What?”

“What happened,” he asked directly, all levity in his features dropping away.

“N-nothing,” she mumbled, gulping down a swallow of the vibrant liquid. When Cooper sat up straighter on his stool, his gaze trained studiously on her, unyielding, she let out a sigh. “It was really nothing,” she repeated, tilting her head to look elsewhere, a large hand reaching out to gently guide her back to share his gaze.

“It doesn't sound like nothing,” The Butcher retorted, and it might have unsettled her how long he managed to stare at her without blinking, if she hadn't been so tipsy from the alcohol.

“Some...gross guy at the bar-”

“This bar?”

“What other bar could it possibly...Yes, this bar,” she confirmed, letting out a breath, glancing away for the briefest moment before he grazed his thumb over her cheek, silently encouraging her attention.

“Did he touch you-”

“No, he didn't touch me, he just...didn't wanna take 'go away' for an answer,” she mumbled. “But obviously, he eventually did,” she noted, indicating with her hands in both directions of the bar the empty stools on either side of them.

“You didn't leave your drink-”

“No, Cooper, he didn't drug me, I'm not stup-”

“Smart girls end up in dangerous situations, too,” he interrupted, the irony of his words not lost on either of them, considering all the blood that had soaked his hands over the years. “Is he still here?” When her words dried up, her lips pursed, he had his answer. “Who?”

“Cooper, it's not-”

Both of his large hands cupped her jaw as he watched her eyes, the young woman before him beginning to sober up a bit as the stream of alcohol slowed. “Sweetheart, this isn't...none of this is going to work if you don't trust me,” he rasped, his hands lowering to her shoulders as they had earlier in the evening, though he found it much easier to keep them from wandering in his frustrated state. “I hope you realize there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you.” She stared into his eyes until the intensity of them became too much, her smaller hands reaching up for his larger ones and dragging them away from her shoulders, his digits weaving between her own. “Now...which one?”

After a few seconds of staring at his large hands, the way they engulfed and overwhelmed hers, she glanced over her shoulder toward the furthest corner, and Cooper realizing how obvious it should have been. He'd been so wrapped up in his girl that he'd missed the more age-appropriate man leering at her from across the room. “Cooper...” she uttered as he suddenly stood up, letting go of her hands to push his silky hair out of his face. “What are you gonna-”

“Don't worry about me, baby...We're just gonna go have a talk,” he lied, standing up and leaning in to press an insistent kiss against her mouth, one of his hands weaving into her hair to pull her closer, his tongue darting out to meet hers when she parted her lips for air. When he finally pulled away, she wants sure if it was the alcohol or his kiss that had her feeling especially dizzy. “I'll be right back,” he breathed against her ear before finally parting from her, heading directly for the man she had indicated, whom Cooper had obviously put on a show for.

🔪

Nearly twenty minutes had passed before she finally breathed a sigh of defeat, standing up from the bar stool she'd been left alone at, digging for her wallet within her purse to pay for the drinks she and her older boyfriend had partaken of. She didn't want the bartender following her outside, thinking he'd been stiffed, especially considering the real possibility that she'd find The Butcher doing a lot more than just talking. Satisfying their accumulated tab, the young woman picked up Cooper's glass and swallowed down the rest of the liquid inside, making a pained face as the burn of it hit her throat. If she was paying, it wasn't going to waste, no matter how wretched it tasted.

With a glance around the room, she strode across the bar and stepped through the front doors, glancing in both directions and wincing as the brisk air whipped at her exposed skin. There was no sign of the two men in either direction, no sounds of talking or...she hesitated to think what other sounds she might encounter. Knowing what he spent a selection of his free time doing was one thing, seeing it was quite another. With a swallow that was more akin to a gulp, she glanced again at her surroundings, and chose the side with the shorter wall, stepping as quietly as she could manage in her heeled boots along the concrete and circling the corner. Still no sight of either man, the faint snapping of twigs and thicker branches caught her attention, and she walked with increased vigor toward what she assumed must be the back of the bar, finding...still, no one.

“Cooper,” she meant to call out, but her throat barely managed a whisper as she looked around desperately for signs of life. With more clicking of her boots, she dug into her purse for the pepper spray Cooper had insisted she start carrying, looking in all directions until a sound not of her own creation reached her ears. She called out his name again, this time with more success, and she paused in her steps as a form emerged from the furthest edge of the parking lot, lined in unruly trees. Tall, broad-shouldered, silky chestnut hair in need of a trim falling in his face, she let out a sigh of relief as she began trekking in his direction, though her feet lost momentum when she noticed the shades of rusty burgundy that stood out against the black and white plaid of his flannel. His gate was sweeping as he crossed the empty, concrete-laden distance toward her, his facade almost expressionless. She mumbled his name once more as he neared her enough to reach out.

“Don't worry, sweetheart, it's not mine,” he whispered as he wiped blood from his hands down the sides of his shirt. He'd have to burn it in the fireplace when he got home anyway, so there wasn't much point in preventing further stains.

“I...figured,” she managed as she stared up at him, flinching reflexively when his large hands reached out for her, crimson staining his cuticles. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes almost appearing as nothing but shadows beneath his brow, reaching out once more and cupping her shoulders in his palms.

“I asked you to wait,” he spoke up suddenly, and her brows knit together as she stared up at his barely-lit features.

“You were gone so long, I...I started to worry,” she admitted, swallowing down the dryness in her throat as she stared up into the emptiness of his gaze. “I, um...I paid our tab...so...” She wasn't quite sure what to say as she gazed up at the man looming over her. She hadn't exactly been ignorant of his extra curricular activities when they'd started dating, but to be faced with it in person...and she knew this was far from the worst of it, whatever he'd done with the-

“Where is the...the body...I'm guessing,” she mumbled, glancing around, seeing no more signs of sentient life.

“Hidden away,” he answered vaguely. “All in one piece...they won't think it's one of mine,” he murmured, his hands starting to make passes up and down her arms, the warmth of them meeting the chill of her skin. “You're cold,” he mumbled.

“I...it's freezing out here,” she whispered, her feet beginning to take backward steps as she felt Cooper crowding her.

“I can warm you up,” he offered, the creep of a smile tugging at his lips. Something about his tone didn't seem to convey the obvious options for warmth, like the heated seats and toasty blast of the vents in his car. Managing to tear her gaze away from his hypnotic eyes, she glanced back at the building they were slowly edging toward, her eyes darting around in search of cameras, finding only one, the wires sprawling out of the wall and seemingly attaching to nothing relevant. “They're disabled,” Cooper answered her unasked question. “Doubt they've worked in years...we're safe,” he continued.

Safe. She repeated the word in her mind. She didn't feel anything close to safe as her back finally met chilled, jagged brick. “Cooper,” she breathed as his large hands found her waist, the fabric of her dress suddenly feeling quite thin and insignificant. She flinched again, though not from his touch, as her shoulder-blade scraped the rough, red stone.

“Stay,” he commanded, and she moved not an inch from where he left her, eyes following him as he stepped away just long enough to gather his jacket he'd discarded on the cracked concrete, an article he wasn't nearly as ready to part with as a simple flannel. Cooper was pleased to find her still where he'd left her as he closed the distance between them again, noticed her focus drifting along his body.

“Does that...usually happen, when you...,” her voice faded away to nothing as he joined her, guiding her arms into his retrieved jacket, her limbs disappearing inside it, the uncomfortable scrape of the brick being replaced by the slick feel of the satin-mimicking lining. Cooper raised a brow, following the focus of her gaze to the bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans.

“Sometimes,” he answered, another non-committal response.

“So...what do you usually do about it,” she breathed, her hands reaching through the minute distance between them, finding his belt buckle, plucking at the leather strip, her vision trained on the sheer mass of him through the denim. Contrary to the rumors that circulated around the firehouse, the murderer and his morally reluctant accessory had not actually found many opportunities for intimacy. Between a highly unpredictable work schedule on his end, and of course, his efforts to spend time with his children, there hadn't been as many chances for proper 'alone time' as either of them had wished for.

“I usually handle it myself,” Cooper spoke up, placing his flannel-covered forearms against the wall, his gaze fixed upon her fingers as he watched her loosen his belt, work at the snaps and zipper of his jeans, his cock barely held at bay by the stretch of his boxer-briefs. “You wanna help me take care of it?” Her hand sliding of its own accord beneath the elastic waistband was his answer, and his eyes eased closed as she palmed the weeping tip, swiping her thumb over the tiny slit and bringing the smear of pre-cum to her mouth to taste it.

“You're sure you really got that vasectomy,” she asked, and he smirked, eyes still closed as she wrapped her fingers around him and pumped frustratingly lightly.

“It's not really something-ahh...it's not something a man just forgets,” he groaned when her fingers slipped lower to grasp his balls lightly, still shielded from the crisp air by clingy fabric.

“Because you aren't exactly above lying to me-”

“When have I-”

“Not thirty fucking minutes a-” Cooper's mouth was on hers before she could snap out another word, his large hand grasping her smaller one and lifting it above her head, against the brick.

“You taste like my bourbon,” he whispered as his lips began to trail a line of kisses along her jaw, and she let out a frustrated sigh as he ignored her concerns in the moment, his free hand finding her waist once more, drifting lower to gather up the hem of her dress, the frigid autumn air meeting her thighs. “Yes, I really got it taken care of. After Logan, Rachel and I...,” his words ceased when he felt her hand go slack in his. “Hey...Baby, we've talked about this,” his voice softened as his fingers abandoned her thigh, the other hand that held hers to the wall dropping away, both reaching to cup her cheeks, warm from the flush of her arousal despite the chilled air, and the unfortunate topic they'd stumbled into. “My marriage was over, long before she came to the wrong conclusion...I miss coming home to my kids, but I don't miss coming home to her. I get...excited, when I know I'm gonna get to see you,” Cooper explained, running his thumbs over her cheeks, his fingers stroking gently at her throat. “I don't remember the last time I felt like that, before...before us,” he concluded, watching her eyes until they finally glanced back up at his.

“Really?” she finally mumbled, and a smile erupted across his face, the glaze of calm from his spontaneous kill little more than a memory.

“Really,” he declared, dipping down to taste her lips again, faint at first, almost chaste. “Do you wanna get out of here,” he whispered, his hands finding her shoulders again, confined in the thick layer of his jacket. He was a bit surprised when he felt the end of her nose ghost back and forth against his, shaking her head slightly. “You still wanna play?” She nodded silently, her hands taking hold of his, guiding them slowly down the short length of her dress – flowy, thin, and definitely not suited for such brisk weather. “I think you might still be a little drunk, baby,” he rasped, but his fingers continued to travel where she led them, nudging the strip of lace at the junction of her thighs out of his way, so slick that it felt like she was melting around him as his fingers slipped inside her.

“I might be...uhh...a little-mmph...” her words were staggered, her feet unsteady as he filled her up with his fingers, stroking at the spongy walls that made her tremble against the brick surface behind her.

“Drunk?” he offered, his digits drawing out from within her clinging walls, both hands reaching for her hips to drag the useless scrap of modesty down her thighs, dropping it to the concrete below, his own boot holding it in place as she stepped out of it.

“Buzzed,” she mumbled, her arms winding reflexively around his neck as his hands grasped either side of her ass, lifting her suddenly until her legs wrapped around his waist, his cock still bobbing above his elastic waistband, unfazed by the cool air that surrounded them. “But I know what I want,” she continued, her back wrapped in his coat that rubbed against the brick wall, taking in an audible breath as she felt the head of his cock against her folds, slick with her nectar, Cooper eager, but apprehensive. “Cooper, please,” she whispered, gripping the hair at the scruff of his neck and pulling him into a kiss, The Butcher swallowing her voice as he finally plunged inside.

Cooper's grip was firm against the flesh of her ass as he worked his hips against her, filling her so deeply from the elevated angle, the draw of gravity on them both, and the sheer size of him. Proportional, she'd called it the first time she saw it, clearly a little apprehensive, herself. Much as she had enjoyed herself as he'd laid claim to her body, she'd denied him when he tried to touch her after, uncomfortably tender from his attention.

“You okay?” the hulking man breathed against the shell of her ear as he sheathed himself inside her molten core, gasps pouring out of her with every thrust of his hips. She articulated no words, but nodded against him, her smooth cheek against his slightly rougher skin, a day's worth of unshaved growth between them. “I need you to tell me if I'm hurting y-”

“Cooper,” she whimpered out, one hand reaching around him to grasp at him through the denim that barely clung to his ass, the other pushing his sweat-slick hair out of his face, her eyes focused squarely on his as her whole body bobbed from the force of his thrusts. “I wouldn't let you fuck me if it hurt...you feel so...fuck, you feel so fucking good...you make me feel so-mmph...”

Cooper drank in her moans as his mouth worked against hers, his tongue as welcome inside as his cock clearly was, his hips growing more insistent as she pulsed around him, her flesh so welcoming. “Tell me,” he rasped as their lips parted, a sheen of sweat across his features, glistening in the singular electric light above them, “Tell me how I make you feel.”

“Full,” she mumbled against his ear, her arms around his neck as the brick wall scraped at the borrowed jacket. “You make me feel so full...like I've spent all this time empty,” she continued, her hot breath against his neck as her body melted into him, her grip tightening on the blood-stained flannel as his hips began to jerk more erratically.

Neither managed any more actual words as Cooper pumped inside her until his fluids merged with hers, dribbling out onto their already slick skin as he finally let her boots touch concrete again. Dragging his uncomfortably wet underwear back into place and refastening his jeans, The Butcher offered his hand to her to grip for support as he squatted before her, surveying her swollen flesh, and she whimpered a weak protest. “You're gonna be sore tomorrow, aren't you,” he mumbled, leaning in to place a kiss against one naked thigh, then the other, helping her back into her panties.

“If you take me home...I'll let you kiss it better in the morning,” she answered, her throat uncomfortably dry, eager for just about anything but his vile bourbon.

“Promise?”

🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪

tagging : @one-of-thewalkingdead , @gissellec1 , @pinkflowerwombat , @sashimeep , @strangererotica , @the-butchers-baby , @callsign-fangirl , @hibiskooks , @jessy02 , @charliehoennam , @pinastrihaven , @amethystblackkchaos , @bleeding-heartz , @gt-rxn , @simplymurdock , @lucy-sky

If I forgot anyone, I apologize, and please let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND TAGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED.💙

[jessy02]

Cooper is just trying to stay under control 🙃

Yeah, quick question...how the FUCK did I never notice the bulge in the crotch of his pants in this scene? Like...how did I miss this? Did everyone else notice this except for me? Like, I don't care if it's a sock shoved down his jeans for the scene, it is definitely there on purpose.

Cooper Abbott (and his restrained erection, apparently) // Trap (2024) // Josh Hartnett (aged 45) // my gifs

[jessy02]

this is so sweet,it's as if the love between matt and her surpasses everything.❣️

Marshmallow-Soft Heart - Matt Eversmann x Fem Reader

Based on the following request from @charliehoennam : Could you write for Matt from Black Hawk Down? I watched it the other day and omg I know the movie is all sad and stuff but my (REDACTED lol). Maybe he comes home to his fiancee is an elementary teacher (totally asking for a friend 💁🏽‍♀️) and he comes home and surprises her? I have obviously aged him up to current Josh Hartnett age, as he's sooo young in the movie. If this character isn't your vibe, I totally understand, and I'll see you in the next one. Gif is mine. MY JOSH HARTNETT CHARACTER MASTERLIST CAN BE FOUND HERE.

( word count : 1,300 )

< Well, anyway, I-...Yes sir, just a...Alright, I gotta go, baby, but I'll talk to you real soon. I love you. >

Matt Eversmann's voice disappeared as soon as his face did from the screen of his fiancée's computer, thousands of miles away, his pre-recorded video at an end.

It had been three weeks since she had seem him face to face, five days since she'd had an opportunity to speak to him on the phone, and as usual, it was crushing her. Being engaged to a military man, active duty or not, wasn't without its problems, and the physical distance his work so often put between them was no small part of said problems. Still, he'd hooked her in with his charm, his sweetness, his big, soft heart because of, or in spite of, his career, and she continued to manage. Did she wish he had a job closer to home, something that would have her nights consistently ending with him in bed beside her? Of course. But she knew what she'd signed up for. Difficult as it was, she knew he was worth it.

Her lids were heavy as she swiped around the touch-pad of her laptop, to other recent videos he'd sent her, videos he made sure to send at least every other day, especially when they could not talk over the phone. He made constant effort to reassure her that he missed her, that she was always on his mind, that he loved her, and that he couldn't wait to see her again. As had become normal during his absences, she gradually drifted off to the sound of his voice as he described his day to a camera, the sun barely setting in the sky outside.

🎖️

It was the clatter of metal cookware that snapped her out of a restless sleep, shooting up to sit in bed, almost no light in the room save for that of the moon, barely peeking between the gaps in the mini-blinds. She almost slipped on the hardwood floor as she clambered out of bed, dashing for the window to peer outside, breathing a hefty sigh of relief at the sight of her betrothed's truck, parked in the drive way that had been empty when she'd fallen asleep. More noise rose up from downstairs, clearly in the kitchen. She might have been annoyed at the interruption of her much needed nap if she hadn't been so elated to see him again, actually home from a work trip early for once. Stepping across the floor and back to their bed, much more calmly, she reached for her phone and, aided by it's glowing screen, finally noticed the thick bouquet of her favorite flowers, lush and fragrant, resting at the foot of the bed. Her retired Army Ranger fiancé, ever the soft-hearted romantic, never ceased to surprise her, the clattering noises coming from downstairs, included.

Her steps were near silent as she crept down the stairs, seeking out the source of the noise, squinting at the bright light of the kitchen as she reached the first floor. Standing before the piping-hot range was a very familiar figure, dressed in his typical camo pants and an olive drab tee – not exactly what he had worn during his service, but close enough without defying regulations. It had been the uniform that had snagged her attention first, after all, before his endearing personality had even had an opportunity to work its magic.

With his back to her, unaware of her wakefulness, Matt moved around the cooking area, checking the oven for the proper heat, monitoring the pot of water nearing its boiling point, fishing around in the freezer for the bag of frozen meatballs he'd picked up. Sneaking around the corner, keeping close to the wall, she listened to the clinking of metal and ceramic, and his muttered, incoherent words. It was when he shifted on his heels to seek out a bag of uncooked spaghetti that he finally noticed her, leaning against the side of the threshold that opened the cooking space up to the diminutive dining area. “Baby, I...I didn't mean to wake you,” he declared, striding quickly across the short distance between them to wrap her up in his embrace before she could utter a response. Encircled in his strong arms, his generous height towering over her, he felt like home. When she immediately wrapped her own arms about his frame, he leaned in to rest his cheek atop her crown.

“Could you sleep through all that racket?” she asked, her warm breath penetrating the soft fabric of his shirt, warming his skin beneath.

“I guess not...I just wanted to surprise you, sweetheart,” he answered, thoughts of the meal nearly forgotten until the sound of overheated water spilling over the rim of a pot met their ears.

“Oh, I'm surprised,” she confirmed, watching him shuffle around even more. Despite the bountiful skills he'd developed in his forty-six years, cooking had always eluded him, and even boiling water seemed a bit too much for Matt. No matter how many failed cooking efforts he'd made, though, he continued to try. “You didn't have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” he managed, ripping open a box of frozen, seasoned bread, and hunting for a baking pan. “You looked so exhausted, up stairs. I figured a couple dozen nine-year-olds had ran you ragged,” he continued, thinking briefly of the multitude of third graders she taught on a regular basis, dropping dry sticks of pasta into bubbling water. “Saw you'd been watching a bunch of my videos, too,” he continued, his voice becoming softer, his cheeks taking on a bit of a pink hue. “Didn't realize you kept all those.”

The young woman was quiet a few moments before speaking up, the water bringing the pasta back to life, rising dangerously close to the rim of the pan again. “Of course...I miss you so much when you leave...I don't wanna give up any more of you than I already have to.”

“I, uh...” Matt began, his brows drawing together as he watched the pot of water boil the pasta into a more edible state. “I'm gonna start lookin' for something closer to home. I hate having to leave you all the time,” he uttered, warmth rising in his cheeks, and the tiniest pricks of moisture starting to gather at the corners of his eyes. “I don't ever wanna make you...” his words fell away as the timer on the microwave sounded, and he took the opportunity to hide his face as he click off the heat on top of, and inside the stove, dragging out the crisp bread and dumping the pasta into a colander to drain all the water away.

“Matt,” the young woman mumbled as she stepped closer, reaching out to swipe a tear from his cheek, his lips pulling into a frown he could barely fight, his brows scrunching together.

“I don't want you to ever regret choosing me,” he whispered, glancing up to the ceiling, steam rising from the sink. Well over a couple of decades in the military, and Matt had never let it harden him to his own emotions. It wasn't the uniform, or his handsome features, or even the sweet smile that had solidified her 'choice' when she'd taken the initiative to propose to him, months before. It was his marshmallow-soft heart. When he heard her repeat his name, he finally glanced toward her again, wiping away more tears that threatened to burn his cheeks.

“I don't even think that's possible,” she murmured, and Matt swiveled on his feet to pull her body into his strong arms again, her chin tilting up as her fingers climbed his chest, his clavicle, rounding his neck and guiding him down to claim a salty kiss.

🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️ 🎖️

tagging : @one-of-thewalkingdead , @gissellec1 , @pinkflowerwombat , @sashimeep , @strangererotica , @the-butchers-baby , @callsign-fangirl , @hibiskooks , @jessy02 , @charliehoennam , @pinastrihaven , @amethystblackkchaos , @bleeding-heartz , @gt-rxn , @simplymurdock

If I forgot anyone, I apologize, and please let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND TAGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED.💙

[jessy02]

Since my first audio cut of Cooper went over so well, I thought I'd make a cut of him, uh...keeping his 'victim' in line (I'm in Control monologue + We're leaving monologue, minus Lady Raven's audio).

[jessy02]

‘I didn’t want to be swallowed up’: actor Josh Hartnett on swapping Hollywood for Hampshire

On track for megastardom, the actor turned down the part of Superman (twice) and turned his back on Hollywood. Now living in rural Hampshire, he talks about choosing fulfilling projects, his hippie childhood, the perils of stalkers – and the fun of owning pygmy goats

Stuart McGurk - Sun 28 Jul 2024

https://www.theguardian.com/film/article/2024/jul/28/i-didnt-want-to-be-swallowed-up-actor-josh-hartnett-on-swapping-hollywood-for-hampshire

Full interview below

Every morning, as soon as the actor Josh Hartnett wakes up in his home in the Hampshire countryside, there are mouths to be fed. Most obviously, those of his four young children. But also: the dog, several guinea pigs, several more chickens and a small herd of pygmy goats. The goats, Hartnett notes, are his favourites.

“They’re the sweetest animals on the planet,” he says, over Zoom, from his home. “They’re like dogs. They would live in the house if they could. In fact, I’ve seen people having their goats in the house with diapers on, but we felt that was kinda cruel.”

Hartnett and his wife, the British actor Tamsin Egerton, spent lockdown here. For years they’d been living a ping-pong existence between the UK and the US. When their third child was on the way, they decided to stay in Hampshire, and Hartnett has become a fixture in local village life ever since.

Unlike when he’s in New York or LA, “where people only want to talk about your career,” he says, here “nobody cares”, which is just how he likes it. He’s in the UK on a marriage visa, which means he can only be out of the country for work 180 days a year, or roughly one movie, which also suits him fine. At night, after the kids have been put to bed, he sometimes finds time to paint – his first love. But mostly, he says, this existence allows him to experience his children growing up in a way he otherwise wouldn’t.

“This is all brand new to me,” he says. “I never would have expected it. And time passes quickly. With four children, you have so much to do. In a way, less is happening. But more of the important stuff is happening. My oldest daughter is eight and a half now – that feels like it happened in the last two years to me. So I’m trying to soak up as much as possible.”

Hartnett’s Hollywood trajectory was a fairly common one. Interesting early indie roles saw his stock rise – Robert Rodriguez’s The Faculty in 1998, Sofia Coppola’s The Virgin Suicides a year later. Those parts catapulted him into big-time roles that required little more of him than to look lovelorn (40 Days and 40 Nights, where his character gives up sex for Lent), heroic (Black Hawk Down, which was thrilling but thin), or heroic and lovelorn at the same time (the deeply terrible Pearl Harbor).

But Hartnett didn’t much like the attention that came with the big gigs. And before long he did the most unforgivable thing any would-be megastar could: he decided he didn’t want to be one. He left LA, moved back to his home state of Minnesota and parted company with his agents. Tabloids still bring up Hartnett’s disappearance – “What happened to Josh Hartnett?” Screen Rant asked recently – though it’s been almost two decades since he made the switch.

In reality, Hartnett only stopped working for 18 months. But from then on he declined the bland heart-throb roles for which he was often suggested and instead pushed for more challenging, smaller projects. (He notably turned down the role of Superman twice.) “I just didn’t want my life to be swallowed up by my work,” he says now. “And there was a notion at that time you just kind of give it all up. And you saw what happened to some people back then. They got obliterated by it. I didn’t want that for myself.”

Hartnett is 46 now and, in the past few years, his career has shifted. For a while he took on interesting parts that didn’t always come off. Films like Mozart and the Whale (2005), a love story about two people with Asperger’s, or Resurrecting the Champ (2007), about a journalist who discovers a former heavyweight boxer living on the streets, or even The Black Dahlia (2006), a highly anticipated James Ellroy adaptation. “Some of those films were successful. Some of them were failures. But I was always swinging for something that was outside what people expected from me.”

But recent projects have come good. Last year alone saw him steal the show with a gloriously funny turn as a clueless Hollywood actor in an otherwise so-so Guy Ritchie film (Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre), followed by an astronaut in a metaphysical love triangle in a standout episode of Black Mirror (“Beyond the Sea”), followed by a key role as a nuclear physicist in the Oscar-sweeping smash Oppenheimer. We’re a hair’s breadth away from someone calling it the “Joshonaissance”.

Next up is Trap from M Night Shyamalan, the director of every film with a twist ending you’ve ever watched (The Sixth Sense, Signs, The Village, Old, etc). It sees Hartnett as a doting father who takes his daughter to a pop concert. The twist, which takes within the trailer: he’s also a serial killer known as “The Butcher”. The entire concert is a trap laid on to catch him. A turbo-charged cat-and-mouse caper, the pitch was “Silence of the Lambs at a Taylor Swift concert”.

In casting Hartnett, Shyamalan spoke about how hard it is to find an actor like him. No sooner have movie stars become movie stars by landing the starring role that works for them, he said, they “start to think about how they protect it”. Before long, they start only playing real-life people or settling into franchises. “And so to find somebody that’s a bona fide movie star, that’s a great human being and is willing to risk everything, man, that’s a rare combination. And sometimes you think that doesn’t exist any more. And then he walked in.”

Which does beg the question: why the purple patch now? Hartnett, after all, left the safe roles behind back when Bush was president.

It could, reckons Hartnett, be as simple as “the rest of the industry sort of catching up with what I was always hoping to do”. But also, he says, “maybe it’s also because of my age. I could name a million examples of actors who have become more interesting as they get older. You can’t be an ingenue forever, right?”

Harnett first met Shyamalan at the premiere of The Village in 2004, where they went for dinner afterwards and nerded out over film. He’d always wanted to work with him precisely because of how different all his projects were. “He’s got this reputation as being the sort of king of twists. But I have always looked at him in a different way personally – he’s someone who takes on lots of different genres and just enters those genres from a different perspective.”

He’s also another director Hartnett has had to wait for. When he got the call for Oppenheimer from Christopher Nolan, it came some 20 years after they’d spoken about The Dark Knight, which Nolan was working on at the time. Hartnett wasn’t much interested in playing Batman, and pitched himself instead for a role in another Nolan film, about rival stage magicians, called The Prestige. The role eventually went to Christian Bale, who Nolan had cast as Batman.

It was something of a relief, then, to get the Oppenheimer call all those years later.

“We didn’t have a direct conversation about it,” he says when I asked if Nolan referred to their earlier chat. “But the implication was: ‘I’d better take it.’ You only get so many opportunities with Chris Nolan.”

He doesn’t regret, he says, not pursing superhero roles. But he does allow: “I recognise the missed opportunity to work with a guy like Chris. And I’ve figured out that as much as you’re worried about curating your career to things you’re interested in, I don’t believe that’s the most important thing any more. It’s about finding people who you really trust.”

Hartnett grew up in Saint Paul, Minnesota. His father was a musician, his mother “the girl that likes to go see bands”. He describes them as hippies. They were living in a “shared living situation with other couples and single people” when his mother became pregnant.

I ask if it was it a commune?

“I’m not going to say it was a commune,” he laughs. “It was not a commune. But yes, the way they describe it, it does sound like a commune …”

His father got “a real job” – as a building manager – and bought a house, but his parents soon split up. His mother moved to San Francisco. By the time he was four, his father had married his stepmother, and “it became a much more normal Midwestern existence”.

He was, by the sounds of it, a curious mix. A natural worrier (“My family says I was an existentialist from the age of 12”) and lover of the arts, but also a jock who played on the school football team. “I played a lot of sports, because that’s what you did in the Midwest.” He got his love of painting from his stepmother, an artist, and for the longest time wanted to be an artist himself. He got his love of movies later, in his teens, when working in a video store called Mr Movies. Each night he took armfuls home, becoming obsessed with the French New Wave, and Italian directors such as Bernardo Bertolucci and Federico Fellini.

“This is Saint Paul, Minnesota, in the mid-90s. There wasn’t a lot of foreign film or classics you could rent in Blockbuster. But there was in Mr Movies.”

When I ask if he’s still in touch with his mother, he pauses for a second, and says: “No, she died last year.” It was a difficult relationship. “We had spent most of my youth not around each other. And she had issues with drugs and alcohol.” She had gone to rehab, then developed dementia.

I tell him my father died recently, too – a grief I feel I’m still processing many months on.

“Yeah,” he says after a second or two. “I think… my process of feeling like I had to mourn that relationship, or grieve that grief, I think that started a long time ago. And maybe because I didn’t see her as much as you’d have seen your father, because, you know, she wasn’t around…”

It was his father who had the much bigger impact on his life and, listening to Hartnett talk about him, it’s hard not to draw a through-line from his father’s priorities to his own. The idea, simply, that work isn’t everything; that your family comes first.

“My dad was not someone who valued achievement in that way – high-level work achievement as a means of proving himself. He owned a company. He allowed himself and his employees to work four days a week. And he was home a lot.” He was, he says, “an incredibly responsible human being.”

Over the course of conversation, Hartnett had mentioned the various reasons he’d stepped away from a certain kind of megawatt fame, of which this is clearly one. But I ask him now if there was a point – a moment – he can trace it back to.

He says it wasn’t so simple, no clear line between “happy Josh and unhappy Josh”, but then says: “People’s attention to me at the time was borderline unhealthy.”

Whose attention?

“Well, look, I don’t want to give this a lot of weight,” he begins. By which he means: what he’s about to say is a reason, not to be confused with the reason. “There were incidents. People showed up at my house. People that were stalking me.” At one point, he says, “a guy showed up at one of my premieres with a gun, claiming to be my father. He ended up in prison.” Harnett was 27 at the time – this was 19 years ago. “There were lots of things. It was a weird time. And I wasn’t going to be grist for the mill.”

We talk, briefly, about politics. When we meet, it’s a few days after the attempted assassination of Donald Trump and a few weeks after Joe Biden’s disastrous debate performance. Hartnett campaigned for Obama, and has met Biden a couple of times. “He had a wonderful grasp of the issues and was incredibly eloquent, but I don’t know where we’re at these days. That debate was frightening.”

Mostly, thinking of the Trump shooting, he’s fearful of where the US is heading. And not just for us – but what we leave for those after us. “We’re in a transitional moment. The rhetoric is so hot. It’s tragic. And you have fears that the democracy might not be able to withstand those shocks. As you and I experienced recently, life goes quickly. We’re the next generation to go. Do we want to spend all that time fighting each other?”

We end on something substantially lighter – Hartnett’s rather unexpected cameo turn in the latest season of The Bear, recently nominated for a record 23 Emmys. It’s another role, like Trap, in which he plays a dad, or rather a stepfather – though one, presumably, rather less murderous.

It was also another role, he says, that was years in the making, the universe once again circling back around. He’d spoken to co-creator Christopher Storer some time before about making a film that never got off the ground. He remembers Storer mentioned at the time another project he was working on, based on his sister, a chef, and people he knew in Chicago. When Hartnett eventually got the call for season three, he didn’t hesitate. It was, after all, his new rule: work with people you trust.

“And I’ve never been on a set like it,” he says now. “All the actors show up even when they’re not working. They just love being there. It’s like a clubhouse. It shouldn’t be allowed to be called work. It’s too much fun.”

It was also a role that didn’t take long to shoot – a fraction of his 180-day allowance – then back to the Hampshire countryside and his wife, his four young children, his dog, his chickens, his guinea pigs, and several, diaper-free, pygmy goats.

Trap is in cinemas in the UK on 9 August

Fashion editor Helen Seamons; photographer’s assistant Scott Hobson-Jones; fashion assistant Sam Deaman; grooming by Charley McEwen at The Only Agency using 111Skin; location airspacelocations.co.uk

Josh Hartnett wears shirt by ralphlauren.com, trousers and necklace his own.(Image 1)

Cardigan by connollyengland.com, shirt by ysl.com and trousers by oliverspencer.co.uk. (image 2)

Shirt by chestudios.co.uk; knitted top by connollyengland.com; trousers by oliverspencer.co.uk.(image 3)

Photographs: Zoe McConnell/The Observer

[jessy02]

"It's nice to obsess on something beautiful for a change."

Josh Harnett as Donald Morton in Mozart and the Whale (2005)

[jessy02]

Obviously didn't have the mental space to write anything today, so I figured I'd put together a gif set before I go to sleep. This one is for @gt-rxn who has a fic request in my ask box for Hartnett's character, 'The Drifter', from Bunraku (which I have only bounced around and not really watched yet, but...he's hot, whatever, I'll watch it before I write it, of course.) I do not apologize for the slutty tongue and fingers appreciation ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Drifter // Bunraku (2010) // Josh Hartnett (aged 29) // my gifs

[jessy02]

I didn't have really any time to write today (listing my stuff on ebay to sell so I can pay my bills in December), and I don't think tomorrow is going to be super great for writing either (US election...oh dear god please don't disappoint the planet, wretched country of mine), so...here's another gif set of Cooper to tide you all over 🔪❤️🐑

Cooper Abbott // Trap (2024) // Josh Hartnett (aged 45) // my gifs