#stalker move story

[strawberrynamedmaria]

new story should i keep on with the it first chapter

   March 1st  2016 

Isabela Warren,   11:37 a.m. 

 I have a test to today in bio class I do say myself I think I passed. Go me!

      But guess what Brayden  actually looked at me today,  I was blessed with seeing his amazing coffee blended brown eyes, you know the ones that just melt you away when lock eyes,  

     I wonder if he feels the same way about me? Does he get the warm fuzzy feeling I get? The I want  to own your incredible gaze. Or the urge to just protect you from everything and everyone like I do? But that's enough for now.

    With that I left my signature at the bottom carefully  tucking my diary into the hidden pocket in my bag. I don't know what I would if that would get out. But for my I have to focus on my work not on Brayden. 

     I looked over to were Brayden was seated expecting to see him there but when he wasn't. I made sure to quickly but still keeping my composer  to ask my lovely desk buddy  Candace  (a odd match honestly but we get the work done. ) where Brayden went ever so curiously. 

"Uh hey" I whispered  to Candace while I slightly nudged her.     

"What" her whispered back 

"Do you know where Brayden went off to I thought he was at his desk last time I saw him"  I whispered back 

 Girls don't make right you up for talking  said Mrs Simón  said without looking up from her stack of papers 

"Sorry Mrs. Simón it won't happen again" I quickly apologized I can't be written up how while I be able to see Brayden while he was at boxing in the Old Kinges boxing gym if I'm stuck here?  Exactly I can't. So I won't let that happen will I.

[snow-and-saltea]

finished like 153 chapters in one night. i love these kinds of executions for yandere characters so much. i love it when a story takes mental illness and psychological brokenness seriously and still be able to create a beautiful interpretation without fetishizing that appeals to the very raw and basic nature of wanting to be loved so badly that fractures a person. i love stories like this that show us the worst of a person but doesn't rush to ease them again. i love stories that show the darkest pits of the human psyche and makes you go, "this is happening but it isn't the end. wait just a bit, and ill show you how things get better." i LOVE when stories do that; get all meta and create a story within the story that the actors/characters have to now see their way through and reach the scripted happy ending that feels impossible and illogical to reach as a conclusion, but happened anyways. stories that are seemingly taken out of the author's hands and into the characters instead and them being like "i know you believe this happy ending to be false, because you can't believe it'll be achievable through anything but delusion. but just wait, i'll show you." (thinking particularly about the princess iron fan arc in act age bc that still makes me tear up)

the depiction of ptsd and mental illness was something i was particularly touched by, too. the "problematic" aspects, ugly aspects, of mental illness were addressed so kindly and compassionately, and the solution never felt like it was straight up telling you "you're messed up. this isn't right, you're not normal". this is something i would've expected reading a story with a yandere character, because for most people the appeal of a yandere is to be attracted to someone who is Fucked up but hot. but like. even rebuttals like "no that's not normal! that scares me!" were handled so casually -- almost to the point you could call it carelessly, but it wasn't careless at all. it was a deliberate choice to not make a Huge deal about being turned off by someone's thoughts or preferences that made for a much more judgement-free and loving environment to agree or disagree with each other.

rindo is really the ideal wish fulfillment for mentally ill buddies like me along w kim kitsuragi sjjdjdjfkfkf. like i kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, to see the twist that oh this guy is gonna be fucked up too! bc of the Genre! but no. he's kind, steadfast and humourous, and is so generous w his capacity to love people. he might be understood as a selfless martyr type with the way he keeps wanting to reassure amane even during really troubling events in the plot, but he was never traumatised by those events and he had a clear and sane mind the entire time. its so easy to think of him as a "victim" in an overbearing codependent relationship in the story, but he's just really emotionally resilient. he doesn't give up, he doesn't take hurtful words at face value because he knows something deeper is at play, he doesn't hesitate opening up first and being vulnerable or pushy if it helps amane feel less ugly being vulnerable with his thoughts and desires towards him.

this is a fictional story and not irl, so obviously like. irl, you wouldn't want to enmesh yourself so deeply with someone that you'll die if they do. but he was willing to do that. not necessarily that, but the same gesture -- "if i ever betray you, you can kill me, and then we'll both be the last thing we'll see". on paper, even just writing it, makes me sound insane and delusional. how could this be something someone sane could say? but he WAS sane, because he was also saying "you said you love me so much you want to die with me, so you must also mean that you love me so much you want to live with me forever. this means your heart wants to be with me, so stop deceiving yourself into thinking you'll be fine. know that my heart and yours are joined in the same way, because i want to see you at the end of my life too, and there's nothing wrong with that."

rindo has such a great talent for finding multiple meanings, often positive, to amane's thoughts. because his mind is often muddy and swamped with unpleasant words and memories when he spirals / ruminates , he can't stick his hand through it long enough to see what comes out when he pulls out of it. very natural, normal and human desires you form with someone you love: "i love you. i'm scared you'll leave me someday. i want to be with you forever. i don't know if i deserve to be this happy. i love you. i love you. i love you. i don't want to spend a day without you. i want you to be happy and i want to be involved in making you happy, but i feel so incompetent that i'm worried i'll fail too much. i love you. please love me back.”

the way the characters in this story is so kind genuinely ... makes me want to cry. like rindo's mom accidentally saying homophobic things at first out of surprise but then her Maternal instincts took over and she could have another son to shower with love. the way everyone looks out for them but doesn't judge their relationship or try to messily break them away from each other or intervene for their "own good". there's no unnecessary drama or misunderstanding that isn't solved within 1-2 chapters in a really clear, reassuring tone (while also maintaining a natural pace so as to be thoughtful to the writing).

man. i cried multiple times reading this story. i was just here for the yandere BL ride, not the unexpected feeling of love and validation for my mental health issues?!

[maenimalist]

My college friend who's now based in Canada suddenly dmed me out of nowhere and she asked me how I was doing & then told me that she chatted me because she dreamt of me in her sleep. 😔 The last time we talked was still in August last year. 😔😔😔

[ellieslob]

★cheerleader x pervy!loser ellie

+warnings: stalker ellie, voyeurisim, dub-con???, a bit of degrading, smut

+ kinda inspired in she by tyler the creator and frank ocean, and bottoms, ngl

ways to help palestine!!!

REBLOG!

pervy!loser ellie staring from outside of your window, hiding between shadows and bushes, pressing her thighs together, trying to concentrate only on your moans, not on the disgusting growls your stupid junkie boyfriend was making, she was indecisive about taking a real look, or staying with only your beautiful sounds, either way, at this point, her panties were soaking wet.

god, she was pathetic, 

to say the least.

one of your moans turned into a scream, a pornographic sound that went directly to her untouched and desperate clitoris, shit was almost throbbing. she couldn't help it, her eyes went further into the room, the bed squeaking as he pounded you, you were riding him, the reverse cowboy position only made ellie’s view more enjoyable, she could barely see something out of that piece of shit, not his stupid face, not his repulsive body, just his dick, sliding in and out of your abussed pussy. you were facing completely towards the window, towards her, your room didn't had curtains and still, you were comfortable showing your almost naked body, only your bra on, getting railed like a fucking slut and opening your legs for her, stroking your covered tits, brushing your clit so desperate,  your littles whines of distress when not even that could bring your climax. ellie got fucking pissed, that dip fuck not only was making you do all the extra work, he wasnt even fucking you right, sure, he was doing the bare minimum, but she could see in your expressions that he wasn’t hitting the right spots at all, you were a crying mess and all for the wrong reasons.

your hand got tired and you tried to move a little, you finally opened your eyes and caught her, staring directly at you, her eyes filled with fear and horror.

fuck.

she should have stayed at her fucking house masturbating only to your instagram stories or something, shit, shit…

shit.

you weren't screaming or throwing things at her to make her go. you didn't stop moving, you didn't take your eyes out of hers.

you knew that little fucking weirdo, always stayed late at the gym and stared at every single one of your practices, but not to all the girls, no; it didnt matter how curvy, how showy or how pretty the girls were, she never looked at them, her eyes seemed to be glued to your body, the feeling of her gaze scanning when you bend over and tie your shoes, was kinda exhilarating, hearing her things fall and hit the ground when she noticed you were only wearing a thong, was definitely funny and her little coughs to try to recover from it? you had to admit they were kinda cute, soo pathetic, but kinda cute.

so when you saw that fucking pervy bitch hide by your fucking window again, like she had been doing the last couple of nights, you begged your stupid useless boyfriend to fuck you right there.

ellie saw your hands creeping to the lace bra, a smirk crossed your soft red lips, you threw the item directly to her face, she catched it in the air, and rushed to push it on her nose.

smelled fucking amazing.

“fuck!” those were the first words you had said in the last thirty minutes, you pushed your hips against the ones that were fucking you, ellie stood a little higher, eager, wanting to touch you, to actually touch you in the places you needed her. you saw her hand slip down her cargo pants, your moans got higher, damn, at this point you seemed more desperate than her. “faster.” you demanded, the dumb fuck thought you were talking to him, but ellie smiled, and she moved her own hand quickly, bitting her lip, your hips started moving like crazy and your little shy and mostly acted moans became so raspy and loud, whines that almost sounded like cries for help. 

actual tears were going down, you were almost drowlin’ as you kept fucking yourself roughly, shit, you were about to cum, for the first time in the night, ellie mouthed “your clit” and you reached it furiously, both of your hands were moving at the same pace, both of you were looking at each others lips, mouths opened lewdly, wishing you could reach them and kiss.

“fuckfuckfuck, yes baby” your eyes struggled to not get closed, you needed to look at ellie’s face, to her eyes being almost rolled out, her desperation, you wanted to keep that picture forever in your brain, but you were cumming hard, god, it was the best orgasm you have had in a long time, the brunette was a hot mess, all blushed and biting her lip to bleed, her hair was tangled and sticked at her forehead, her hand was moving briskly under her underwear and her brown eyes almost begging you to cum, so she could.

fuck, she was fucking sick

and still, you wanted her to be the one under you, so she could touch your nipples, play with them until they hurted, so she could edge you, so she could spank you and kiss you, put her tongue in yours while she pounded on you.

and you could hear her moaning in your ears.

“ellie!” you were dumbfucked, couldn't think about anything else but your climax and hers, that followed yours immediately, but at the same time your boyfriend heard you and looked instinctively at the window, catching a glimpse of the brunette´s face before she picked up her pants and started running.

“what the fuck, was that creep whatching us? are you okay? you must have been like super freaked out”

you blushed, covering your breast with your hands, trying to recover from the orgasm “yeah, it was… super fucked up”

[s0dium]

Stalker

A/n: I hope you enjoy

Warning: Stalker!Gojo, dub con, fingering, pussy drunk Gojo, unprotected sex, peeping tom, male masturbation, breeding

As the strongest sorcerer alive, Gojo Satoru knows he should be the epitome of justice, the defender of what's right. So out of all people Gojo Satoru should know that what he is doing is wrong. Very wrong.

Yet despite this he cant help but be drawn to you, linger around you, stalk you. He finds himself drawn to the places you frequent, learning the rhythm of your life, memorizing the small details that make you, you. The coffee shop where you start your morning, the park bench where you read during your lunch break, the dimly lit street you walk down on your way home. In his mind, a narrative builds—a story where he is a part of your world, where his presence matters to you as much as yours has inexplicably come to matter to him.

For a time, Gojo convinces himself that he can be satisfied merely as a shadow in your life, lingering on the periphery, unseen yet ever-present. But as each day passes, witnessing your coworker's blatant glances towards you, Jesus, the short skimpy clothes you wear, the delicate balance begins to fracture. The urge to step out from the shadows and into the light is starting to grow to hard to resist.

The tension reaches its crescendo one evening as he watches from your window—a routine that has become his dark solace. You're preparing for bed, the familiar motions shadowed in the dim light. As you slip under the covers, a sudden sound pierces the silence: moans, soft and whining, drift through the air.

Are you, touching yourself?

Gojo freezes, his heart stuck in his throat. He doesnt know what to do. The sound of your moans cuts through the stillness, sending his heart into a frantic rhythm and hout blood coursing to his dick.

"Fuck." He groans, feeling his member strain against his black pants. His resolve is slowly snapping by the second. With a mixture of urgency and caution, he silently eases the window open and slips into the room.

Shit shit shit.

He approaches your bed, his breath is held tight in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Your face is contorted in pleasure, lips slightly parted, a soft pant escaping them—each detail more intoxicating than the last. Under the covers your hand shifts, fingers moving back and forth. His heart hammers against his ribs, disbelief mingling with raw emotion as he realizes you're completely absorbed in your own world, unaware of his presence.

It's not until he looms over you that you finally sense another presence, snapping your eyes open to gasp, "Who are you?"

"Shhh baby I'm not here to hurt you I promise," Gojo whispers, a gentle yet firm assurance in his tone, "I'm here to help you okay? You can call me Satoru."

Confusion flickers across your face as you stammer, "What I don't—" Your instinct is to retreat, but he gently pins you down, his hands firm yet careful.

"It's okay, it's okay, baby," he soothes, his tone meant to calm and reassure you in the soft darkness.

Unsure why, you find yourself yielding to the comforting timbre of his voice, allowing him to press tender, feathery kisses along your chin.

"I'm gonna make you feel better better ok?" He hums and you're too engrossed in the feeling of his kisses on your skin that you barely notice he is pulling your underwear down your legs.

"Wait, i don't, this is-" you stutter but your words melt away as soon as you feel his warm touch on your stomach. Shit, you know you should resist, you know how wrong this is—a stranger in your room, touching you in such an intimate manner. Yet, there he is, devastatingly handsome under the shadowy caress of the night, his piercing blue eyes locking with yours, filled with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. His voice, smooth and soothing, weaves through the thick air, and despite the alarm bells ringing in your mind, you're desperate for the relief he seems to offer.

You sharply gasp when you feel him slide a long finger between the lips of your cunt, collecting your juices before bringing them up to your sensitive clit.

"Already so wet aren't you."

Without a warning, Gojo slips a finger into your gummy walls and curls toward your belly button.

"M'Satoru!" You gasp. The foreign intrusion knocks the wind out of you and your hips instinctively buck into the air, your toe-curling from the sudden pleasure. You dont know it but Gojo is struggling to maintain his composure as well. The reality of your whines, the softness of your insides, surpasses even the wildest of his fantasies.

"This is bad baby, really bad, I don't think I can just touch you here." Gojo chokes out with a groan.

You dumbly nod, too lost in the pleasure to notice the unbuckling of Gojo’s pants. The pressure of his fat tip against your quivering hole is exhilarating and you can’t help but hold your breath as he finally pushes in. You let out a loud moan when you feel his tip smush against your cervix once he gets down to the last inch.

"Ah-Ah ah oh god," Gojo groans. He mentally curses himself that he could ever think his hand could replace the feeling of your cunt. "You feel good baby? Because I feel so good, you feel so good." Gojo is babbling now as he thrusts in and out of you.

You had no strength to answer him, only offering wanton moans in retort as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed his messy kisses on your mouth made your brain grow light and fuzzy.

Gojo thinks that if there is a heaven, this is surely it. All those times watching you, following you home, fantasizing about this exact moment—none of it prepared him for the overwhelming reality of being inside you, of fucking you. He can practically feel your heartbeat sync with his, the sheer intensity of this connection he had desired since he laid eyes on you made him realize something he never did before; he needs you all to himself. forever.

Gojo uses you like his personal cock sleeve, shapes your insides and bruises your cervix until your entire body jolts with sensitivity; ripping orgasm after orgasm from you. His balls slap against your ass with every drop and he retracts his hips until the tip pokes out to admire the sheen dripping to his base before fitting himself back into your snug walls and spilling ropes upon ropes of cum into your womb

Your body trembled from the overwhelming hotness and he smoothed a hand over your bloating stomach.

“Shhh, take it. Take it all,” he crooned.

[pathologicalreid]

Hii I am making a Spencer Reid x citizen! F reader. They have been dating for a really long time but for a while reader has been dealing with a stalker, suddenly the stalker becomes much more violent and maybe even kidnaps her if we want to get real cray cray. Just lots of protective reid and angst to comfort!!

don't lose your head | S.R.

a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: professor!reader, fiance!spencer, erotomaniac stalker, lots of tudor history facts, kidnapping, decapitation, happy ending, s11 (post-maeve), guns, death, spencer feels a lot of guilt, unhelpful police, exhaustion, nausea, dry heaving word count: 3.71k a/n: yall if i wanted to make this into a series would you read it 😭 i had so much fun writing this!!! and yes the title is a reference to six! thank you sooo much for requesting!!

you

You told Spencer after the fourth note. While the first two had been near your office door – harmless enough to have been brushed off as a student prank, the third note had been left on your desk. When someone had gotten into your locked office to leave you an intense love letter, you knew you were out of your depth.

After years of hearing stories about the BAU needing to battle the chain of command, you thought the best thing to do was to first go to the campus police. You were a professor, so the natural assumption was that they’d look into it.

They didn’t even take a report. No one listened to you.

From the campus police, you went into the city police, then the county, and by the time you marched into DC Metro, you hadn’t slept in a day. Spencer was in Utah on a case, and you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Once DC Metro told you there was nothing they could do without an open investigation or further evidence, you went back to your apartment.

The fourth note was there waiting for you, covering the camera that you kept on your front door.

Since you had the first three notes already in your bag, you plucked the newest one from where it was stationed on the front door and stuffed it in with the others before making the trip down to Quantico.

You had no idea when the team would be back, but the security guards at the front desk recognized you from the times you’d come to pick Spencer up or bring him lunch and they let you up anyway.

There were no notifications on your phone from Spencer letting you know that they were flying home, but the only place you felt safe was in their headquarters. The idea of going to see Penelope crossed your mind, but as a profiler-adjacent, she’d likely see right through you. You never dropped by, especially not when Spencer was away.

Settling yourself at his desk, you pulled an empty manila folder from a drawer, placed the notes neatly inside, and left it on Spencer’s desk before sitting in his chair and waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, Reid,” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Slowly, you spun the chair around and looked at the team as they filtered in the glass doors.

Confused, Spencer tilted his head at you, clearly wondering why you were staking out the bullpen as he approached you. As he got closer, he observed the bags under your eyes, bloodshot from your lack of sleep over the last few days, “What’s wrong?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you clutched the folder like your life depended on it – for all you knew, it did. Your eyes followed Spencer as he knelt in front of you, accepting the folder when you handed it to him, “I think I’m in trouble,” you whispered, voice raspy from lack of use.

Your fiancé flipped through the pages, reading each of them a few times while you garnered attention from other members of the BAU. Tara, Derek, and JJ all crowded around Spencer’s desk, curious on your surprise appearance.

“I…” you faltered as you tried to explain what felt inexplicable. “The first one was folded over the doorknob of my office, the second one was slid beneath the door to my office, the third one was left on my desk, and the fourth one,” you glanced nervously at Spencer, “it was on the apartment door.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, “apartment door? Our apartment door?” As he questioned you, he stood up, leaving you with four federal agents staring down at you.

Despondently, you nodded, steepling your fingers in your lap and letting your shoulders droop.

“I’ll go get Hotch,” JJ said, nodding at everyone else to confirm her intentions before turning around, making her way up the steps to Hotch’s office.

From there, you ended up in the roundtable room. Tara had personally brought the letters for the lab to be checked for prints, and the techs had sent Garcia scans that were now projected on the screen. Each member of the team had them up on tablets, but you and Spencer knew the words by heart.

Shaking her head, Tara looked up at everyone, “I mean, who writes like this anymore? ‘But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself up body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant,” she shrugged, continuing to look over the letters.

“They’re love letters,” you explained, tugging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your palms before crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “The words aren’t original, they’re all passages from the love letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn.”

Pointing to something on her screen, JJ frowned, “And what does his greeting mean? He always starts with ‘my rose without a thorn’.”

Nodding dejectedly, you focused your eyes on the now-empty manila folder on the table in front of you. “That was what Henry VIII called Catherine Howard, she was his youngest wife. It’s widely accepted among scholars that she was around seventeen when they got married, but others say she could’ve been as young as fifteen,” you answered, wondering if more details would help the investigation.

“So, we have Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, which wives were those?” Rossi asked, looking around the table for someone who knew the answer.

In the middle of scrawling something on an evidence board, Spencer answered quickly, “Two and five.”

Folding your hands in your lap, you scoured your memory for anything that could be helpful. When Hotch asked if those numbers meant everything to you, you just shook your head. “Is there any significance to the two wives he chose being Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard?”

Your lips parted in surprise as the blood drained from your face, “They were the two wives who were beheaded.”

An eerie silence fell over the room, interrupted only by a chime from Penelope’s laptop, her shoulders slumped forward in abject disappointment, “The lab didn’t find anything on the letters. No prints, no hair… nothing, but uh…” her voice trailed off as she looked up at Hotch, it was almost like she was seeking permission.

Each member of the BAU looked at each other with the same concerned expression on their faces. “What do you all know that I don’t?”

“Two bodies turned up last week in the greater DC area,” Morgan was the brave soul who spoke up, “they were both missing their heads, and they were both college professors.”

Goosebumps spread over your entire body, a chill of fear causing the tip of your nose to feel cold, “Oh, I…” you fumbled over your words, standing up from your chair and rushing to leave the roundtable, nearly throwing yourself out of the bullpen on your way to the women’s restroom.

Entering one of the stalls, you haphazardly gathered your hair at the back of your head and you dry heaved into the toilet. You dropped to your knees as nothing came out.

A knock at the door barely garnered your attention, you didn’t even bother responding as Spencer was already entering the stall, “Oh, honey.”

That was it, you sat back on your heels as tears welled in your eyes, looking up at Spencer as he sat down next to you. Immediately, you turned your body to face him and leaned forward.

Welcomingly, Spencer grabbed you, firmly wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you into his lap, “I have you. I’m right here.” His voice was gentle, no more than a whisper as he kept a firm pressure around your body, “You’re safe with me,” he reassured you, using one hand to keep you upright and the other to rub your back as you cried.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you wept, the sensation of fear ran through your body like electricity, and you felt content for the first time in days in the safety of Spencer’s arms. “I- I just teach. I’m n- not built for this,” you cried, words slightly muffled by his shoulder.

You were a history professor, teaching a course on the six wives of Henry VIII, this was never even in the realm of things you considered when putting together your syllabus.

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled away from Spencer, and he reached behind you for a wad of toilet paper to dry your face. “Spence,” you said, though it came out as more of a whimper.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asked, cupping both of your cheeks in his hands while he studied your exhausted expression.

Shrugging, you shuffled off of him, dropping the wad of toilet paper in the bowl and flushing it, “A day? Two?” You weren’t entirely sure what day it currently was, the events of the last few had caused everything to sort of blend together.

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Okay,” he responded, slipping his phone out of his pocket before typing something out, “Why don’t you go lie down in Morgan’s office for a little while? He won’t mind.”

You blinked a few final tears from your eyes before affirming, “Yeah, uh. I need to grab something from my car.”

“Okay, are you parked in the garage? I’ll go down with you,” he offered, getting up and lending you a hand up, mumbling about the state of the bathroom floor as he did so.

After washing your hands, the two of you made your way through the hall and to the elevator before Garcia called out for Reid, “Hotch needs you for something, he said it’s urgent.”

Glancing back at you, he pursed his lips before selecting a lower-level special agent to go with you to the parking garage. “Be right back,” you told him as you stepped onto the elevator.

him

Once he was finished with Hotch, Spencer made his way back down the hallway, expecting to find yourself settling in Morgan’s office only to find it empty. Turning back in the hallway, he nearly bulldozed into Morgan and JJ, “Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Have either of you seen Y/N?” He asked, trying not to let panic rise in his voice, but there had been ample time for you to get to the parking garage and back. You should’ve been back by now.

The two of them shared a look, “Uh, no, I haven’t seen her since she left the roundtable room. Is she alright?” JJ asked, blue eyes filled with concern.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Spencer hit the number one on speed dial – your number – and brought the phone to his ear before rushing to the elevator and moving to the side as JJ and Morgan piled in with him. Frantically pushing the button for the parking level, he cursed as the phone went to voicemail.

“Reid, what is it?” Morgan asked as the elevator started moving down.

Redialing your number, Spencer muttered to himself, hoping you’d pick up, “I sent her down with an agent. Hotch needed my apartment key so that Tara and Rossi could go look for anything.”

As the steel doors opened, the three of them drew their firearms, each of them taking a different direction when Spencer realized he didn’t even know where you had parked your car. “We have an agent down,” Morgan called out, calling Garcia and putting the phone on speaker. “Baby girl, we need medical and crime scene techs down to the lower-level parking garage,” he said into the phone.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, garnering his attention as he made his way through the garage to where JJ and Morgan were now stood, Morgan was applying pressure on Agent Franks’ wound, and JJ was looking at a car.

The passenger door to your car was open, and the vehicle was chiming as an alert to get you to close the door. As he stepped forward, something glimmered at the edge of his vision. Crouching down, he picked up your engagement ring from the cement, “He’s got her,” he said, a wave of déjà vu nearly toppling him over.

Impatiently waiting for the elevator to take him back up to the sixth floor, Spencer trudged to the roundtable room, desperate for another look at the evidence board. The dates of each letter that you had received, the content of each letter, and the reason for all of this didn’t make any sense to him.

It had to be an erotomaniac, it was the only thing that made sense. You were an object of someone’s desires, and their delusion had to have become so strong that they took you.

Quietly, someone stepped into the roundtable room behind him, “What are you thinking about?”

Imminent death. Statistics of harm and death in cases involving erotomanic kidnappings. “Synchronicity,” he answered simply, entertaining JJ’s conversation as he continued to study the letters. The love letters were at the core of it all, so the answer needed to be written in there. Everything that had come to you was almost an exact copy of words written by Henry VIII.

“Ah, that’s Jung, right?” JJ asked, her voice was kind, and she was using the same tone she used when doing cognitive interviews with victims. He didn’t have time for her pity, they were on a clock.

Sighing, Spencer picked his dry-erase marker back up and scrawled on the board, “It’s a concept that he introduced, yes. It’s meant to describe the occurrence of events which seem like they’re significantly related but there’s no discernable causation.”

JJ nodded understandingly, taking a spot next to him and looking at the notes, “And what occurrence of events are we thinking about right now?”

“I suppose more than anything, I’m wondering if there’s an action that I took in the past that somehow caused me to find myself in this situation twice,” he answered, circling the word ‘the place chosen by yourself’ on the evidence board.

Humming, JJ turned to face him, “Does Y/N know?”

Pressing his lips together in a thin, white line, he nodded tightly, “I told her years ago, when we had first started dating, actually. I never thought…” his voice trailed off as he set down the marker, “She came to me, JJ. She came here to be safe, and he grabbed her from the parking garage.”

“You sent her down there with an agent, you thought you were doing the right thing,” JJ tried to comfort him.

Scoffing dismissively, he stepped back and took a seat in one of the chairs, “I can’t stop thinking about if it would’ve made a difference. If her asking me for help would have fixed anything, or if it would have ended the same way.”

Taking a seat near him, JJ paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before responding, “We can’t really afford to think like that though, in our line of work.”

Spencer scoffed, “No, we can’t. Especially not now, but the timing of it is weird. It’s been almost exactly four years, and now…” his voice trailed off as his eye caught on something on the paper. “The timing is off,” he muttered, picking up the first letter you had received.

“What is it, Spence?” JJ asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

Shaking his head, he read the letter again, “This letter, it’s from the first letter Henry VIII wrote to Anne Boleyn, but in this version, he says he’s been waiting for months to be with her, but they waited seven years to be together because they were waiting for his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to be annulled.”

Still confused, JJ leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Okay, what does that mean.”

“We ruled out a student because the crimes didn’t read as mature, but what if it’s a different kind of student?” He proposed, standing up from the chair abruptly and starting to write on the board.

Rolling her chair closer to the board, she shrugged, “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Holding up a single finger, Spencer wrote a name down on the board, “Y/N has a grad student TA, he’s been working toward his PhD for seven years. He’s been her TA for three months – that lines up with the timeline in the letters.”

“Okay,” JJ said, starting to follow along, she waved at the team members in the bullpen to get their attention before hitting the call button on the conference phone. “Penelope, what do you have on a Geoffrey Williamson? He’s a TA in Y/N’s class.”

There was typing on the other line before a sound of disgust came from the technical analyst, “He is a different kind of smarmy, it looks like he transferred programs two years ago to Y/N’s university after he… oh. It looks like he bounced from foster home to foster home as a kid, his parents never fully gave up their rights but couldn’t follow through on their case plan. He was unsuccessful in his last dissertation defense three months ago,” she continued clacking on her keyboard, “after which his mentor teacher dropped him and the school gave him one more semester before pulling his funding. He asked Y/N to be his new mentor teacher and it looks like she turned him down -very nicely, might I add.”

Scoffing, Morgan crossed his arms in front of his chest, “That sounds like a stressor and a trigger if I’ve ever heard one.

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke into the phone, “Do you have a location for Williamson?”

There was more typing as Spencer could feel his carotid pounding in his throat, “It looks like he lives in student housing, but… he recently inherited an old factory after his biological father passed away two weeks ago.”

Nodding, Hotch looked around the table, “Send us the address, and forward it to Rossi and Lewis too.”

“Done, go get her,” Penelope urged into the phone before hanging up.

He slipped your engagement ring into his pocket before adjusting the strap on his Kevlar, thrumming with nervous energy as Morgan coordinated with SWAT, waiting outside of the old textile factory as the tactical team organized themselves in front of the BAU.

Spencer and JJ took the left side, Rossi and Tara took the right, and Morgan and Hotch went through the main doors.

“No!” Your voice broke out through the steel corridors of the factory, immediately followed by a yelp.

There was an awful noise then, like metal scraping against itself, “Fucking say it!” An unfamiliar male voice broke out in a holler.

Steeling himself, Spencer had to hold himself back from rushing into the room where your voice was coming from, each one of your sobs was like another strike at his resolve. “Good Christian people,” he heard you say, your voice was strained, “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to- to-“ Your voice broke off into a heap of wails.

“What is she saying?” JJ whispered, waiting for SWAT to clear the corridor.

All of the blood had drained from Spencer’s face, “She’s reciting Anne Boleyn’s execution speech, from right before she was beheaded.”

JJ nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation – they needed to get in there, and they needed to do it quickly. SWAT waved them over, and the two of them filtered through the open doorway. The space was dimly illuminated by candles, but the only thing Spencer could focus on was your head, bowed toward the ground as you watched the ground. Above you, Geoffrey was holding a sword, ready to cut your head off.

“Geoffrey Williamson, FBI!” JJ called out, announcing themselves to the UnSub before he could get any further in his convoluted execution, “Put the sword down! Let Y/N go.”

Spencer clocked the UnSub’s grip tightening on the sword as he zeroed in on you, “I can’t! She has to pay for this! She has to finish the speech.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but as you raised your head slightly, he found himself silenced by your gaze. Roll, he mouthed the words to you, hoping Williamson was too focused on JJ to notice what he was trying to tell you.

“And by the law I am judged to die,” you continued the speech, your voice wavering.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer watched as the UnSub raised the sword despite JJ’s instructions to set it on the ground, “Y/N, stop talking!”

Releasing another sob, you finished the execution speech, “And therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

As soon as the last word was out of your mouth, Williamson brought the sword down, and as it swung, two things happened. JJ pulled the trigger on her firearm, killing the UnSub, and you rolled out of the way, the chains that bound your hands and feet clanging on the ground as you did so.

Holstering his weapon, Spencer ran over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you, “It’s done. It’s over,” he tried to reassure you, but you had begun struggling against your restraints as Spencer tried to settle you down, “Stop, it’s me, baby. Baby, it’s me,” he said desperately.

Once you had maneuvered yourself into a sitting position, you looked at Spencer with big, watery eyes before completely breaking down. “I just wanted it to end,” you babbled as your face crumpled.

“I know, honey,” he said, reaching out to pull you close as JJ contacted the rest of the team, asking for a chain cutter to get your restraints off of you as they weren’t able to find the keys on the body. “He’s gone, you’re safe,” he urged, holding you tightly.

You weren’t seriously injured, but there were enough bumps and bruises to make Spencer insist on a trip to the hospital. Until the EMTs could make it to you, he was fine with holding you on the floor of the factory. Keeping you close. Keeping you safe with him.

[hazelfoureyes]

I just need you to know this story has had me in a chokehold and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it. This is gonna be a weird smutty slow burn, so still smut every post but full p in v sex will be a reward you have to work for?

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Redsmut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedysmut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

「warnings/tags: HumanAlastor x FemaleReader, implied attempt to SA, fingering, plot with porn?, Multi part work, bad kind of choking, blood kink, blood licking, just in general blood, Non-Sex repulsed Ace Spectrum Alastor, stalking, murder obvs, finger sucking, smoking kinda kills if you squint, Public sex acts, garter belt, You have a stage name but no one important uses it, Greed, Lust, Human Alastor is a little different than Demon Alastor. 」

minors dni 💅🏽

Part 1 Pretty in Red

The marriage between burlesque and jazz wasn’t unexpected. Before the Great Depression took the nation into a stranglehold, both Jazz and Burlesque were immoral wastes of time only the most barbaric sought out.

And oh, did you love it. Everyone who was made to feel like nobody flocked to your theater and the surrounding neighborhood. Men, women, the people who didn’t agree with either. The biblically inclined, those closer to sodom, the sapphic dolls. Everyone was equal in the halls of jazz rooms and theatres where burlesquers were welcome.

Because of the inclusive nature of such places, you often saw familiar faces. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone from Thursday night to be seen Saturday at a different locale.

That presented certain opportunities and challenges. When you found a good mark, it was easy to be wherever he was and play it off as fate and common interests.

And when you gained a new stalker, someone wanting a personal show, it could be hard to tell until it was too late. 

Maybe it was your greed, or just your love of attention, but you found yourself focused almost entirely on a particularly well dressed man one evening. You’d seen him around before. Clean cut, sharp suit, a welcoming smile always on display. He looked like he had money, the most attractive quality of any man you could meet.

So focused on his gleaming stare from the side booths you hadn’t noticed the man at the stage front tables. You barely noticed him the night before, or the night before that, either. Because Smiles, as you took to calling the handsome stranger in the back, had been here three nights now too.

You really put on a show. Shimmying your hips, ostrich feathers following suit with every move. Your brassiere was heavy with shining rhinestones, panties of silk and lace. Your set was almost done, all that was left was to remove your top and slink away behind the curtains to hollers and whistles. Back turned, you unhooked the painful bra and let it fall to the stage with a clunk. Foot in front of foot, you stalked the stage length. With your hand hidden from view you took the feathered fan from the stagehand behind the curtain. As the music crescendoed you turned, fan unfurling just in time to hide yourself.

Groans, mass begging from the audience. Your stage name a chant now, a prayer. “Autumn! Come on!”

As the band slowed, music dying to mark the end of your number, you scanned the crowd. Eyes blinking coyly, you mouthed, “More? Did you want more?”

People were jumping to their feet, not Smiles but that was fine, you were focused now on the adoration of the crowd. The music ended, a second of silence. 

You winked, the drums hitting one last beat as you let the fan close.

Fanfare! Men whistling, women clapping. Someone shouted a marriage proposal. You took a bow, twirled on the balls of your feet and slipped gracefully behind the curtains.

Your hands wound to your spine, rubbing blood flow back into your skin as the staff removed your headdress. Someone slipped your robe over you and you nodded a thanks, aching feet carrying you to the dressing room. It was chaos, as usual. Women buzzing around, tits and ass here and there. You smiled. You happened to enjoy this part of the job. Soft bodies in shiny costumes, lovely smells and sweet voices. If you could get dressed quickly enough, you could still take a tour of the room and slide into Smiles’ booth. 

“Enjoy the show?” You’d ask. He’d lean in, maybe blush, “Always when you’re here.” Or something like that. You’d cozy up to him, flag down a waiter for something strong and pricey, and get him properly drunk. He’d wake up outside, fine and dandy except his missing cash. 

You’ll call him a drunkard if he confronts you, accuse him of getting himself robbed after you refused his advances. You’ll say it too loudly, and he’ll run off. 

You danced a little in your seat, another game of cat and mouse about to commence. But first, a smoke.

Unbeknownst to you, the well dressed man hadn’t come to see you. He preferred your singing shows at the little dive bar two blocks over. No, he had come for the man at the front table. For weeks now, he had watched him harassing the ladies of the few joints in New Orleans that weren’t regularly hounded by police. Your smiley mark even heard stories of unsavory acts, many women leaving the dance scene entirely after.

He didn’t care for it. He didn’t care for him. So he took to his hunt, following the man to come to his own conclusions. The pattern of behavior was obvious, and though he hadn’t seen what ended the last obsession, it was clear one of the performers at this club was being stalked as the next victim. 

He watched your dance with half lidded eyes, just as much as he watched the man give dirty looks to the other men cheering. Heard the, “Marry me!” shouted at you.

Yes, it was obvious to him now. 

So when the target of his interest got up and pushed his way into a staff only door, well, the well dressed man was sure to follow. 

The great thing about confidence and a nicely tailored suit is that no one questions you about why you are where you are. So while the brute he tailed had to shove past people to get wherever he was going, people smiled and made room for the gentleman who was not far behind.

He caught the street access door before it closed, allowing it to stay open just a sliver. Enough for one golden brown eye to watch the events unfold.

“Can I have a light?” The stranger asked you. You looked at him, then to the staff only entrance he just came out of. 

“I don’t think I know you….,” you handed him the lighter but he instead leaned into you, cigarette hanging from his lips. “You… new?”

You sparked the flint with a practiced thumb, taking three tries to get it lit, and put your hand out. The man didn’t budge, eyebrows rising, “You really don’t recognize me?” He asked, motioning with his hand to come closer. Your eyes glanced down the alley, cars slowly moving past the street. When you looked back, the man took your wrist in his hand. He held you so tightly that the muscles in your palm locked and you dropped the lighter. 

“What the fu-,” his hand came across your face, halting your sentence.

“I’m your best customer. Every show. I’m the one who brings flowers.”

Dozens of men bring flowers, especially on the weekend shows. You held your cheek, skin burning. Your hand pulled back, the corner of your lip bleeding from his rings. Scrambling, your mind was searching for the right words.

With a forced smiled, your shaky voice finally piped up, “Oh! Yeah! Oh geez. I am so sorry, doll. I’m just so tired, and the alley is so dark. Here, let’s go inside so I can get a better look at you.” You tried to take your wrist from him but he didn’t loosen up.

“Nah, you ain’t tricking me. You owe me.” He pulled you into him, large hand gripping your face with ease, “You can’t lead on men like this and think you don’t gotta answer for it.” He kissed you, forcing your face into his. “Bitch! Did you fucking bite me?” He threw you into the tin trash cans beside the wall, knocking the wind out of you. 

No purse, no sharp object, not even a heeled shoe to defend yourself with. You cursed, so preoccupied with Smiles you forgot your wits.

You spit out the copper saliva, his blood and yours. “I’ll keep biting, too.” 

Why scream? The sounds of the next act were bouncing off the brick walls. Upbeat jazz and applause echoing around you. No one would hear you. Men can break your body but you never had to give them your dignity. Never give them the satisfaction of a response.

No. No screaming. You instead spent your energy trying to get to your feet. He took hold of your neck now, throttling you. It wasn’t what you had expected, but as he lifted you off the ground and your little dressing room slippers fell off, you thought this was actually better. 

“Well I think that’s quite enough.”

You felt warmth, then registered wetness. Your shin scraped on the asphalt as you were dropped without warning. Trying to open your eyes, you found you couldn’t see. Wiping and blinking away the foreign liquid, you watched your attacker fall to his knees.

Blood was shooting from between his fingers around his own neck, each pulse becoming weaker and weaker, evident through the stream.

When he finally fell over, drained, you were startled to see another man with you. The light reflected off his glasses as he adjusted them, the knife still in his right hand as he did so. 

“My, my. What a mess he’s made.” The man smiled down at you, offering a hand. When you didn’t immediately react, he cocked his head to the left, “Is that anyway to treat your rescuer?”

Is that was this was? A rescue? You took his hand with both of yours, pulling yourself up. 

Smiles? You blinked away the shock, time to shift into your next part. Damsel. You weren’t out the woods yet.

“You saved my life!” As you pressed yourself into his chest, you tucked your head beneath his chin. You tried to make yourself small. “I owe you! Please let’s go inside, drinks on me!” You looked up, batting your lashes.

“I don’t think that’s wise, dear.” His gaze panned down your dress, soaked through. He could see the thinking behind your eyes.

“No, right….,” You gripped his vest, “We gotta get outta here, fast. There’s a hotel just behind the threatre.” You started to pull his suit jacket off, slipping it over yourself. “No cops, the theatre will get raided. Just— take me somewhere safe?”

You watched him look you over, arm finally extending to let you hook yours with his. 

As soon as the hotel door closed behind you, you slipped off his jacket and ran to the dressing table mirror. 

Your face was painted red, navy dress now black and sticky. It was good you stayed from view of the reception staff. “I didn’t get my rescuer’s name,” you licked your thumb and rubbed at the blood around your cheeks. 

“Alastor. It’s a pleasure.”

You laughed, “Is that what you call a pleasure?” Turning, you pulled the mostly still dry handkerchief from your pocket and dabbed the corner on your tongue. You brought it up to the frame of his glasses and wiped the blood from the metal. “I’d hate to see what you call a bad time.”

Your hand slowed, noticing the way he was looking at you. Typically men’s pupils were blown when they fell on you, but his were constricted. They flitted around your face. His hand took hold of yours, fingers separating the thumb from the handkerchief. He pulled the little square of yellow fabric free with his other hand, allowing him to hold your thumb now by itself.

His lips opened, tongue licking the blood stained finger before placing it directly into his mouth.

Your stared, horrified, as he sucked the digit clean. 

His eyes fluttered close, finger popping out of his mouth with a debauched sound. You made no attempt to take back your hand. The realization you may have hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire set in.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” You tried to sound as in control as possible. Calm. Unwavered. Offered a timid smile. 

He chuckled, “You could say that. May I?” His fingers lifted your chin. You didn’t know what he was asking. His soft smile looked downright loving. He smelled so good, notes of something earthy rising above the copper.

You nodded, because part of you wanted to see where it would go. And part of you thought you didn’t have a choice.

As his face came to yours, you instinctually closed your eyes expecting a kiss. But no, instead you felt his tongue wipe across the cut at the corner of your mouth. His breath blanketed your cheek. Then his hand left your chin, the warmth of his body gone entirely. 

You opened your eyes to see him at the door, slipping back into his jacket, “I’ll pay for the night.” He tipped his head to you and exited the room back first, eyes locked with yours until the door closed.

You just stood there in the silence left behind. But as if on cue, the adrenaline waned and your knees buckled under you. You were moments from death, now somehow spared. But what had he— Alastor, been doing there? Did he follow you, too? The cat and mouse had been flipped, or perhaps now this was a fox and hound?

Gripping the dressing table, you pulled yourself up and into the view of the mirror again. Face streaked in dried blood save for the one clean spot where your lips met cheek. 

You felt like a ghost the next day. It would be nice to tell someone about what happened but, “Hey a man tried to kill me and then another man killed him! Then he licked blood off my face and I let him. It was the most disturbingly erotic thing to happen to me in months!” would get you tossed into a wagon. 

“Are you rude or just stupid?” The theatre manager pulled you aside by the arm when you came into rehearsal. “You can’t just disappear like that, people were waiting.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Was… my absence really the most exciting part of the evening? Not the John in the gutter?”

He huffed, “So that’s it? Got a beau?”

“Wait— nothing else happened last night? After I left?” 

“This show doesn’t revolve around you. Plenty happened.”

“Excuse me,” you hurried into the back, “And sorry!”

You opened the street access door and looked into the alley. Trash cans neat and tidy, no dead man, nothing strange or telltale.

You ducked back inside. Had Smiles done this? Obviously, actually. No stranger just cleaned up the dead body. If the flatfeet had found him, the club would have been under scrutiny.

Good, you thought, and went about your work.

Rehearsal dragged on. Little details summoning you back to the night before. 

“You okay?” Another performer asked, grabbing your hand and inspecting the blood around your cuticles.

“Oh it’s not mine!” You laughed, she laughed, you walked off before she could clarify.

When applying your makeup, you remembered his hands on your face. They were so soft. Definitely a man of means. A brief intrusive thought, the other hands on your face last night.

You pranced on stage, going through the motions of your routine. Even in the empty hall, your eyes wandered to the booth he’d been in. And as you took the stage in earnest later that night you searched the crowd for the glint of his glasses and found nothing shiny nor promising.

Back in the dressing room you took a moment to wonder what the actual fuck you we’re doing. He murdered a man in front of you, why were you hoping to see him again? He had half a mind to kill you next.

But would that really be so bad?  Your life was routine, boring even. The only thing keeping your lungs expanding was the applause. Maybe the headlines of your death would cause such an uproar, dancer struck down in her prime, that you could bask in the loving glow all the way from hell.

One way to remain famous, you considered. A dramatic death.

Not that you were famous. You weren’t part of the national circuits. Just your local theatres, a common face and body to the sinners of Louisiana’s most infamous city. But, well, fame is relative. For the scene you were in, you were your own little star. 

A shining light. Shimmering. The faint light reflecting off— Blood. For a second you could only remember looking through bloodied, heavy lashes. 

“You’ve been so out of it. Trouble in paradise?” Ruth, the curviest of your coworkers and arguably the favorite of the crew, rested her chin on your head. Looking at each other in the mirror, you offered a soft smile.

“I’ll letcha know when I get there.”

She pinched your cheek, “Tommy said you had a new guy. I just figured-,”

“That isn’t,” you clenched your eyes shut, “no, no guy. I just got locked out last night in the alley. The sticky-,” sticky and viscous blood, “back door wouldn’t open up. I didn’t want to come in the front in my slippers so I just hoofed it home.” 

She patted your head, “if you say so! Be careful out there though. Dangerous these days.” 

An understatement.

You enjoyed the spotlight, but more than that you craved the attention doted on you after. You’d walk through the hall to the bar to adoring looks and free drinks. It bothered you that Tommy was telling the girls you had a man. You didn’t want to appear too closed off, or for word to spread to the customers. 

Last thing you needed was men passing you by for more available options. Not that the pay wasn’t fine. Ends were being met, but grifting added an element of thrill. You really did love the chase. Finding someone and deciding he would be yours, he would fall under your spell and be at your feminine mercy. It made you feel powerful, almost mythical. And the money was nice. Sometimes you didn’t even need to steal, the men would just lavish you in gifts and you’d let it fizzle out naturally. Normally their wives would snatch them back or they’d just get tired of waiting for you to leave the stage and dance into their domestic dreams. A housewife? An adopted mother to a grown man during the day, a hungry nymph at night? For what, an allowance and a home you didn’t own? Pass. Where’s that handsome man with his knife? That was a much better steel to fall onto than what these men offered from their laps.

From your view at the bar you knew he wasn’t there. But with a nod you decided the chase was still on. You were going to get your victory. If anything, this would be easier. You had dirt on him. Blackmail would be simple enough. Bloody clothes and the perfect alibi; being a woman. No cop would think you took down that hulking man. 

Ah, right. There was no body.

That would be an issue. He had to have taken it somewhere. Just find him and follow. Worst case scenario, you play the usual game and steal whatever cash was in his wallet.

Well, worst case you die. 

You slept sitting up to keep your hair set, during the day your makeup barely was there but a red lip always the star. You had three nice dresses (well, you had had four) so you figured three nights to find him before moving on.

You slinked through the crowds of the hot and sweaty dance club Moxie. Swinging music kept bodies moving, and though you kept your eyes open you didn’t catch sight of this Alastor fellow. Which was fine! You enjoyed a few dances, swing always making you feel energized. Not a waste of a Friday night.

Saturday was easy, the lounge on fifth. Smooth jazz, plush chairs, rich men. Definitely a place you could imagine Smiles to frequent. The whisky was all top shelf, and many gentlemen offered you a lap to sit. Sure, no Alastor, but you didn’t go home empty handed.

You weren’t a particularly great singer, but if the room was small enough and the piano loud enough, you could please a crowd. Your friend had you on a semi-set schedule most Sundays at her little dive too many blocks from Main Street. Her darling played piano, you sat and sang to the couple dozen patrons stuffed into the one room bar. When you finished your set, you took your bows and looked for your friend. You needed to tell her you wouldn’t be staying. 

Your polite nods and gracious thank yous were abruptly ended by a tap on your shoulder, “You dropped this, miss.” You did a mental check of your purse before turning around.

“Oh, a sight for sore eyes. Mr. Alastor.” Your face lit up, you could see it in his glasses.

“You’re too kind. Here, I apologize for the delay. I wanted to return them clean.” In his hand was your yellow handkerchief, folded neatly. You took it and found it uncharacteristically heavy. 

When you unfurled it, your brass lighter fell into your waiting palm. Your thumb caressed the engraving. 

Alastor watched your face as the lighter tumbled out. “I figured it was important, given the condition and detailing.”

You tested the weight in your hand, “Did you fill it?” You looked to him incredulously.  He nodded.

It was a surprisingly kind act, and you needed a second to regain your composure. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Your quick wit failed for a moment, but rebounded fast. “Except with a drink. My treat. To my rescuer.”

He mulled the idea, your reaction to him was interesting. Alastor had thought if he approached you first you’d show a little more fear, or shock. But you looked downright chipper to see him there. 

“Unfortunately I don’t have much time tonight. I had just wanted to return your items.”

Your smile dropped. How did he know you were here? Had he been carrying— no, he said he had them cleaned. Had he seen you here before, before the incident? A chuckle, smile brought back, “My luck is terrible. You always flee me. I hope you don’t see my company as deadweight.”

Alastor’s smile twitched, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses, “Not at all! I think you’d find I’m quite comfortable with-.”

“Lugging people around?” You said. That constricted pupil again, eyes wild. A chill ran down your spine. Alarms were going off. Wrong answer. You straightened your back, popping the items into your purse, “Next time.”

Alastor nodded, “Yes. Next time, then.”

You fucked it up. You knew you had, but suddenly his words felt like a thinly veiled threat. 

You turned to leave and hadn’t seen his smile sour.

It hadn’t been a threat. He hadn’t anticipated you to notice the implication. Most people would have been so blinded by his charm they would fail to notice the glaring red flags. He was mildly impressed. You would be more trouble than he had expected.

Alastor knew he needed to do something about the clearly clever woman who was seemingly expecting him. He had followed you for several days, surprised to find you not spreading word about the murder. You hadn’t spoken to anyone, really. Even the man you left the lounge with, you just smiled and nodded nearly all evening while the man dominated the conversation. So, your sharp wit took him off guard. Who were you pretending to be? And why?

All of your cleverness fell apart when you tried to follow him. It was almost comical. He felt bad. This was going to be embarrassing for you.

He took several right turns and stepped into the park just outside of the bar. You thought perhaps he had gotten lost and considered turning around after you realized you’d lost sight of him. As you passed a large weeping willow, you were pulled under the curtains of hanging moss by your waist.

Back against the large tree, you could only pout.

“What are you after, stalking a man in the dead of night?” Alastor had you pinned, both hands on either side of your head. His body boxed you in, not that there was much more to see than moss and darkness.

You blinked several times. What a question. You answered honestly, “You.” He cocked a brow. Then you lied, “Your affection. Your time.”

Something akin to a giggle bubbled from his chest. “I don’t have much affection, but I have even less time.” Your eyes darted around, looking for your next move. “I-,” you grabbed him by the face and kissed him. When you broke the kiss he was staring wide eyed, glasses askew. He opened his mouth to speak and you kissed him again, longer, harder.

He seemed frozen under your mouth, lips taut. Your hands roamed his face, messing up his hair and glasses. Mind reeling. Play the nymph. Be the whore the men always said they hated. Be too strong, too forward, too much and he’ll run off like men do. You could try again another day.

Your hand reached for his lap, his hips instinctively jerking away. Perfect. Men these days can’t get it up for a woman who takes the lead. 

Alastor was entirely unsure what the fuck was happening. You were wildly unpredictable. When you grabbed at his dick, he thought his eyes would cross from the shock. Is this what ‘affection’ meant to you? He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t understand you. Were you really just lustful? Even after what you’d seen him—

You bit at his bottom lip, pulling slightly. Big eyes looking back at him. Your breath was already running away from you, adrenaline seemingly synonymous with Alastor. Staring up at him, you waited. His move.

It was his turn to blink. He looked off to his left, eyes swinging back to you. With a shrug, he leaned his body back towards yours. His hand slid down the front of your dress; red silk. A deer in the headlights, you tensed. The rare third option; fight, flight, freeze. Soon his fingers were tracing the lace of your stockings, climbing up the garter straps. 

His eyes were studying your face. You didn’t want to give the wrong answer again, but at this point you weren’t sure any answer was right. This was taking a sudden turn and your foot was off the brake. You closed your eyes, opting out of the scrutiny of his stare. His hand met your stomach and began to slip down again. He rested it between your thighs, longer fingers and palm cupping the entirety of your sex.

Alastor struggled to decipher your expression. It was almost like a pout, but more subtle. You hadn’t said stop or pushed him away yet. Was he right? You were just… horny? As his hand slid back up and pried their way into your panties, you trembled.

It had been so long since someone else’s hand was on you. Someone whose hands you genuinely enjoyed, who you wanted to be on you.

Is that right? You wanted him to touch you? 

Maybe it was the stare, or the smile. Probably just the adrenaline.

His hand found its place again, middle finger bending to part your folds and feel your wetness. You whimpered, hand coming to cover your own mouth. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He said it low, a husky tone he didn’t have before.

No. Maybe. You nodded yes.

“Will you be satisfied now? No more tailing me?”

No. Probably not. Another nod.

His finger pushed in, and with a kind of greed you didn't recognize your hips ground down into his palm. He slipped in and out of you with ease. You had no idea when or why you got so wet.

“I always end up dripping around you, Alastor,” you whispered through your fingers. His ring finger joined. Why couldn’t you shut up? Why did you have to bring up, well, the murder?

“A common problem for those I take an interest in.” 

Oh no. You moaned softly into your hand. Sharp mind made dull by his fingers so you didn’t, couldn’t, process his double meaning. 

Oh no. The sounds of footsteps, a pair of lovers sneaking into the park for privacy. You heard their giggles, the sounds of kisses interrupting their walking.

“Shhh”, he breathed into your ear as he worked a third finger into your heat. One knuckle, two knuckles. A whimper. His hand came to press down over your own on your mouth, a second barrier for your mewling. You groaned, the sound coming from your throat.  

Whispers. The silhouette of the two interlopers was visible through the willow’s curtains. You watched from over his shoulder, pussy clenching around him. Three knuckles deep, bottoming out.

Fuck it. You moaned freely into your hand, wiggling down onto his hand. Hips rolling, you let your little sounds of praise flow.

The couple laughed, “That’s the spirit!” A man said, a woman hushing him and pulling him away.

Alastor grinned into your neck, immensely amused. He would have better luck predicting a dice roll than your next move. 

You hadn’t realized how hollow you’d been until now, feeling so full. When alone, you focused on just cumming, fingers on your clit and mind on memories. You never bothered much with anything else.

Your hunger intensified. You wanted more. Both hands reached for his crotch again, finding nothing there for you. You could have cried. How were you a wet mess pressed against a tree and he was soft as a newspaper in a rainstorm?

Your pride stung. Men usually stood at attention around you. A half sob into the air earned you a chuckle from Alastor. “It’s no reflection of you, darling.” His nose nudged your ear lobe, “I need a little different stimulation than most.”

“Do you play for the other team?” You considered how you could momentarily switch. 

A louder laugh, “I don’t have a team.” He leaned back now to look at you. His freehand came to press on your lower stomach, gently pushing your womb down. Your brows knit, why did that feel so good? Hands going to the tree behind you for stability.

“Sure feels like you know how to play. This is-,” his hand switched from thrusting slowly in and out to moving front and back. It sent vibrations up into you. Your eyes rolled close. Shut up. Stop talking. Focus. Close.

He kissed around your open mouth, “Well, it’d be unamerican to not dabble. When necessary, or when the conditions are right.”

Double speak over, “Just tell me what to do to get you to fuck me.”

Alastor’s head fell back as he laughed earnestly, most likely alerting anyone in the immediate area. “Ha! No, this is more fun.”

“Oh fuck you,” you brought a hand around to your throbbing clit to quicken your release.

“Maybe next time, dear.” He took a second, fingers in you sliding around your walls in search of something before finding his place and continuing. Your breath noticeably changed, instead of panting you were practically holding it in. You needed the pressure, you needed something to squeeze that spring of pleasure down so it could snap back. As your face went flush, he kissed at your temple, “You look so pretty in red.”

“Oh god-,” Your head fell onto his chest, your joint effort bringing you to orgasm. 

“A little late on Sunday for prayers, don't you think?”

A tiny scream into his suit pocket, his hand not stopping until your thighs finished twitching around him. Even after his hand stopped moving you gripped him by the wrist and rolled onto his fingers a few more times. The pleasure ebbing but still spiking every time he moved against you. 

Ah, greed. That was it. He understood a little better. This wasn’t lust, not alone.  You were definitely a mix of the two. With a sigh, you released your hold and let him slide out of you. Already you felt lonelier. Already you wished to start over.

With his dry hand he smoothed out your dress. You weren’t ashamed but you suddenly felt too embarrassed to look him the eye. But you did, hearing him hum as he sucked his fingers clean. 

Why were you only ever in his mouth in the strangest ways?

“You always taste so sweet, dear. Now!” You wanted to say something clever and salacious like, ‘there’s more where that came from’ but he didn’t afford you the opportunity. He offered you his hooked arm, “It’s dangerous in the park at night. Let’s get you to a cab and on your way home.”

“Is this a hobby of yours?” Your legs were wobbly but otherwise fine. “Illegal activities in public?”

“Funny, I was just wondering the same of you. Stalking is a crime, dear.”

You bit your lip. “Touché.”

He flagged down a taxi, “Tell him where to go.” You slid into the back seat and half-whispered to the driver. Alastor leaned into the passenger side front window and after paying the man, went to close your door, “You’ve been an entertaining sparring partner. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

With a thud of the door and a growl of the engine, you were driving away from him. You could see him in the rear window. He didn’t dare to move, he didn’t need you following another step of his.

Which was unfortunate for him, as you were already scheming how to find him again.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @angelicwillows

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

[simpjaes]

FRENZY  ៸៸៸ part one

Jake is experiencing real love for the first time in his life. He’s so infatuated with you that he would do anything to make you understand. And you? Oh, you are in no place to argue with a man who appears to be perfect. 

៸៸៸  part two here ៸៸៸ you must read both parts to get the full story

 ៸៸៸ sim jake x afab reader 

 ៸៸៸ minors dni

 ៸៸៸ wordcount: 33k (part two: 14.2k)

 ៸៸៸ genre: stalker au, dark fic, slow burn, smut

 ៸៸៸ content tags: switch!stalker jake, he is gross but on a plus side he’s got a big shlong, obsession, panty stealing/sniffing, toothbrush sucking, shower water tasting, jealousy, manipulation, past trauma involving sa of reader, reader is manipulated into being obsessed with him too, trauma, jake is very insane, he’s thinks you need him to fix you, reader can be lifted and carried by him. 

 ៸៸៸ !WARNINGS! there is intense trauma, past abuse, and conflict in this fic. It’s dark with mentions of noncon and dubcon, and an instance where jake keeps going after reader faints. Everything is consenting between the two but only because he is manipulative and a bad person. if you can’t handle it, don't read it.

 ៸៸៸ a/n: this was way way way longer than I anticipated it to be but i mean…….it’s slow burn so take it or leave it. anyway, huge shout out to @drunkhazed for not only encouraging me to write this every time I lost steam for it, but even helping me work out some of the details. i hope this fic was worth the wait even tho tumblr is forcing me to post it in two parts.

៸៸៸ nsfw tags under cut

៸៸៸ nsfw tags for the whole fic, as in both chapters: masochism (jake), sadism (reader and jake), overstimulation, painful masturbation, praise, worship, dirty talk, blowjob, finger fucking, pussy eating, riding, missionary, mating press,  standing up sex yayyyyy, huge giant fat cock jake, deep penetration, unprotected sex, implied breeding, choking, hair pulling, suffocation, cock warming, crying, begging, hate sex, hitting (m receiving), squirting

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s been days since he left his apartment. The skin around his fingernails have been chewed up, his eyes are red and heavy with sleep, and he still can’t bring himself to move from this spot. Disgusting as it may be, he loves it. It wasn’t like this before but that doesn’t matter too much to him right now.

The spot in front of his window has become his home within the apartment, a place where he can feel weightless and deserving of life’s pleasures. The sun is more bearable like this, the moon is prettier, even the rain sounds better now. The windowsill is lined with empty cans and food wrappers, a pile of laundry has been sitting in the corner since he started settling in this chair, and it’s gotten to the point now that nothing else in this apartment is of interest to him. Sleep comes easy in this chair too, so why move if he doesn’t have to?

He knows his last load of laundry is slowly molding over from not moving them into the dryer days ago, he knows his food is slowly going expired, and he’s aware now that bothering to wear clothes is pointless, they’ll just make the laundry pile bigger. He needs no distractions from this view, save for a quick bathroom trip and sprint to the front door to pick up his food orders. Each moment spent away from this space after five in the afternoon is a waste to him. 

How did he get here? How did he get to this point in his life? You. You’re how he got here. It’s your fault for moving into the apartment next door, your fault for accepting a space within view of his bedroom window, and it’s your fault he waits all day for you to come home, learning your schedule day by day. 

It started the day he forced himself out of bed. A Saturday afternoon. It was the first time he had the energy to do it after a month of barely moving, given that his recent breakup rendered him a shell of his former self. Recent to him anyway, it had been a year since she moved out, a year was like a day to him though. Time blurs when you’re shifting between resentment and numbness, and he really would have figured he'd have gotten over that breakup by then but he wasn’t. The words she last said to him resonated every minute of the day in his head, “he’s my brother!”, “you broke my phone?!”, “you’re fucking insane, Jake!”

It was a surprise to him that the man in her call log actually was her brother, but still a man at that and he didn’t like it. She was to be loyal to one man. Him. Only him. And she wasn’t, but none of that mattered to him after he got out of bed that Saturday afternoon. 

When he stood to his feet and began to dig through his closet for a shirt that didn’t smell like stale depression, it was much the same as any other day when he had the energy to do this. This time though, he opened his blinds and nearly fell on his ass at the warm sun boring through his window at him. He stood there feeling the warmth for a moment before his eyes adjusted enough to look around at the lively streets below. 

Even through his displeased huff, he stayed looking. If anyone cared to notice, this would be a good sign coming from him. One that shows that maybe he’s thinking about going out for once. Maybe he wants to call up an old friend that he hasn’t spoken to in almost a year and catch up on those lively streets. And you know, maybe that could have happened if it weren’t for the fact that something else catches his eye. 

Directly across the street sits a much nicer apartment building, and in his direct line of sight is a large window with opened blinds. Inside, stood you. He didn’t know you at the time, of course he didn’t, but at that moment he instantly knew that he had to know you. It was like slow motion, a rush of euphoria streaming in his veins as he looked at you for the first time. After so long in a slump, resenting and vibrating hate toward an ex, seeing you was like a glass of cold water during a drought. Even from so far away he knew you had a pretty face. Even from here, he knew you’d want to meet him too.

An immediate attachment he felt, to a stranger across the street unknowing of his existence.

 And that’s how he got to this point, growing so fond of watching you through that window day after day. It’s been weeks now since he started, and only the past two days have rendered him unable to move from the spot. He’s lucky his parents fund this apartment for him under the guise of him getting a degree that he no longer attends classes for. Because, well, he doesn’t want to miss a single moment with you. He’s growing so planted to this uncomfortable computer chair and barely caring because when you come home at five in the evening every day, this chair becomes much more comfortable to him. Almost as if it doesn’t exist, hell, he’s practically floating when he watches you. 

It’s your own fault he’s like this. It’s your fault you leave those blinds open, it’s your fault for walking around in close to nothing within the safety of your own home. If you didn’t want him to watch you do it, surely you would have closed the blinds by now. 

You’re practically inviting him.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s a given that within those weeks of watching you his obsession hit peak insanity by the time he ended up planted in place by the window. Now though, he’s making plans in his head, because he knows it’s not healthy to just watch. He knows he deserves more than just feeling himself up as he imagines being in that spacious apartment across the street with you. By now, the relief his hand offers pisses him off. He wonders more and more every day what you smell like, what you feel like, how warm you must be. He deserves to know. 

Such a pretty girl all alone over there, maybe you need some protecting from the other strange men probably watching you too. Jake isn’t strange though, he just likes you. A lot. Enough now to leave this chair in front of the window when he knows you’ll be at work. Enough to actually get up and shower, enough to start working out again in front of that window just in case you arrive home early. Enough to know your schedule like the back of his hand. Enough to clean his apartment, to throw out his building piles of trash, to shave and touch up his grown out hair. 

Enough to follow you to the grocery store and purchase the exact things you purchase, cooking later what he presumed to be your dinner and eating it with you there at the window. 

It’s gotten to that point, where his confidence is high and he feels as though it’s time. It’s time to stop waiting around but he needs to know more about you before meeting you officially. That’s the only road block by this time and he can only think of one way to do this. After all, he doesn’t even know your name in order to look you up online. 

So, its early Monday morning and he knows you’ve got work for at least eight hours and, well, he’s got a fucking need. 

He watches you in the window before you leave for work, his room now dramatically different than before. Clean. He looks in the mirror, proud of the way he looks now with his stylishly messy hair and skin moisturized. You’d like him better like this, right? 

He doesn’t even grab a bag to bring with him, because he knows if he forgets anything he brings, you’d take note of someone being there. You might become hyper aware, you might find out it was him in the future. There are too many risks in that. So, he just brings himself, which should be enough.

Going outside was an experience as it always was for him. He always feels so out of place and so entirely alone when he walks near other people. Always wondering if they see him too much or not at all. Thankfully, your apartment is just across the street and it’s a quick trip to get inside of the building. He knew the security here is trash, after all, he’s watched this building door for so long by now, that even if he were to be stopped, he’d know how to get inside anyway. He sees the side doors, the ladder in the alley way, all of it. 

When he steps inside, part of him almost wants to turn back and purchase a small camera to hide in your apartment. He slaps himself on the forehead for not thinking of that sooner, but he’s already here so he might just have to take note of that for later. 

With a polite smile he nods to a single security guard and receives a stern nod back. His insides are crawling with energy at how easy this is, and he feels fucking giddy. As he works his way up, entering wrong floor after wrong floor, he finally lands his feet on your floor. He can tell because he double checks, and then triple checks by looking out of the big hallway windows and finding his own apartment straight across the way. 

He smiles wide at the apartment doors, noting the lack of code entry locks and finding simple turn-key locks. This is perfect, because he practiced a skill for this specific purpose. Lock-picking. He hopes it comes in handy as he pulls out his miniature tools. 

That practice did come in handy, and he smiles to himself with a near sob of happiness at the sound of what he presumed to be your apartment door unlocking. Intelligent, that’s what he is. 

He steps inside and instantly he is dizzy. He was right, he was fucking spot on. This is your apartment, and he can’t help but stand in the doorway frozen at the very thought that he fucking did it. He made it in and now your apartment is his for the next few hours if he so wishes.

The first thing he does is go to your window and gaze across the street. Seeing his own window from here felt surreal, thinking back to all of those nights he came undone to the thought of standing in this exact spot. His body reacts quickly to the space, twitching in his pants at the adrenaline he feels. 

If there is anywhere in the world he could be right now, this would be the exact spot. He hasn’t felt this excited in a long time, even compared to when he first saw you and his heart went from rotting to filling with love. It’s hard at this moment for him to turn around and look somewhere other than his view of that all-too-familiar window of his, but he manages. He’s slow to turn around, taking in each breath with intention, every glance burning into his memory. From the open curtains, to the open blinds just behind them, to the dull color of the paint on your walls. 

He smiles as he notes that your apartment is clean, almost obsessively so. It’s also much nicer compared to his own even when it was brand new. You seem to like candles, apple and sugar cookie scented candles. He can tell from the amount littered around the open living room and kitchen. The dull scent dragging his senses into euphoria. You also seem to like plants, you like shoes, you like plushies. 

He nods as he takes note of everything in your apartment before sauntering out of the living space and toward the hallway. There, he enters the bathroom first.

Clean still, save for a pile of dirty clothes thrown carelessly into the corner. Before he focuses too much on that pile of clothing though, he stares at your shower, taking note of the other scents you’re drawn to before trailing his fingers along the shower wall. Still damp from your morning shower, he presumes. He lets himself feel the sensation of the droplets soaking his fingertips, running it along several areas of the wall before pulling his hand back. He looks at his glistening fingers for a few moments, preparing himself for a new sensation as he places his fingers to his lips. Sucking in the remnants of your shower and humming. Then, ecstatic with the taste, it’s easy for him to balance himself against the wall and bring his face close to a few more unbothered droplets, licking them into his mouth and relishing in the feeling of the cold shower wall against his tongue. His cheeks dampen through the act, and even when he pulls back for a moment, he can’t bear to wipe away the condensation. 

It tastes like water, but it’s your water. And as he continues to suckle against the wall, he finally pulls back and places his fingers back into his mouth to suck off any last remaining droplets. His eyes now flick to that pile of laundry. Based on your cleanliness in the rest of the apartment, he assumes you’ll probably wash these later, which is a fucking waste. He confirms in his head the loss it would be not to take something, and so, he plans to. 

Fingers still in his mouth, he fumbles with his other hand to shove each piece of clothing up to his face, inhaling the scent of your sleep because these were clearly the pajamas he saw you wearing last night. The scent is dull but he swears he can smell your skin on this fabric and it’s enough to cause another twitch in his pants. His cock already growing heavy and sensitive in the confines of his pants. 

Finally, the pair of panties. Worn, crumpled on the floor in a presentation too beautiful to resist. He drops your shorts carelessly to grab at them, his fingers leaving his mouth just to smear across the seat of the garments before instantly he’s sighing out in a soft moan. Nuzzling his lips and nose into them, inhaling for an even longer time compared to the other articles of clothing. It’s as if he’s inhaling a deep hit from a blunt, the scent making him dizzy and entirely hot in the face. He could cry, honestly, as he dips his tongue out just for a moment to taste. Heightening his sensations of you. It was euphoric feeling them in his hand, against his face, in his mouth. Even more so with the scent of them, worn from the day and clearly needing a wash. It was relieving to him in some way, fondling the panties seems to push him further from the reality he’s in, sending his mind into colorful image after image of what these must have looked like clinging to your pussy. 

He’s quick to stuff them into his pocket after he gets his fill, forgetting only for a moment that there’s more to explore and that he can’t just sit here all day and jerk off to a single pair of panties. He’s sure you have more for him somewhere. And with that, he moves his eyes to your bathroom counter. 

Gazing at your toothbrush momentarily, he fights off the idea of taking that too. Ultimately deciding that you’d definitely think something was off if that went missing.This doesn’t prevent him from touching though, as he reaches forward and runs his fingers along the bristles. Just as suspected, it’s still damp too from your morning routine. The sensation of the bristles along his fingers is somehow more arousing than anything else right now, and it’s hard for him to hold back. His cock is now heavy in his pants, leaking against his zipper and begging to be let out. He holds back still though, even as he brings the toothbrush up to his lips much like your other items. He takes in a deep breath first before licking along the handle up to the bristles. Still tastes like toothpaste, and the taste is far too overpowering to be able to taste you. Still, his hips lunge forward against the counter as he tastes another part of you. 

He stays like that for a while, hips pressing forward every few seconds in search of the friction his zipper offers, and your toothbrush hanging from his mouth as he rummages around your drawers and cabinets. 

By the time he has searched every inch of your bathroom, he finally places your toothbrush back into its place and stares at it for a moment longer. If you continue to use it, it’s like you’re kissing him. He hopes you like it as much as he does. And just like that, his interest in the bathroom is gone. Excitement bubbles up yet again, knowing that he still has more of your space to explore for his own pleasure. He adjusts his length in his pants and sighs with a dazed smile and leaves the bathroom almost exactly as you left it.

Quietly, he goes further down the hallway. There's only one other room and he just knows that it’s your bedroom, that much is clear. You always keep these blinds closed but sometimes he can see your shadow when you turn on your light at night. This is where he wants to be right now, and upon opening that door, he’s immediately hit with another new scent. Home. 

He doesn’t waste his time indulging himself here, throwing himself forward onto your bed, face down, and instantly groaning at the feeling of his sore cock hitting your mattress under his own weight. By this point, it’s weeping with pre-cum and staining his jeans with a large dampened spot. The feeling is so much to handle as he lays there trying to breathe through the raw feeling of how badly he wants to fuck something. How badly he wants to fuck you. 

He laughs to himself in the bliss of your scent as he tears up, gripping your duvet and covering his face with it. He breathes heavily as his gleefully aroused tears begin to soak into the fabric. Then, because of course he would, he gags himself by stuffing that very same duvet past his lips. He closes his eyes now, imagining that you let him in, you’re here with him, you’re here under him. The scent of apples and cookies would be drenching the air, your panties would be wet and begging to be off of you. Fuck, he wants to consume these sheets the same way he wants to consume you. 

Immediately, he sucks on the fabric with a lift to the corner of his lips, smiling as he tastes the closest thing in this apartment to your body save for the panties in his pocket. He feels like he’s floating right now, and he would be a fool to hold off any longer. He wants to have his way here, hoping that you don’t notice the stains he plans to leave behind. Hoping you sleep on them, hoping you sit your bare pussy against the same spot he intends to fuck as hard as he would fuck you. 

He slides a hand down between his body and the mattress and dips into his pants with a visible shiver, finally offering himself relief. Long and slender fingers making their way around his length and instantly he’s unable to keep quiet. His eyebrows lift in relief at the feeling, rubbing his tongue raw against your duvet with his muffled moans, writhing wildly as he begins to fuck forward. His ears are ringing, his finger tips are burning against his own arousal, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so fucking happy in his life than he is right now. 

As he continues, his wrist is being rubbed raw much like the head of his cock and his tongue. So many sensations come from the fabric you provide and, god, he loves it. He can’t help it when he aggressively shoves his pants down, allowing his pre-cum to spurt out of him, instantly staining your sheets and causing him to pick up the pace. Fucking against his hand and humping with no real rhythm. 

His moans come out in short, muffled whimpers. Your blanket in his mouth makes the sound more pathetic than it already would have been, but he loves the way the sounds echo off of your walls. It’s like he was meant to be in this room doing this. Like this is the only room he should be intimate in, whether it be with himself or you. He wants to moan like this not just because of you but, for you. He wants you to play with him, he wants you to fucking destroy him, mocking his overly sensitive cock until he’s crying. 

His mind is spinning as he fucks forward with these images in his head, the scent of you only drives him further and further from the reality at hand. He sobs only a little when he pushes the duvet out of his mouth, quickly replacing that with your pillow. He buries his face into it so hard that he nearly can’t breathe. The lack of oxygen hitting him second by second until he’s gasping for the same warm air that’s being trapped by the plush pillow, his orgasm bubbles up quickly with each jerk of his body. 

Faster and faster he fucks into his palm, paying no mind to the burn on the under side of his cock that repeatedly rubs against the sheets. His muffled breath now comes out in short cries of laughter as he feels his release approaching. He chases it aggressively, violently. He wants his cock to fucking ache for you.

And it does, a mixture of searing heat and release hitting him all at once. He can’t breathe as his body stutters against your sheets, his pathetic cock continuously releasing a greedy amount just for you to sleep soundly in later. 

Then he just lays there, feeling every last drop leave him and make a home within your sheets and mattress. All he can do is grin as he tries to catch his breath, rolling over and feeling his already-spent cock pulse at the cold air that hits it. He lifts his head to look down at it, noting how red it is even as it softens up. Again, he’s floating right now. He can’t believe he managed to get inside, he can’t believe he has your panties, he can’t believe he’s even tasted you. 

Through his blissed out state, his eyes begin to travel around your room as he comes down from his high. Heart pounding still, he realizes he didn’t comprehend a single corner of this room the second he saw your bed. It was like he cared about nothing, it was like he died and went to heaven, and he wouldn’t have it any other way save for you being on this bed with him. 

Then, his eyes land on your dresser and he’s careful when he stands up to balance himself, tucking his length half back into his pants and wincing at the sensitivity. Jackpot. Jake’s attention is solely focused on your dresser now, wobbling over and trying to pretend that his body isn’t still shaking from his recent orgasm.

He’s in a world of euphoria again, immediately after having gotten off so quickly within the sheets of your bed, and now as he rifles through your panty drawer, his sensitive cock is twitching with embarrassing interest. He laughs at himself and the way he could probably fuck you repeatedly for hours at this point. Never has he been so ready to come again a mere minute and a half after already having done it once. He holds off though, pocketing a few more pairs of your panties before turning his attention to your closet.

There, he notes the fashion you like, the shoes you have hidden probably for nights out, and…oh. 

Sex toys. 

He glares at them for a moment, wondering if you only have these because you’ve yet to realize how badly you’d want him to do it for you. This leads him to believe that you must be desperate for touch, for love, and surely he could make you feel better than a piece of soft rubber, surely you wouldn’t need these if you have him, right? 

He grabs one with a huff and inspects it for use. Upon realizing this has been well loved by you, he removes the batteries and pockets those too, solely because he refuses any competition when it comes to you. Another mental note to find any and every battery in this apartment so that this toy becomes useless to you and your pussy. After all, you’re his now and it’s only a matter of time before you realize it.

He shakes his head in disappointment at his findings before tossing the toy back into the space he found it and turning his attention to your desk. After all, he’s lost all interest in this closet simply for containing items that offer you pleasure. At least at your desk, he might find some deeper information about you.

And God, it’s like you knew he was going to be here. He smiles, his heart swelling at your kindness of leaving your journal right here in the open for him. Inside is a page bookmarked with what he assumes to be junk mail. 

There’s your full name though, glistening in the dark space of his brain that was dying to be filled with information about you. He whispers it to himself, loving the way the tip of his tongue tingles at the act of saying it out loud for the first time. His heart flutters as he runs his fingers along the plastic window of the envelope, repeating your name several times, as if to conjure your spirit up right here, right now, to bask in his post-orgasm glory of love for you.

He’s almost got all of the information he needs with this simple envelope. He knows exactly where you live obviously, your full name, what you like, your favorite scents, and now all he needs is– 

He pauses as his eyes fall to the page marked in your journal, damn. It seems to be your most recent entry, and you really let it all out in these pages. His own ex-therapist suggested he start keeping journals too, but fuck no. That’s too much work for him. He doesn’t like giving himself that type of attention either, but thank god you keep one.

Your self written bible, with all the information in the world about you coming from your own hand, your own brain, is right here in the palm of his hand and it’s not hard for him to decide what to do with it. 

Just like that, an hour passes as he starts from the beginning and works through your thoughts starting from early last year. Right around the time his ex-girlfriend left him, the bitch. 

The deeper into this journal he goes, the more he learns. Intimate things, fucked up things. He almost laughs at your pain, how silly of you to love someone when he was here all along. You had your heart broken, met someone who fixed you, then he destroyed you even more than the first man. Silly you, choosing the wrong people and letting yourself be hurt enough to write about it. 

It’s not until he reads what your recent ex did to you that he starts to really feel something. Anger. So much fucking anger that a man touched you like that. He hurt you like that, then left you feeling torn apart and, as you wrote, “dead inside”. The anger is so strong as he grips your journal and nearly crumples the page. He wants to rip it out, to erase it from your life so you forget it ever even happened. You wouldn’t need to remember all of this if you’d let him in.

But he can’t just rip this page from your life, because you’d notice. These are your deepest secrets, surely you’d be on high alert if something like this were to go missing. So, he opts to read it again, and again, and again, searing it into his memory like a mantra of you and your life. A mantra of why you need him, and why the universe is putting you in front of him. 

Now, the further and further he reads, the pages are filled by this man who hurt you. He can practically smell the tears you shed when writing these shaky words. Detailing each painful touch, each emotion and moment of dissociation that happened to you during that time. There’s something about the way you write your pain that arouses him just as much as everything else you do. 

Perhaps it's the anger of you being taken advantage of in that way, or perhaps it’s because he’s reading each fine detail and wishing he was you, and you were the ex. He wants you to hurt him the way you’ve been hurt, the thought alone is enough to make him fall deeper, and harder in love with you. He wants to feel everything you’ve felt.

In his mind, you’re doing this to him. He wants you to hurt him that way so badly. He wants you to have him broken and crying, with all the power in the world because it’s what you deserve. Because of him, you will forget what happened to you. He will fix you, and you will break him. 

The more he reads, the more he fantasizes. It’s not your pain, it’s his now, except he would never tell you to stop. He’d be begging for more, more, more. In his head, yes, you’re on top of him and gagging him with your fingers so he can’t cry out. You’re the one hitting him and taking him for all he’s worth. You’re the one calling him dirty names and forcing a painful orgasm through his body.

The image in his head right now is so beautiful, and it’s all you. The man no longer exists in his thoughts as he stares down at your words, another flash of a smile crossing his lips as he snakes his hand down his pants for the second time, because this time he can’t resist it. The words appear more like an erotic novel rather than your own painful trauma. He finds it easy when he checks out of reality, each drag of his palm up his cock sending waves of warmth through his body with each new word he reads. 

He likes the way you write “fuck”, he loves the way you write, “I deserved better.” He adores you so much, he wants you to say those things to him. Even if he would never hurt you, he would be more than willing to let you hurt him, to let you be the aggressor, to ruin him and make him bleed. 

His fingers squeeze around his length harder as he feels his legs attempt to buckle. He allows himself to fall to his knees on your floor, gripping the journal like it’s his last life line in this world. 

His eyes shoot across the paper and he’s biting against his bottom lip so hard that he can taste the metallic flavor of blood as he takes in every pen stroke. That taste of blood only becomes more obvious to him when he begins to whine at his own grip against his cock. It’s not enough, and it will never be enough until you’re the one ruining him. He grips tighter, bouncing up on his knees to chase the feeling as he works himself up, only briefly losing the ability to read when he rolls his eyes back at the desperate feeling of needing you here with him to hold onto. His entire body is burning up, pulsing aggressively, and yet, still shivering at the cold and lonely air within your apartment. 

Then his eyes are right back down on your journal, his hips continuing to chase. He’s not alone, you’re here with him, you are surrounding him entirely right now. This is the air you breathe into, and the gasps he takes with the realization are deep and intentional as he swallows up the air in this room until it feels suffocating. 

“Part of me wishes I wanted it, It would have hurt less, I think.” You had written one day last week.

He groans at your boldness, poking his tongue to his cheek with a frustrated moan. 

“At least I left the city. Mom told me to change my number too, but I haven't done that yet. I hope he can never find me again.” 

Jake smiles with a clenched jaw, because that man won’t ever find you again. Not with him by your side. He will protect you, he will make damn sure that any man who wants you can’t have you. 

He edges himself for a bit this time, after having gotten off so quickly before. He wants this one to be drawn out, he wants it to fucking hurt, and it does already. His sensitive length is twitching against the pre-dampened denim it’s being restricted by, his knuckles are red and raw from hitting the zipper of his pants, and the inside of his lip is still bleeding. Finally, he skews his pants down just enough to let his length spring free. 

The suffocating air of your apartment wraps around him so beautifully, and once again he’s shivering and letting out a chuckle. It feels so good. It feels so much better when he’s here and not stuck in his apartment. It feels amazing reading your words of pain, putting himself in your position and wishing so much for you to take this frustration out on him. 

He edges, and edges. Fucking up, then strangling the base of his cock to prevent orgasm. God, it feels so hot, so good that it becomes harder each time he does it. Again and again, until the shadows of your curtains shift in position, until he feels like his head might explode, and that’s when he realizes he has been reading, sometimes the same page over and over again, for hours and at least an hour more fucking himself.

Surely you’ll be getting off from work soon, but he’s so close. He’s so, so, fucking close to you right now and he can’t bare to end it just yet. The images of your past burns in his gut, and despite being in your space, he truly is so far away. He cannot imagine your face up close, and only imagines the silhouette of you, the shape of you that he’s seen so many times before. Every image is from a street away, and still it’s so unfathomably arousing to think you could use him as your diary. You could whisper your painful little thoughts into his mouth and let him swallow them up, let him erase them from your life. 

Take this rage out on him. Hit him. Make him suffer the way you did, he would love that. Giving you such an outlet, and loving it more and more each time. 

He fucks up once, hard, and for the last time he squeezes against his weeping cock so tightly as if to prevent himself from releasing. His body can’t take it anymore though, he loses all control even through his tightened grip at the base of his cock. Still, he manages to focus his eyes down at your journal, placing it directly against the underside of his cock, and there, he lets go. Strings of white shooting out past the journal and onto your carpet, seeping in almost instantly as he lets out a long and choked out moan. Raspy and raw, he can barely recognize his own voice. 

The sweat on his brow drips down as he shakes through the most intense orgasm he thinks he’s ever had, vibrating moans coming out as pained whimpers as he continues to pump himself empty against the pages of your trauma. Then, he pulls your journal up to his lips in a last attempt to show how desperate he is at this moment. He closes it, licking up the spine of the book before dropping it to the floor in exhaustion.

His mind and body has never been so stimulated by another person. Despite you not even being in this room to physically do it for him, he feels as though he’s just professed a profound love for you and you accepted it. He’s left himself all over your space, marking you, marking his territory, swearing to his shaking soul that he will never let another person touch you. 

The only pain you should ever feel again is when your palms sting from swelling his skin before kissing it better. 

As he sits, coming back to himself, still trembling from pleasure and overwhelming adoration, his eyes scan further around your room and note all of the little trinkets of personality you like to show to yourself. 

A list of movies you’ve watched dangles, pinned on a cork board by your tv, and next to that is a list of movies you haven’t gotten to watch yet. On the other side of him is a bookshelf, containing a variety of novels, manga, magazines, cds, and even a few little figurines of characters that must bring you comfort. 

All of these things, the scents you like, the colors you like, the books, movies, shows, music. It burns into his memory the same way you did when he first saw you. 

It doesn’t matter that his body feels weak at this moment, his mind will never be calm when he’s thinking of you. These forms of entertainment are now his favorite things. His fingers struggle to pull out his phone, and struggle more to find his notes app. 

There, he stays for an hour more. Typing and retyping everything he can see, smell, and touch. Every single movie, every single music disk, every single manga, magazine, and book. He will love them as much as he loves you, and he will be the person you seem to need so badly in your life. 

And then, as he glances up to the tiny, bastard of a digital block on his phone, reality sets in. He needs to leave now.

Thankfully enough, you’re right on schedule as usual. He’s crossing the street to his own apartment when he catches the scent of you carried by the wind, and right there, he glances. For the first time seeing you a little closer than usual. 

He doesn’t know if you look happy, sad, or exhausted, all he knows is that you’re truly a feast for his eyes as he stares a few moments too long and you make eye contact with him.

Then….you smile. 

You smile at him, with a small wave as you walk through the building’s doors with not a clue in the world that the kind faced, handsome, stranger you just made eye contact with was worshiping the very air you breathe.

For him, that smile managed to ignite something else in him that he didn’t even know he had. Perhaps a feeling of confirmation? No, maybe it was validation? Either way, the pep in his step is at least an inch higher than it’s ever been as he makes his way up to his home, and finds himself right back at the window. 

He feels satisfied, happy, and maybe even a bit sleepy as he watches you from across the street. Standing where he just stood, disappearing to what he now knows is the bathroom. 

With all the new information, surely it won’t be the last or only time he’ll be in that room with or without you. Now, he can meet you as the best version of himself. The best version of the person you would love. 

Perhaps now, he can accidentally run into you enough times that you’ll have no choice but to face an introduction, and right then and there, he will be the perfect man for you. You’ll invite him in, you’ll share all of those secrets with him, and you will love him. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Buying a camera was easy, and setting it up against his window so that he never had to risk missing a single second with you was even easier. Especially because now he had studying to do. 

Movies, shows, music, books, all of it. He delved in for days, living the lives of other people through the media you seemed to love so much. Through all of it, he paid most attention to the romantic aspect of each bit of entertainment you seem to enjoy the most in your free time. 

He learns how these men kiss their significant others, he studies how they look at each other and express their emotions. In the music, he listens and anticipates that he can make you feel better than these songs do. In the books, even the horror related ones, he focuses on the emotional aspect and forces himself to learn these expressions. 

Love and hate aren’t the only two emotions he should be feeling, but they are for the most part. Save for things like jealousy, arousal, and entitlement. He needs to learn sympathy. Empathy, passion, contentedness, melancholy. There is a vast array of emotions he needs to master, and he can’t help but feel like that’ll just take far too long. 

As he is, he loves you. As you are, he loves you. You should love him the same, and you will love him the same. After all, he already loves the same movies, books, and music. What else could you possibly ask for from him, outside of a burning loyalty driven by passion? Outside of never laying a hand on you, nor letting another person within ten feet of you if you so much as blink at him lovingly?

It’s as if weeks passed when he started watching you through the recorded footage. Really though, it’s only been a week because he can still smell the scent of you on those dainty little panties each time he wraps them around his sore cock. They satisfy him plenty when he uses your other, cleaner garments that he took from your dresser against his lips. 

Each night since he was in your apartment, he’s fucked into these panties, remembering the taste of your shower water and toothpaste, and each night he grows more and more weary of when he can have more.

Still, these panties are getting him through this difficult period of down time, the anticipation that soon enough, you’ll smile at him again is enough to not jump for the opportunity to get back into your apartment just yet. Because soon, you’ll probably invite him in next time too, maybe even let him taste you rather than a simple remnant of you. 

Even your social media drives him to learn quicker. It’s private, of course, and all he has to go off of is that pixelated image of you, your interests, the burning images of your trauma, your name, age, address, and used panties. Sure, he’s satisfied for the time being but he knows for a fact that this “content” feeling will only continue to fade away and be replaced with the intense need to just fucking meet you. 

He knows you’re hiding from someone, and that someone just so happens to not be him. So, he’s the one man in the world you could ever hope to meet anyway. A protector, a lover, a fierce defender and an outlet for all of your pain. 

And oh, what great news is it that just a mere two days later that content feeling does, indeed, run out! Not only does he feel well equipped to be your forever soulmate, but when he looks at himself in the mirror, still fond of now trimming and taking care of himself, he’s gotta say that he plays the part well on both fronts. 

It’s another Saturday afternoon, this time he takes the time to sit by the window and watch the shadow of you through that closed bedroom curtain. He wonders how often you wash your sheets, or clean your carpet, or lose your batteries to your stupid fucking sex toys. 

Surely the remnants of him are still there, surely you’re used to his scent by now. You won’t be afraid when he steps out around the same time you do. You definitely won’t think it’s strange that he just so happens to be grocery shopping too, or that he’s needing the same ingredients you are needing. Maybe you’ll like it when he brushes his hand against yours when going for the same tomato. 

He’s confident, and he’s ready. That’s for sure. 

What he wasn’t ready for though, is how outgoing you are. 

Naturally, he smells you before he sees you. Hyper aware that every person on the street that isn’t you just ends up invisible to him anyway. He doesn’t intentionally walk into you, acting as if he’s going the opposite way. Except he does. 

The first touch of your body to his is nothing but a mere “accident”. The soft padding of your jacket collides with his hoodie, and still he swears he could feel the blood pumping through your veins at that moment. His entire body erupts in goosebumps at the first touch, he sighs out at the intentional mishap, not yet making eye contact with you. 

He falls back only slightly, raising his hands in defense and mock apology. Right there on the street, not even a block from the two buildings both of you call home. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even–” He goes to say, mind blanking the moment he does look at you, and you look back at him.

You’re right there. He can feel your energy hit him in the chest, as if that little collision was nothing less than a car hitting him at full speed. His breath is caught in his throat as he takes in your image up close for the first time. 

You look….frail. Not like a sickly-frail, but the kind of frail that only comes with emotional baggage. You look sleepy, with your cold cheeks and watering eyes from the icy wind hitting them. So badly does he want to grip you and pull you into his chest. He wants to hold you, he wants to keep you warm, he wants to kiss those shivering lips and hold those shaking hands. 

You’re a mere foot away from him and his heart is already exploding. Standing in awe, oblivious to the fact that he has lost his ability to control the situation upon looking at you, because now all he can think about is giving you everything in the world.

Then, you glance away from him and speak. 

“No, no.” You look to the ground after that brief eye contact and seem to shy away from the interaction. “I shouldn’t have been looking at my phone.” You continue to stare at the ground, gripping your bag close to you out of instinct rather than fear or anxiety. 

“Likewise.” Jake smiles, trying to refrain composure and softening his voice. Still, he burns the image of you into his corneas and memorizes the pitch of your voice. “Hey…” He adds, trailing off a bit and dipping his head to draw your eyes up to him in a friendly way. 

“I think I’ve seen you before, do you live around here?” 

You pause. He’s just a friendly stranger with a tender voice but the brief glimpse you had of him did seem familiar. 

“You seem kind of familiar too?” You question, easing your tense body and looking up at him with another smile, this time more awkward. Mostly because you definitely avoided his question. 

“Huh, small world.” He shrugs, offering little to no context to that statement before shifting the balance on his feet and stiffening at the harsh wind that picks up.

This is the moment in which any normal person would say their goodbyes, last apologies, and be on their way. Jake is too in love to comprehend what normal people would do though. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I forgot my wallet at home and was running back to grab it before the market gets packed with college kids trying to buy all of their weekend alcohol. I really didn’t mean to run into you like that.” 

God, he feels like a robot saying it. He did mean to run into you, and he didn’t forget his wallet. 

“Oh! I’m actually on my way to the store.” You admit, trying to appreciate his explanation and press the idea of forgiving and forgetting. “So you live close by then?” You add, feeling better asking him where he lives rather than stating your own place of residence. 

“Yeah, I live over there.” He points at the building across from yours, silently taking a step closer. 

The chill in the air is harsh, but the way you don’t move back from him is much softer and easier to swallow as a man on a mission. 

When you perk up at recognizing his apartment building, it’s very telling. Well, to him it is, but to anyone else he could assume they wouldn’t have picked up on that slight blink of surprise he caught. 

“Huh,” You state casually. “Well, I’m going to go pick up some groceries too. I walk this same way back, do you want me to spot you on your groceries as my own apology for not paying attention?”

Partially, you do this because you want to be alone, and upon meeting this man who is running the same errand as you, you think you may feel too awkward to go through your daily plan running into him again. Plus, he lives right across from you, and you find yourself not wanting him to know where you live. 

To him though, outgoing may be an understatement. You’re offering to not only shop for him, but to drop it off at the desk? You’re inviting yourself into his space?! 

“Don’t be silly, I’ll just run and grab my wallet and I’ll be right back out. I can help you carry your things. It’s not safe for a lady to be walking alone on a Saturday anyway.” He assures you, stiffening up his shoulders in the wind and smiling at you.

You don’t know how to reject his offer, as awkward as it is, and somehow as comforting as it is. Solely because he just confirmed your silent anxieties about being in this city alone. You do this walk to the market every weekend, and despite you slowly becoming accustomed to the area, you never truly feel safe doing it alone. 

Should you reject the offer and go back home? You have enough snacks to last you the night and you can just go to the market tomorrow. And even with those thoughts in your head, you wonder why you nod to him, and you wonder why you step back toward the building behind you and lean against it as if you’ll wait for him. 

You shiver at the wind as he nods to you and jogs to the very same building he pointed out before disappearing inside of it, and all you can do is internally panic at how pathetic you are. You should not be inviting this random man to walk with you, or to carry your things for you. He’s going to know where you live. What if your ex set this up? You wouldn’t put it past him for a second.

Then you think a little deeper…perhaps you’re comforted by this man’s calm and somewhat genuine kindness. You’re not amazing at reading people, clearly, but he seems to be kind. Still, you’re too afraid to tell another person “no” these days out of fear that they will be angry.

 You’re now hyper aware of your surroundings, wondering if the threat looms elsewhere, or if you just invited the threat to walk you to the supermarket. 

You have no choice but to take the chance though, with the way he mentioned that you shouldn’t be walking alone on a weekend. You’d be paranoid with or without a stranger escorting you, especially after returning home from work last week and swearing your apartment felt different. Your anxiety regarding your ex is at an all time high. 

Should you even want to reject this small situation of possible safety? It’s still known, to you at least, that your ex hasn’t been able to find you, nor has he texted or called you since your first week of living in this city. 

Finally, you decide to just try and relax. If you show your fear, perhaps this man will turn on a dime and take advantage like everyone tends to do with you. Even if you don’t remember leaving your apartment door unlocked last week, even if you don’t remember misplacing your batteries for a particular item in your closet.

You can’t just assume every new, kind, and handsome face is working with your ex. You can’t just let your fear continue to control your life. 

At least with this new face, and the security in your building being well aware of your safety concerns, you nor your personal space could be violated inside of your own home at the very least. 

Outside though? On the streets with dozens of others? The risk is high, and you aren’t even sure if you have the capability to run fast enough or react fast enough with the little safety keychain you keep in your hand, buried in your puffy jacket pocket. 

By this point, you’re more afraid to walk alone than you are to walk with this nameless man. Saying no to him would only result in another evening walk full of paranoia, then again, walking with him still brings a whole different type of paranoia. That is, until he comes running back up to you with that same warm smile, hands tucked into his hoodie, and the promise of some sort of protection at least for this grocery run. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“So,” Jake starts after several long minutes of walking with you in silence. “Do you always walk alone at night?”

You nod to him quietly, about to say something before he sighs and shakes his head.

“That’s brave. You must be new to this side of town because it’s not exactly the safest for you to just be wandering around by yourself.” 

It’s obvious to Jake that this is only a half truth, but he knows what you’re running from by being here and he can’t help but ensure future endeavors with you, even if just to have you need him each time you leave your apartment. He would gladly walk you to the moon and back if you so much as considered it an option. 

“Oh, really?” You respond with slight distress. “I moved here because of the safety ratings. I wasn’t aware that it was an actual concern outside of me just worrying too much.” 

He picks up on it. 

“Every city is dangerous if you think about it. You know where my building is if you need it though. Just let me know if you ever need someone to usher you back and forth.”

You scoff almost, laughing at the implication that you’d consider that an option. 

“Please, that would be so inconvenient and inconsiderate for me to do. Besides, I have this nifty little keychain!” You smile, trying to make light of the situation and the anxiety his words of your bravery are bringing to you. 

“That is pretty nifty,” He laughs, eyeing your keychain and watching you put it back into your pocket. “Can’t imagine that keychain would stop anyone though.” He adds with a light and casual tone, only because he knows that the keychain couldn’t stop him. “Plus, it’s not inconsiderate. I’m much more effective than that keychain of yours.”

There is a deep fear instilled in you at his words, ones that make you curl in on yourself internally. Maybe you really couldn’t protect yourself without someone next to you. You slow your pace for a moment and consider his words. Pepper spray, a seatbelt cutter, taser, and a pair of pointy claws won’t do a damn thing for you if you end up frozen on the spot at a threat. Which is something you know yourself to do when danger rises. Perhaps this stranger is right about that, and if he’s offering, maybe it won’t be so embarrassing to actually follow up on that, especially if he proves to simply be a kind and concerned neighbor. 

Then again, maybe he’s just being nice and doesn’t want you to genuinely expect that from him. 

“Can I know the name of the person willing to escort me to and fro?” You try to play it off as a joke with a sweet and calm tone to your voice, thankful that you’ve become an expert at hiding your fear by now, but he stutters in response. Stopping in his tracks and deadpan staring at you.

“Oh my god, how rude of me.” The same smile, the same soft voice, and now– and extended hand to you. “I’m Jake, and I fully expect you to require my assistance at any time, any day, when you feel it may not be safe for you to be out here alone.” 

“What the fuck?” You comment without full intent, reaching for his hand and gripping it in yours. 

It’s…delightfully warm. 

“Hm?” He perks up a brow. “What was that?”

“It’s like you can read my mind or something.” You laugh, now releasing his hand and feeling far more comfortable walking with him, and possibly accepting his offer. 

“I’ve been told that before, you know.” 

Good fucking lord, the feeling of you gripping his hand was something that could have sent him straight to an asylum. Cold hands, warm smile, a reluctant tone in your voice– he sees you size him up, and god, fuck, did he see you just accept him for all that he is at this moment. He broke past your first wall, he could see it in your eyes when they flickered for just a moment. 

“I bet you have.” You confirm for him, now giving him your name and looking up at him. The dim streetlights and remnants of the setting sun sure do put this moment on a pedestal in your head for some reason. 

Your first friend in this city. Surprisingly it’s a man, and even more surprisingly, he seems to be entirely in tune with every single anxiety you have about life right now without even fucking knowing it. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The immediate night after you willingly led a kind stranger to the front of your apartment building, seemingly right across the street from his own, was the moment you realized that for the first time in years, you really did feel safe. 

Jake, this new person who appeared out of thin air walking right into you and somehow, into your life as well, is safe. With the well-bleached hair peeking from his hoodie, tired eyes, and the blushed cold air on his face doing nothing more than highlighting his features, you didn’t want to admit the immediate attraction to him.

In fact, those feelings of instant attraction are what got you into that mess with your ex. It’s what you’re running from now, and what you were intending to avoid. It’s in your nature to want to be around an attractive person, sure, but is it so strange to lean in so quickly when said attractive person lives across the street and offers you convenient means to feel even safer? You’re not jumping into an immediate relationship or anything by feeling safe around him. You don’t know him well enough, but for some reason, all you need to know to satisfy you is that he’s not out to take from you. He didn’t seem to need or want more, even in those long moments of silence standing beside him in the supermarket.

If anything, Jake, himself, is a new safety measure you intend to use for yourself, even as a last resort. Not because his smile is charming, or his voice is soft. Definitely not because his fashion sense seems to be well thought out, and his clothes hang against his body as if he had a real life filter consistently maintaining that every angle of his face and body remains perfect. 

It’s because he offered it. Point. Blank. Period. You, unfortunately, are not in any position to deny that it’s what you need either. You know for a fact that your ex is still asking around for you and trying to figure out where you live. Not to get back together, but just to let you know that he’s around, and he always will be for as long as you live. 

So, Naturally, the days leading up to running into this man was a whirlwind of paranoia for you. Nothing that even your heavy doses of medication could calm, yet, he managed to do it on that simple fifteen minute walk to the grocery store, and that somehow quicker fifteen minute walk back home.

That happy shocked sigh he let out at learning you live right across from him, was weirdly comforting too. As if he was just as relieved as you were that he knew he could at least keep an eye on you if you needed him to. Like he would be willing to call you at three in the morning if he so much as saw suspicious activity outside of your building. Plus, you were debating at the time lying to him about where you live just to comfort yourself, and you’re glad you didn’t.

It caught your attention, and you find yourself longingly looking out of your window today, scanning the building across from you and wondering which one of those rooms would be the most safe for you. Your mother’s voice muffled through your phone as your eyes wander, and a smile forms at her words.

“Don’t you think it’s too soon to be putting your trust into a complete stranger? Honey, I don’t want to watch–”

“I know, Mom. Really, it’s not like that. I barely know the guy but don’t you think it’s a good thing that I have a neighbor now? One that’s willing to walk with me so I’m not alone out here?”

There’s silence on your mother’s end for a few moments before she sighs. 

“It does make me feel at ease, I admit,” She starts, sounding as if she’s going to cry. “I just want you to be careful. And– I want you to tell me things if anything were to happen. I don’t want you to keep anything from me anymore.” 

You sigh now, more in a defeated and sad way as your eyes trail down to the door of Jake’s building and notice him stepping out and heading down the street. 

“I won’t hide anything anymore. The last thing I want is to go through that again, but I’m healing. Really, every day feels a little better, a little safer.” You back up from your window and smile again, grabbing your coat and slipping on your shoes. “I gotta go though. I love you, Mom.” 

You don’t hang up until you hear her say it back, and then you’re out the door to catch up to him. Unsure of why you’re doing it, and ultimately choosing to ignore the fact that you were staring at his building. 

Jake, on the other hand, has been reeling for days. Though, more careful now when he watches you. He even moved his camera slightly, hiding it better since he’s caught you staring out the window at his building multiple times.

It’s confirmation that, at the very least, you think about him. 

“Hey!” 

At first, he thought that voice was his imagination like always. He ignores it, relishing in how well he managed to remember that little rasp you have sometimes when the wind blows like this. Given, he’s only walked with you once to and from the grocery store, the weather was much the same, and your voice cracked a few times in your words to him. 

“Jake, Wait up!” 

He hears it closer now, followed by the sound of foot steps and….fuck. It’s you. You’re really running after him as he makes his way to the local mall, all to buy the next book on his list from your bedroom. 

“Hey?!” He turns to you, unable to control his glee at the turn of events. 

For once, after all this time of him watching you, you’re approaching him without prompting and it only took one official meeting. 

So naive. You do need protection. 

“What’re you doing here looking so warm?” Jake adds, outstretching his arms and watching you pause at the invitation for a hug. “Too soon?” He lets his arms fall before stuffing his hands back in his pocket. 

You panic only for a moment, realizing you definitely need an excuse to be chasing him down like this solely because you crave that short instance of safety he offered you once before. Sadly, you have no excuse. You had nowhere to be today, nor any plans to leave your apartment at all and yet, here you are, avoiding his hug and yet still wanting to stand in front of him.

“Oh,” You instantly come up with a lie. “I was running out to the market again because I forgot to buy something.” 

Jake perks up even more at the idea that he could walk you to and from the market, and possibly even offer that you come with him to the mall. Maybe this is the perfect time to bring up the book you’ve already read, that he, apparently, so desperately wants to read too.

“What did you forget?” He asks playfully, noting in his head that maybe you’re a forgetful person. Which is kind of cute. 

“Uh–” You pause, breaking eye contact and blurting out a random item. “Milk.”

Well, that was a lie and he definitely knows it. He carried that jug of milk that was not forgotten back to your apartment for you. In fact, he hadn’t worked out his arms in a while due to his focus on his abs and stomach that he even felt a little sore due to how long he was carrying it, all while the wind was freezing his fingers to ice for you. 

“Ah, should we go grab you some milk then?”

You don’t think twice before you nod, sighing in relief that the lie was taken at face value and not realizing for a moment that you just impeded on whatever plan he had prior to you interrupting him. 

“Okay, can we stop somewhere else first? If you want?” He eases into the question, studying your expression and loving every moment of it. Craving to be close to you, even just to stare. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I can always just grab milk on my way home and drop it.”

Oh, you were being rude. Only now realizing how you eagerly transformed his errand into your errand. 

“My god, I’m sorry. You’re clearly busy today, it’s okay. I can grab milk later!” You say in a rushed huff, already backing away and trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment. 

You really do cling. Your ex was right about that, and it makes you uncomfortable.

“Wait, no!” He panics, fumbling in a step toward you to close the distance again, feeling far too uncomfortable with how you step away from him. “I’m just headed to the mall real quick to grab a book I’ve been wanting to read. Just a quick in and out, then we can grab your milk. I’ve been wanting to see you again anyway!” 

Jake thinks that may have been too forward for any normal person to say outright, but it’s true. He so desperately wanted to see you again. Up close. He needed to see you again. 

You pause your step, turning back to face him and unintentionally scanning his outfit that day. He’s somehow even more handsome than he was the night you met him, nose slightly red from the cold weather and shoulders stiffened as if he’s trying to hide from the open wind. 

He takes intense note of the way your eyes scan him, and there is an unintentional twitch in his pants at the way you don’t grimace at him. He knew you wouldn’t, after all, he does all of this for you. He’s clean shaved and dressing better because of you. 

“Book? What book?” You ask delightfully, being an avid reader yourself. Of course you’re interested in connecting on a level that isn’t just safety with him. 

“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it but it’s called ‘[redacted]’.” He side eyes only slightly at the anticipated response from you. It was…a bit different than he expected.

You laugh at him. Genuinely, you’re laughing at him, with a snort and all. A laugh that he would argue is cute if it weren’t for the fact that he feels like this could be the first time he fucks up with you. He doesn’t want you to laugh at him for reading this book. He wants you to love that he wants to read it. Its one you wrote on your list, why are you laughing?

“Wait, you’re serious?” You deadpan, standing stiff and shocked. “Even I wouldn’t admit to having already read that very book…” Your eyes trail off before you smile. 

You sense that he’s gone rigid not from the weather, but from your mocking and you lighten up instantly. 

“I just didn’t expect to meet such a handsome guy who reads about a woman who…well, you know.” 

It’s like you could do no wrong as Jake’s eyes tune into yours and you see a sense of sparkle in them. You’d never understand how that simple, off-hand compliment to him is making his heart spiral up, down, and all over behind his ribcage. 

Physically, he can feel his body react to you addressing him as handsome. As if he doesn’t react the same way any time you look at him, or speak to him, or come near him at all. You think he’s handsome. You just admitted it, and he can’t help but already feel high, like he’s on top of the world over it. You must like to look at him, much like how he loves to watch you.

Still, he knows he needs to play it cool despite how in love with you he is right now. You’re the one who seems eager, which means he’s done his part for now, and your chase for him is just beginning. If he comments on your compliment, you’d think of him as too eager. Too ready. As if he had some underlying reason to continue speaking with you. 

Plus, Jake actually has no idea what the book is about, but he was very willing to find out today when he got home. You, however, seem to be keen on discussing it.

“Know what? I only want to read it because it was recommended to me by someone.” He lies.

Your face falters. 

“Oh, was this someone a girl?” You don’t look up, nor do you realize that the two of you have started walking toward the mall regardless of the insecure conversation at hand. 

“Ah, well, maybe.” Jake chuckles. 

He’s in love with you, he’s so in love with that disappointed sound in your voice when you asked him that. He could even, perhaps, sense a bit of jealousy. So soon too? Already? He knew he was right, he was made for you and he couldn’t be happier knowing that you’re picking up on it. 

“A girlfriend?” You pry unintentionally, noting how that book is generally geared toward a female audience who would only ever read a few passages to a man if they were, well, into that sort of dynamic. 

“Why do you ask?” Jake encourages you to boost his ego even more, unable to stop himself from smiling. 

“The book is about a woman who kind of, kills men and eats them, among…other things.”

Oh, wow. He loves you so much right now, even if you spoiled the story for him. 

“Interesting. What makes you think my girlfriend would ask me to read that?” 

“It certainly wouldn’t be a brother or best dude friend recommending it to you, let’s be real.” 

Jake raises his hands in mock defense, ready to see if this makes you like him even more.

“Alright, I’ll admit. I knew what it was about–” He’s lying. “No one actually recommended it to me, I just didn’t expect you to have already read the book, nor did I expect to have to explain myself why I want to read it.” 

“Explain away, Jakey, we got a bit of a walk ahead.”

A nickname?! Already? You're entirely naive and in need of him being beside you. God, what would have happened if some other cunning liar appeared to walk into you and offer to escort you back and forth? You would have swooned the same fucking way! Anyone with eyes can see that you’re flirting, and anyone with a dick can see that he’s eating it up faster than you’re able to put it out for him. 

Regardless of if you seem too quick to trust, he’s proud that it’s him who got to you first, because now no one else will ever get the chance to even consider it. 

“Oh, I’ve got a nickname now? That must mean you like me.” He offers you a sort of drunken dopey smile, only because he feels drunk. Like a lost puppy just invited into a warm and caring pair of arms, really. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re the one going to fulfill your fantasies about–” You try to joke as if he’s one of your best friends from highschool. You remember when you were able to freely have a sense of humor, but before you can finish your joke, you pause, realizing that despite mocking the book and his interest in it, you still don’t know him on a level to do this. Nor should you have given him a nickname so soon. God, how stupid could you be? “Nevermind, I actually have the book if you want to borrow it.” 

You have issues getting too close, too fast. You’re already clinging, watching his building without full intention, and chasing after him down the street simply to speak to him. You don’t know where this feeling inside of you comes from but you can argue that it’s solely due to the comfort he brings to you. You don’t know anyone else in this fucking city save for a few co-workers. When you moved here, you promised that you’d keep to yourself until you heal and feel safe on your own again.

Yet, here you are. Clinging to the handsome man who lives across the street. Clinging to a fucking man. Again.

And you know, even though the two of you are already halfway to the mall by now, he doesn’t mind that you didn’t bring up borrowing the book until now. He was prepared to buy it, and even more prepared to see where your eye wandered just to learn about more of your interests within the rows of books.

“Really?” He smiles and tilts his head at you, turning both of you around with a gentle touch to your arm, very nearly wanting to snake his hand into your pocket and hold your fingers against his. “That’s great, let’s go get you some milk then!” 

And you know, when he waited in the lobby of your apartment, you almost invited him upstairs to your actual space. You didn’t though. And when you handed him the book, and he handed you that milk, only then did you realize that one of the jugs of milk in your possession will have to spoil…and it sure as fuck won’t be the one he just handed to you.

Why? Because you create silly little attachments to the rare moments in your life when you’re happy. This jug of milk is a representation of a lie he accepted, as well as him accepting you and your silly ways of making it through the day. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The panties. 

The scent is dull as he reads and rereads passages of a book that many would consider improper for anyone to even write, let alone publish. Every victim is him, and everyone, everything else is you. 

It’s hard not to be aroused when you so readily invited yourself to be around him that day. Even now having your number, the self control he needs to not frantically text you that he’s in love with you is eating him from the inside out. 

The panties. Still offering the most private part of you but no longer being enough. The camera, offering glimpses of your alone time within a space you don’t quite realize has been shared with him. The taste of your shower wall, your toothbrush, the smell of your clothes, the softness of your sheets, and the trauma within your written words— none of it is enough anymore.

And now, the book, offering plenty to the imagination, turning the pages as if he were playing with your skin, still not enough to satiate him any longer. Nothing could ever satiate the need within him to love you to his full extent or to have you love him back. Especially after having already met you, after feeling your hand against his in that brief handshake, after hearing your sweet voice say words for him to hear and him alone. 

Has he not waited long enough for more? He’s seen you up close and personal, he knows all of your interests that you display, he knows your voice, knows your footsteps— still, he can’t get the feeling out of his mind. What it felt like to stand in the spot within your apartment that ultimately led to his even deeper love for you. His confirmation that he loves you, even.

And now? Texting is easy when he feels this desperate to get to you again. He doesn’t care to be overwhelming to you because he is overwhelmed. You’re the one who approached him last time too, so if anything, the universe is on his side and he fucking knows it. He can feel it in the air with each little breeze that flows past that little crack in his window. He can smell your shampoo with each cold gust of wintery air, and see your reflection in each little snowflake that falls. 

He wants you to chase him again, so bad. Only so that he knows he can chase you harder now.

Jake: hey so i read the book, are you free today?

The way you immediately respond is telling.

You: what did you think? insane story, right?

Jake: not sure if you wanna have this conversation over text…

You: it’s ok, i figured you had some freaky fantasies if you wanted to read that, im not gonna blackmail you or anything

Jake smiles, he’d let you blackmail him any day of the week.

Jake: hmmm what does that say about you then?

You: anyway, im a bit busy today but maybe we can catch up tomorrow? 

No, no no. Tomorrow is centuries away. He knows you’re home, he can fucking see you over there, he can smell you, he can sense you. Not to mention, he’s not an idiot, he can see the way you avoid certain conversations and steer the direction despite making the same joke yourself. 

Silly, silly girl, thinking he can’t read you. If anything, he’d think by now that if you’re really so afraid of the world, or him, or anyone else, you’d have closed those fucking blinds by now. You haven’t though, have you? 

Maybe you know people watch you. Maybe you love it, hoping that he’s the one doing it. Maybe you’re some sort of exhibitionist. Maybe that’s the reason you read that fucking book. Maybe that’s why you were trapped in your relationship before.

There has to be a reason for it at the end of the day, and he hopes that it’s him. You love his jokes, and your avoidance is only further proof that he’s breaking past your little sad and pathetically thin walls. You’d probably love to know he watches you, that he protects you even when you don’t think he’s around. 

And yet, you’re busy today? 

Guess he will be busy too, then, as he stands to his feet and begins to dress himself while texting you.

Jake: Oh, you’re busy? That sucks, i guess i’ll find somethin else to do today then

You: I know :( ill make it up to you soon, promise! 

The buzzing in his brain and need for you is too strong to stay away. That little promise means the world to him, especially because you’ll be making it up to him sooner than you anticipate. You can be busy all you want, but that’s not to say he can’t accidentally end up at the same place as you, right?

Besides, what if your ex comes around? What if some guy gives you unwanted attention and there’s no one there to defend you? After all, his body reacts with euphoria each time he has gotten the chance to be with you, and he craves that feeling once again. You’re going to give it to him, not anyone else.

Jake: alright, be safe today...

You: always am! 

Jake: text me when you make it home safe

You freeze as you read his words, feeling something in your stomach flip. You can’t tell if it’s butterflies or anxiety. Still, you find yourself smiling and your face feeling a bit fuzzy.

He wants you to be safe. That’s more than you could ever ask from someone, because god knows you’ve always managed to find yourself in the most unsafe situations with very little effort. 

You: ok!!! ill text you when i get home so you know I didn’t get run over or something

Jake: it’s more just to make sure someone doesnt kidnap and take advantage of you lol

You freeze again, this time fully aware of the anxiety in your belly. 

Jake: pretty girls like you gotta be more careful, so don’t stay out too late or ill worry

For a second, you almost wanted to cancel your plans. For just a second, you felt good today. You felt safer than usual. 

You: i’ll come home before sundown….thanks

Jake smiles, hoping you recognize the risk you put yourself in each time you leave your apartment without him beside you. Thankfully though, you will never be without him again if he can stand it. 

Besides, you suck at safety. Following you around is far too easy, and popping up when you least expect it is even easier. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Spotted you. 

There you are, with that same puffy jacket he’s grown used to seeing you in considering he only ever really gets to see you outside and on a cold day. In that puffy jacket, you’re walking into a local coffee shop and his eyes sharpen at the image of you through the window. 

The barista takes your order with too much interest, in his opinion. He can see you not take notice on how everyone in this city wants to take you from him. He wants you to notice so bad, he wants you to only want his eyes on you, and to only want his voice in your ear. 

He breathes in the icy air, bottom lip shivering only a little bit at the idea that other people look at you the same way he does, even more so the fact that you might be here to meet someone that isn’t him. You might have friends, and he knows better than anyone that you do not need friends. They’re always out to get you anyway, you should be here with him, not someone else. 

He breathes a sigh of relief followed by a heavy shiver when he sees you take a seat alone, and he dips away slightly when you glance out of the window as if you’re trying to be aware of your surroundings. 

With him around, you don’t need to pay attention to the things around you, he’s hyper aware for you. He could tell your coffee was finished before your name was even called to alert you. 

Honestly, he’s so hyper aware of each person who walks into that coffee shop after you. He sets themself up for failure in his head. Each person gets a stare of daggers, because what if they’re here to meet you? What if you’re trying to make friends? What if you’re trying to date? After all, this little errand must be important to you considering you told him you were too busy to see him.

His eyes continue to fall back on the barista though, staring at the line of sight this man offers to you every few moments. As if he wants to catch you looking at him too, as if he wants you to give him a reason to talk to you, as if he is a better option than Jake himself could be. 

There is a hate within him at this moment as he seethes outside of the cafe window, staring down his competition. He almost completely forgot to look at you until he felt a rush of air push past him and he notes two people walking into the cafe now. 

As he comes back to reality and leaves his little realm of hate for the handsome barista at the counter, his worst nightmares are confirmed. Not only a woman walks in and takes a seat at your table, but a man too. You hug them. You hug him.

Why is everyone all over his girl today? His heart drops. His quivering bottom lip intensifies with the wind, the temperature mimicking the feeling in his heart as he watches you touch other people, and spend time with them. He really, really, needs to know who these people are and why they’re close enough to hug you like that. 

He pats his chest through his hoodie with a breath in an attempt to rid himself of the stress weighing on him, and then straightens out his back before taking one last deep breath and making his way inside of the cafe, straight up to the counter.

There, he tries to balance his breathing as he makes eye contact with the very same barista that keeps pushing dangerously close to a boundary line. His name tag states the name “Jay”, and Jake can’t help but grimace and roll his eyes at how similar their names are. 

He grimaces more at hearing the man speak to him, as if he has all the right in the world to exist on the other side of that counter after staring at you the way he did. 

“Sir? Can I–” The barista repeats himself for a third time, feeling small under the gaze of the customer in front of him. 

“Just a shot of espresso.” Jake dead-pans, still glaring at the man. 

The barista nods awkwardly, shifting his eyes to you on instinct now that he’s done it probably a million times since you’ve walked in. He’s noticed you for weeks, he can’t help it. 

Jake, on the other hand lets out a deep and angry sigh from his nose as he tosses his card onto the counter, clearing his throat at the barista. 

“You seem to have an eye for girls.” Jake lightens up, holding up the short line of one person behind him. 

“Oh–” The barista laughs shyly, “am I that obvious?” he adds, dipping his head down as he slides the card through the machine and turns the screen back to his customer. 

“Unfortunately.” Jake narrows his eyes at him, intentionally and violently clicking the number 0 for this asshole’s tip. “and I’d suggest you contain yourself, because that’s my girlfriend you’re drooling over.” 

And then he walks away, ignoring the way the presumed “Jay” looks at him in embarrassment. He can tell he wants to apologize, and rightfully so. Jake does deserve an apology for how shameless this idiot was, but he doesn’t let him as he makes his way down the counter leans against it with his palms, facing away from you and pretending he can’t sense your warmth from here. 

And then he starts counting in his head. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven…..Thirteen….Twenty si-

“Jake?” 

His heart immediately swells at the way you’d recognize him anywhere, even if he’s facing away from you and he makes sure to make eye contact with the barista when they both perk up at your voice calling out a name. He watches the confirmation in Jay’s eyes click, the confirmation that he is never to look at you again. 

And still, Jake’s heart swells even more in this instance because he could recognize you too, even if you’re faced away from him. Still, he has to keep his cool. One, to make sure he doesn’t appear too eager to see you, as if he definitely followed you here. Two, so the barista doesn’t see his lie. And three, so he doesn’t snap right here, right now over the fact that you hugged someone that isn’t him. Two someones that aren’t him.

 He doesn’t want to interrogate you so immediately, he wants you to give him the answers yourself as to who these people are. 

He pretends to not hear you as he stands facing away from you and grabbing his espresso from the barista who avoids eye contact.

Jake gives a small and fake nod to the barista, as if to show you that he didn’t say anything out of pocket to him. As if to show you that he definitely didn’t just claim you as his girlfriend so the freak behind the counter doesn’t try anything with you.

Then he turns to eye the room, looking for an empty seat, avoiding the corner where you’re blatantly staring at him.

“Jake!” You wave your hands to get his attention, standing up half way as if to stand out from the crowd of puffy jackets and warmed cheeks. 

His eyes land on you, where they rightfully belong and he notes the smile on your face upon seeing him.

Oh, so you did want to see him today. You didn’t smile like that at the barista, or to the people in front of you. There’s another confirmation within him in reaction to this, that soon enough, what he said to the barista won’t be a lie. In fact, it gives him the confidence to push for it now more than ever. 

He raises a brow in mock-surprise to see you before shooting you a half wave, moving his eyes to other areas as if to imply he doesn’t want to intrude. As if to say he isn’t here with you intentionally. 

And then you wave again, raising your voice a bit and saying his name yet again. His eyes land back on you, and the way you pat the seat next to you.

Perfect. Yes, invite him. Prove to everyone who you belong to. Prove who it is you want to see right now, who you want to sit by, who you want to look at. And then, tell him who the fuck these people are. Explain why you hugged them, and why they’re somehow more important than he is.

As he heads over, bowing politely to the man and woman sitting across from you, he seats himself next you to closely. So close that he can feel the friction of your jacket against his hoodie, and immediately his skin is raised in goosebumps as he looks at you and your bright eyes. 

He wants to lay claim to you so badly. He wants everyone to know that you are his, and he is yours. 

“Such a huge city and still we manage to run into each other–” Jake chuckles playfully, looking at you with a soft and gentle smile before glancing at these strangers across from him. “If we keep meeting like this I might just have to ask you on a date.” 

He says it like it’s final, like he’s laying that claim he wants so badly. As he says it, he looks the man that you’re with dead in the eye with exuding charm and confidence. Still, the way you shift awkwardly next to him doesn’t go unnoticed as he turns back to you and takes a sip of his drink. 

“Would that be something you’d be interested in?” He whispers gleefully to you, saying it as if it’s a joke because the people across from him lend you both a smile and a laugh at his blatant and forward words. 

“Jake, this is my mom.” You finally speak out to avoid his question, watching him attach his lips to the hot cup of espresso he ordered, as if to only breathe in the warmth of it. “And this is my uncle.”

Jake immediately stands and bows politely. He appears panicked, embarrassed, to everyone else in the room. He’s not though. Not at all. He is relieved to know that now is his chance to make some sort of impression, now is when he should show his best side. All worry of who these people in front of you are is thrown out the window for the time being, actually. He feels like he’s on top of the world, killing two birds with one stone almost. Or three, if you count Jay. 

If he can get your family to like him the same way he got you to like him, maybe you’d be more inclined to circle back around to his half-joke of taking you on a date. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He stutters, not looking the two in the eyes. “I must have sounded so rude just now, I didn’t mean to intrude–” He continued, only to be cut off by your mother. 

“Don’t mind us, Jake, is it?” She says kindly, glancing to you and then back at Jake. “You must be the boy with the pretty smile who she mentioned the other day.”

Jake does take note of your mother’s reluctance to accept him immediately, and given your past, he guesses that would make sense. Her kind words and smile does not match her eyes when she speaks to him initially, but he’s going to change that now.

Besides, his heart just grew four sizes bigger at your mother outing you to him. You said you like his smile? You said it’s pretty? Fuck, he’ll show you pretty. 

“I can only hope so.” He responds, turning to you and smiling even bigger, noting the way you curl in on yourself in discomfort at the awkward situation. “Always so shy, don’t worry, I think your smile is even prettier.” 

And then Jake trails his eyes to your uncle, proud of the way he felt you shiver at his words.

The man simply judges him, then looks at you with a raised brow. 

“Jake helped me carry my groceries, he lives across the street from me.” You say, feeling stupid and small in the way your mother just fucking embarrassed you in front of the only person you like being around in this city. Still, that judgment from your uncle is called for, you think, and you’ve got to calm his worry for you somehow. 

“Couldn’t just let her carry all that back herself, afterall.” Jake shrugs. “I was raised to know better.” 

Both your mother and uncle nod, going silent for a few moments. 

Then, as if Jake isn’t even here, your mother prompts the conversation that the three of you must have been having before Jake came over. 

“So, have you decided yet?” Your mother asks with no context for Jake to pick up on. 

“Yeah, actually–” You look down, then slightly press your leg against him from under the table. 

As much as you’d prefer this rather telling conversation not to happen in front of Jake, you reluctantly speak in a way that gives little to no context. 

His heart explodes at that simple touch though, ears going deaf from any words you’re saying anyway, and he very nearly shoves his hand under the table to place upon that very same leg. 

Somehow, he holds back, his hand shaking inches above your leg before forcing it back into his own hoodie pocket. 

“I’d like to stay here.” You say confidently now, looking at both your mother and uncle. 

Your mother nods with a smile, your uncle following her reaction. 

“I think I feel safe enough for now.” 

Jake wants so bad to confirm that you’re safe with him, despite knowing exactly what you’re talking about within an instant when he definitely shouldn’t know. 

“Well, you know there’s always a room at home for you if you need to come back–” Your mother seems reluctant to say too much, looking over to Jake with a smile that becomes more genuine. “Keep an eye on her, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

He knows you’d appreciate it and he has gone above and beyond in terms of keeping an eye on you. It’s like, he’s fucking perfect for you. 

Jake nods to her. 

“I’ll do my best.” Jake smiles, now shifting his body up and standing back to his feet. “Well, I’ll leave you guys alone.” He continues, now looking at you. “Text me when you get home safe.” 

And as he walks away with a triumphant and hidden smile, your mother immediately smiles at you in the same way. Seemingly lightening up about Jake as a whole, briefly anyway. 

“Text him when you get home safe, huh?” Your mother pries, kicking you gently under the table and watching you squirm and release the blushing mess that you’ve tried to hold within you for the past few minutes. 

“Ah, yeah, um–” You try to speak, unable to explain the safe feeling you feel around Jake. You’re not sure if it’s a crush, or if it’s just you taking advantage of someone who is being kind. “He’s kind of already been watching out for me, so that's partially why I’m choosing to stay here.”

Your mother nods.

“I can admit that he’s cute–” 

You nod to yourself at those words before your uncle interrupts.

“And polite.” he adds, sipping his strong coffee and offering a look of possible approval.

You dead-pan stare at both of them, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. 

“He likes you.” Your mother continues shortly, looking away from you and not allowing you to hush her of the motherly-instinct. “I’m just saying, honey, please be careful. I know he’s cute, and polite, and seemingly safe. But I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

You look down with internal confirmation. 

“It’s okay to live a little, go on that date with him, but go somewhere public first.” She continues. “Don’t move too fast, you’re still–” 

Everything is overwhelming in this moment. Especially when the truth is put into words and offered to you by the two people you trust most. 

“Healing.” You look down at the table as you finish her sentence for her, thinking of how close Jake was sitting next to you. Wishing he was still next to you because somehow, you felt more safe with him than you do your own family right now.

“Don’t sit there and act like I don’t know how you act when you’re being shy about a boy…” Your mom adds to the silence, quirking a brow and looking to her brother. “You’ve still got your pepper spray if you need to use it.”

“It’s not that I’m worried he would like, be like him.” You interject. “ I just don’t know if I’m ready to act on a stupid crush so quickly.” 

“That’s good, and I’m glad he makes you feel safe. Just please hold onto that feeling, don’t rush just because a cute boy is carrying your groceries.”  Your mother starts again, only to be cut off. 

“Okay, okay. Can we talk about something else now?” You roll your eyes.

Your mother keeps to herself after this, and all you have in your head is wondering how and why your mother seems to partially advocate for this man after a mere ten minutes of meeting him. You can see her try to keep you safe despite her distance from this city, yet she seems to be hoping that Jake is a legitimate defense system for you too. It’s as if she’s looking for comfort in him as well. 

She’s never been one to approve of your crushes either, but somehow, this time is different. And these days? You trust her intuition better than your own.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You: i made it home safe

Jake: good, im really glad. sorry for accidentally ruining your plans today

God, if there’s anything Jake should be sorry for, it’s not that. 

You: it’s ok, i was happy to see you. 

You: my mom seemed to like you

Jake’s cheeks burn reading that as he goes from staring out his window to looking at the screen of his phone. He can tell that as soon as you got home, you headed for your bathroom and you must be in there right now readying yourself for your evening routine, possibly even naked before a shower to text him.

It’s not strange at all that he knows you’re over there all alone, texting him. His body reacts like it always does, and he’s already snaking a hand down his pants just to rub against himself to satiate his body and keep it under control for a bit longer. 

Jake: woah really? how so? 

You type to him almost immediately after each of his responses.

You: idk, they commented on how you asked me on a date or whatever, thinking it was serious. 

Jake: i was serious

You pause, standing at your bathroom sink with your toothbrush in your mouth when a smile creeps across your face. It feels like the first time you ever got asked on a date in highschool, and that little dance of happiness would have been fucking embarrassing if he were to see it. 

Even worse than your reaction to that, your mother would be terrified to know how you shift entirely when you’re alone and talking to Jake. She would faint knowing that you intend to immediately go on a date with him, and she would immediately wake up and faint again knowing that you find yourself letting your guard down entirely around him as well. 

It’s safe to say that, maybe you definitely have a crush on him. Why else would you react this way to how forward he is? Why else are you somehow so willing to go on a date with him despite wanting to stay as far away from relationships as possible?

Why is he so fucking irresistible? Why is he making you feel this way?

You: you were?

Jake: yea, what are you doing rn? 

He’s typing with one hand, legs spread wide while he slouches in his chair and skews his head  to stare through your empty window. He thinks back to the day he stood in your living room looking down at his own window. You could come into your living room now and watch his body jerk with each movement of his palm against himself, phone in hand as he texts you and know exactly what you do to him. 

Each passing moment between his last text to now doesn’t bother him as he works himself up, chewing on his bottom lip and focusing even more on that lit up room across the street, feeling the familiar arousal bubble in his belly as he rips his hand away to grab that same pair of panties he stole from you. There, he shoves them down his pants along with his hand, groaning at the fabric stretching around him like they always do. 

So soft, so gentle.

As for you though, you’re feeling the panic flow through you as you stare in the mirror at your reflection. Right now? He wants to go right now? You just washed your face, and you were about to take a shower. 

You: bout to take a shower, why? 

He groans more at your typed words, remembering the taste of that shower wall, imagining your pretty face with little droplets of water running down it. Imagining droplets of other things running down it. God, his confidence is so high, he’s so fucking horny right now, and he still manages to text you with that one shaking hand. 

Jake: ill come get you right now, i want to go on a date with you

Jake: can i?

His persistence shows his interest in you and it’s so attractive to you right now. Immediately you find yourself spitting, rinsing your toothbrush, and wiping your mouth clean before opening your makeup box again. 

You: right now? 

Jake: right now. 

You: can you give me like twenty minutes? 

There are explosions surrounding him right now, or rather, a very intense orgasm. He scored a date with you and he feels the confirmation run straight through his body and out the head of his cock, all over your panties, his hand, and his pants. And god, he’s a little frustrated that he spent so long trying not to get his own cum on your panties, solely to keep more of that scent of you, but he fucking got a date.

Who cares? He can surely just snatch another pair, possibly right off your legs.

After all, you asked for twenty minutes surely to try and look nice for him. Fuck, that means you want him to look at you the way he always has been. He wonders if you’ll do something different with your makeup, or if you’ll put on a different kind of outfit. All for him.

Finally for him. For him. For him. 

Jake: of course, text me when you’re ready

And then, he just watches as his body makes an attempt to relax. The way you wisp back and forth like a ghost through your apartment, rushing to find something to put on. Even from here he can see you smiling. Running around in a bra and panties, he moans slightly, almost considering fucking his cum into your panties again but ultimately choosing to stand and change him. Mostly because he sees you think hard about your outfit. The way you throw on a shirt only to take it off and slip on a dress instead, despite the cold weather. 

He’s going to give you that same effort, eyes glued to his window as he blindly searches his closet by touch alone. 

He wants to text you again after you run your hands down your stomach in that dress you put on, he wants to tell you to keep it on. He wants to tell you how pretty your matching pair of bra and panties look under it. He wants to say so much, do so much, and containing it is so fucking hard. 

Yet, still, he manages. 

When you stand in your living room, that same dress still on, he watches you throw a jacket over it, he can’t help but wonder if you could sense his hope that you’d wear that. He wants to have a reason to keep you warm, a reason to put his palms on your legs to warm them up, a reason to be close to you. After all, this is a date, you’re inviting him to be close to you, right?

And then his phone buzzes and he struggles to tear his eyes from the image of you standing there with your phone in your hand. 

You: okay, im ready! 

Jake immediately sighs, staring up at the ceiling to get his body to calm down. His dick is twitching wildly in his pants again, his hands are sweating, his entire body is vibrating. It’s finally happening. 

You’re going on a date with him, and he’s had the perfect place planned and in his mind since the first day he met you from your window. 

He’s quick to throw on an outfit, slip on his shoes, and run out his door. 

Jake: on my way outside now, meet me in your lobby in 5

You’re fucking beaming. For the first time in a long time feeling like you may be the luckiest person in the world. There is no pain within you as your butterflies overtake every amount of angst you had about meeting someone under circumstances of dating. 

You’re here to get away from your ex, not to fucking ban yourself from having a good time. You want to have fun. You want to stop being afraid. 

And god, Jake is like, the perfect guy for it. 

You enter the lobby to find him standing proudly against the wall, propped up in a lazy way and already looking at you with a dopey grin. He looks flushed, proud, and happy. Arguably, he’s even more attractive now than you ever thought he was before and instantly, you’re ten times more shy than you’ve ever been. 

“There she is,” He smiles, spreading his arms out to invite you into a hug like he tried to do before, and he’s shocked that you step into his grasp. “was starting to worry I was too forward.” He adds, immediately burying his face against your neck. 

You smile against his chest in the hug, feeling so warm for the first time in your life. A warmth that comes from something other than rage or tears. Already, you can feel your body shiver at the way his arms wrap tightly around you in a hug that doesn’t feel condemning. 

You don’t feel trapped against another person, and it’s a welcome change. 

“You definitely were a bit too forward but–” You pause, stepping out of his grasp and feeling the empty air replace his arms. “It made me feel better about liking it.”

Jake gives a reassuring smile before lending his hand to you and instantly intertwining his fingers with yours, shoving them into his hoodie pocket, and dragging you close to him before leading you out of the building. He’s reeling from the hug, feeling the way your breasts pressed up against him, the way you sighed against him, and the way you smelled while you did it. 

God damn. 

In his head, that hug from you felt better than any sex he’s ever had to date. His entire body reacted as to be expected, to the point he was thankful that you weren’t as close in the hug from the waist down as he wished you would have been. You would have felt that reaction, you would know how you wake his entire body up. 

Thankfully, the cold air outside lends him a hand in taming his lower half, and also lends your hand to him to keep warm. 

“Where are we going?” You ask out, voice gentle in the night air, unaware of how the man next to you is buzzing from his feet to the top of his ears. 

He’s struggling not to lose his mind. 

He can see your breath, and wants to swallow it. Each huff and puff, each word, he can visually see it in this icy night, and he knows it has to be warm despite the minty toothpaste he can smell on you.

God, he knows what your mouth tastes like, the smell sending shivers down his spine at the reminder of how he sucked your essence off of the bristles you must have used just minutes before now. He wants to kiss you, he wants to kiss your breath, he wants to devour the air and aura that surrounds you when you’re next to him. 

Honestly, the cold weather does not freeze his bones. He feels entirely hot, leading you to his favorite place in the city. 

“Nothing big, I assume you ate with your family so I figured we could skip the regular date stuff. I want to take you somewhere quiet and pretty.” He looks over at you, hoping you see how much he adores you. 

Somehow, you do notice something in his eye. A shine, a glint. It’s something you’ve never seen in any pair of eyes that looked at you. His pupils seem to be dilated and his eyes almost look black, still, that smile reaches those same dark eyes, indicating to you that he is happy. 

He looks happy to be with you right now. 

And on any other day, a man you barely know saying he’s taking you somewhere “quiet” would scare you. But….you’re not scared. You’re looking forward to it, actually. 

He gives your fingers a squeeze as he waits for you to speak back to him, leading you easily through the city streets. 

“Quiet and pretty?” You say, looking up at him. “Does this place happen to have a heater?”

It doesn’t. But that’s what he’s for. 

“Unfortunately, no, but–” He goes to say, and you stop walking for a second. “I was going to say I could keep you warm, I mean, if you want. If not, I can take you somewhere else.”

You look down, weighing the options on whether you want to be that close to him so immediately, or if you’d rather follow the general rule of dates. Dinner, movie, goodnight kiss. You already hugged him, and you can admit to liking the way his arms hugged you. Maybe you’re not entirely against the idea, despite feeling alarm bells deep in your brain go off, telling you that you’re moving too fast. 

And then you wonder why you start walking again, and why you’re imagining him holding you close, huddling your body against his to keep you from shaking. Intimacy. You’re thinking of intimacy. 

Why does it feel good? Why does the thought excite you? 

“You’ll keep me warm?” You reluctantly ask, your fingers twitching in his within that hoodie pocket. 

“Yeah, I mean, if you’re comfortable with that. I don’t want to seem too forward–” His fingers squeeze yours tighter, as if to comfort you. 

You sigh, chuckling. 

“Like I said, I like that you’re forward— just, no funny business okay? This is a date, not a hookup.”

Jake pauses, glancing away.

As much as he’d love to lay you down against cold, moon-lit grass and taste the entirety of your body. As much as he wants to hear you call out to him, feel you react to him, he knows what’s inside of your head better than you do, he knows he needs to tame that need for now. The fact alone that you even imagined it for a second, just to find out if you want that now, just to tell him that you don’t want it yet, is enough to satisfy him. 

It won't be long until you’re asking for it anyway. 

Plus, he would never do anything to you without your consent. If he’s allowed to keep you warm tonight, that alone is better than anything he could ask to experience. 

“No funny business.” He uses his other hand to hold out a pinky to you. “Jesus, what kind of guy do you think I am?”

Suddenly, you feel guilty as you take his pinky into your own and seal those words into a promise. Jake picks up on the way your face falls.

“I haven’t been on a date in over a year. Been avoiding it if I’m being honest,” He starts to explain as a way to soothe you, guiding you gently through a large gate. As if to connect with you on your level of discomfort. “My last relationship ended pretty badly, I didn’t think I’d ever want to date again.”

You perk up at his words, looking at him as he guides the two of you through a dark and grassy area. You can still tell his eyes are shining as he shares this with you, making you feel special and….not alone in your anxieties about this. 

“I don’t know what it is about you, or why I immediately want to skip all of the casual shit when it comes to dates but, this is where I wanted to bring you.” He smiles when he stops you, standing in front of you and grabbing your other hand, holding it, and shoving it into his hoodie pocket alongside the other. “Not because I was trying to come onto you. If I was going to do that, I would've asked you to come home with me.” 

You feel his icy knuckles and squeeze his hand hard to try and warm it up. Maybe to comfort him, or to thank him? 

“I didn’t even bring my ex here. I actually came here to get away from her sometimes.”

You look away when the blood rushes to your cheeks at the way he’s talking to you. He’s acting like the two of you have been on at least ten dates by now, but it’s only been one.

Somehow, some way, you lean into it. Into him. 

“My last relationship wasn’t very good either. Was so bad that I actually find it hard to believe that I’m on a date with someone right now, I still don’t even know if I’d know how to love again.”

You pause, closing your lips tightly and feeling awkward for saying the L word so fast like that. Implying that you don’t know if you could love Jake.

“Would you feel better knowing that I’m not asking you to think of the future?” He offers, slowly lowering himself and pulling you to the bare ground with him. 

The dirt is cold, but Jake is warm. 

“Just worry about how you feel today, when you’re with me. If you’re enjoying it, there’s no reason to worry about what you might feel–” He reaches for you to turn you around and drag you onto his lap before quickly enveloping you into his arms. “Or what you might not feel.” He pauses with a squeeze against you. “Is this okay?”

You don’t understand why it’s okay that he’s being so touchy, but he is warm, and any shiver that threatened to hit you now only comes in the form of butterflies seeping out of every pore on your body. He’s pulled you into his lap as if to keep you from having to sit on a blanket-less ground, and his arms are around you as if to remind you that blankets only exist for people who don’t have him.

It takes so much self control not to pull away when you feel his chest breathing against your back, but it takes even more self control to not turn around and cling onto him in the same way. You’ve wanted to feel safe so badly, for so long. You wanted to feel this way on your own though, without the need to lean on someone else. 

You’ve never wanted to be a damsel in distress, but goddamn are you fucking distressed. Your trust issues run deep, so fucking deep. Anyone can see that you are a broken person, but not everyone would accept you for it. 

Jake, right behind you, right under you, holding you so close like this the moment you’d let him? He accepts you entirely, and it’s so enticing to you. You can’t turn away from it, you’d only fail yourself. 

You’re so fucking drawn to him, no matter how forward or blatant he is. 

“This is a bit overwhelming,” You start, pulling away from him slightly and turning to look at him. But then you see his face, and how sincere he looks. “But I’ll try to appreciate how I feel right now.”

“Does that mean you’re okay with this?” Jake whispers, pulling you back against him and pressing his face against your shoulder, breathing in deep to get that scent of you into his lungs. 

You don’t notice the way he does it when you nod in response, and the way he’s entirely enamored with you at this moment. He wouldn’t be able to let you go if you asked him to, not when your body is relaxing against him and you’re letting out a small hum of cautious approval. 

“Are you warm?” He continues, shifting his legs only slightly from under you, mostly to make sure you’re coat is offering enough padding under you to keep from feeling the blood pumping in his pants right now. And then, his hands move from his hug down to your legs, big warm palms not moving from the expanse just above your knees, instantly warming you.

He can feel your shivers calm, and your regret for wearing this dress die. 

You nod again, still cautious but also wanting to fight the fear within you so that you can really just enjoy this moment of closeness with someone else. Even if you just met him. Even if you’re afraid. His hands feel like they belong there, as you stare at the way he doesn’t move them higher or lower. They’re really just there to keep you warm, and surprisingly, you don’t know if you could ever feel cold around him at this point. 

“I'm scared of this, you know?” You comment into the night after a few moments of silence, reluctantly holding onto his wrist, pushing them down your leg a bit as if to imply he should rub them. 

He follows your movement, wincing from behind you in a hidden attempt to contain the fact that he very much wanted to moan at that. Feeling your legs against his palm feels so….igniting to him. 

“I know.” Jake says in a matter of fact tone, confident in his words as he bores holes into the revealed skin of your leg when he moves his hands back and forth. 

“You do?” You lift to turn and look at him, but his hands instantly move to your shoulders as he turns you away from him, forcing you back against him in a tight hug. 

Mostly because you do not need to see his face right now, he knows he looks fucking gone. 

“Anyone can see that you’re terrified.” He comments seriously now, placing his head on your shoulder and pressing his cheek against yours. “It’s no wonder I feel the need to protect you.”

You’re shocked that you don’t flinch at feeling his cheek against yours, noting that his lips are just inches from yours. You try to erase the images of kissing him so soon, you’re too weak right now. He makes you feel so weak. 

Instead, you try to think hard about his words. Trying to ignore the way you felt his jaw move against you. Trying to ignore your immense attraction to the closeness he’s giving you. Are you really that obvious? Are you really this desperate to be close to someone? Anyone? 

“Hoping that someday you’ll tell me what it is that makes you so afraid, but for now? Just know that I’d never do anything to make you feel like that.” 

You think harder. 

Much, much harder.

An uncanny feeling in your gut wonders how he finds words that are so meaningful to you. It’s like he can read your mind. It’s like your life is a book that he’s read a thousand times. 

But that’s impossible. You haven’t known him for long, maybe he’s just….a really good person. Maybe you’re just lucky to have bumped into him that day. Maybe it’s lucky that your ex instilled a fear into you so deep that you found yourself living next door to the man holding you right now. 

“How do you do that?” You comment quietly, feeling warmer than you ever could have expected to on a night like this. 

“Do what?” He smiles, now loosening his grip on you, pulling his face back, and spreading his legs so that you’re now sitting between them, rather than on him. 

After all, if he had kept you there, you would have felt what was happening in his pants by now. The way you don’t run away from him, the way you let him touch you has him reacting for more than he ever knew he could. Even after releasing his arousal just before the date, he can already feel the ache. The need to crawl into you, the need to make you fucking love him. 

“It’s like you tell me exactly what I need to hear. It’s fucking weird.” You continue through his movement, scooting back as if to huddle yourself against his warm chest, in turn bumping his pathetically hard cock against your back. 

You try to hide that you’re a little disappointed that you’re no longer on his lap, and the back of your thighs are now freezing against the grass. He, on the other hand, is so fucking thankful that you still manage to not feel what his body is trying to show you right now. His arms immediately wrap back around you, holding you against him much like before.

You really don’t know why you wore this fucking dress, without tights no less. 

“It’s weird?” He questions. “It’s weird that I wouldn’t do anything bad to you if you gave me a chance?”

You look down, feeling those words hit you in the gut. It is weird, but then again, you’ve never really had a relationship with a person who wouldn’t bring harm to you. 

“I–” You pause, thinking as hard as you can without oversharing, hands reaching up to grip his forearms, pressing them tighter against you as if you want him to save you from…well, him. “I have my reasons. I’m not trying to call you weird. It’s just weird how you show up in my life at a time where I think I needed this the most.”

He smiles. 

“Well, you’re going to have a hell of a time trying to get rid of me at this point.”

You smile back.

“Likewise.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Three more dates have taken place since that first night in the empty park. Each date that followed took place in the same spot, with the same weather, and the same offered warmth. 

By now, you find yourself unable to avoid thoughts of him. Thoughts of how badly you like him after learning of his interests, after seeing how he carries himself, and how he treats you over all. The way he seems so in tune with everything you could ever want or need, filling you with only safe care rather than horrifying uncertainty.

Jake likes the same books, tv shows, music, movies. All of them line up near perfect to your own favorites and suddenly you believe that the red string of fate exists. Jake is careful when he touches you, never pushing and only offering, suddenly, that red string of fate is attached firmly to your pinky. Jake looks at you like he sees one of the world's wonders, which was uncomfortable at first for you, but you think that maybe the other end of this little invisible red string is tied to his other pinky. 

Your entire life of fucking horror led to this point, where the universe finally gave you the person you’d want to be with for real. Any other man would make you feel cautious, Jake though? Jake does nothing but make you feel like, for the first time, you don’t need to have a guard up. The fact that he managed to do this so fast is a bit telling on your end, that perhaps you put too much faith in people, but goddamn, it looks like he works so hard to show you that you’re not wrong about him.

On your last date, he even tried to kiss you. You panicked, backed away, and felt so fucking embarrased, until he texted you a mere fifteen minutes after parting ways and apologizing, stating that he didn’t know what came over him. 

He apologized to you. He didn’t take what he wanted despite your fear, he didn’t push or pull, he simply allowed you to exist beside him, in front of him, even behind him if it’s what you wanted at the time.

God, you should have kissed him. You should have kissed him hard enough for him to realize that you’re trying. 

You’re trying to be a person again, for yourself, for Jake, for your mom and uncle. Still though, he doesn’t know the shit you’ve gone through, or the shit you’re running from. You feel so dissociated at times, wondering how strange or odd you must react towards him during the dates he takes you on. Yet, he doesn’t falter. He doesn’t question. He doesn’t force you to feel like you need to apologize at all.

And this is all you can think about now. About Jake. About what he’s doing, about how he must be feeling today, about how he wears his hair, and how his alternating hoodies always offer warmth on a cold night when the two of you are sitting closely together on the ground just…talking.

The thoughts of him don’t stop and it’s kind of nice. Having your fears so loud in your ears every day, anxieties of your ex eating you alive, and fear of being alone in a big city can get quite loud and exhausting after so long of not being able to escape. Thoughts of him are the only thing that calms your mind lately, so you probably wouldn’t stop thinking of him even if you had the choice.

Unfortunately, that choice is made for you today, once again, just two days after that third date with Jake. 

A single text from an unknown number that shifts your brain into a fuzzy focus of terror. Your mother told you to change your number, and you really should have done it by now. You have no excuse as to why you haven’t, but you have the reason as to why you should have done it shining brightly in your notifications center. 

The unknown number is just that, unknown, but you know who it is already. 

Your fingers shake when you tap the screen and your eyes go dead upon the message. This confirms that your body will always know when he is around, you will always have to feel this way for as long as he’s thinking about you. 

Unknown Number: heard you got a job over at [redacted company name], mind if we have lunch?

You don’t know who told him, you don’t know how he found out where you are, or where you work. All you know is that now, the buzzing thoughts of Jake fizzle out and are quickly replaced with that of searing reminders of what happened, and what will likely happen if your ex is really trying to get to you already.

It’s the fact that the police did nothing. It’s the reality that they wouldn’t let you procure a restraining order. It’s the fact that he got away with everything he did to you, and wants to get away with more. You’re just a girl, alone in a city who thought this was the best course of action. 

You can’t even bring yourself to tell anyone that he texted you. Your mother would scold you for not changing your number fast enough, despite already knowing you haven’t done it yet. It would somehow be your fault that he found you despite his insistent attempts to keep you as his, as if you belong on a chain tied to a tree in his backyard. 

You call out of work, explaining the situation. Your managers are already aware of your safety concerns and the situation at hand, and you’re lucky that they really do live up to the promises they made when you took the job. 

All three sick days can be used right now if you need them but after those three days, you have to either work from home and be willing to come into the office if you are needed, or you need to put in your notice and leave. 

Naturally, you take the sick days, and you intend to work from home. 

Despite not feeling safe here, considering the few items in your apartment that went missing not too long ago, it’s safer than walking to and from work. It’s safer with Jake just next door. It’s safer with the security guard in your building’s lobby. 

You’ll be okay. This will pass.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake is at a loss, nearly ripping his hair out day by day when you don’t text him back. 

When he looks to your window, the lights stay off consistently, the curains are fucking closed. You haven’t left your apartment for work, you haven’t texted nor have you called. 

It’s been six days, nine hours, thirty eight minutes, and nine seconds since he last saw you and the only thing he can think of is that he fucked up. 

He tried to kiss you, and you eased him into a rejection by pretending everything was fine until you felt comfortable enough to stop talking to him. For three days now, you haven’t responded to him.

Three days without any hint of you, and six days without feeling you in his arms. 

He’s going insane and not even jerking off helps calm him down like it normally would. He feels like he could lose it at any moment as he paces his apartment with a buzzing non-stop energy within him, stopping at his bedroom window to stare for hours only to see no movement in your apartment. Only to still see the lights remaining off. Only to see the blinds locking him away from you.

Sure, he’s got the grainy footage of you from weeks past, the footage from the day you got dressed for your first date with him, and the footage from each date after that but he doesn’t have you. The last two days contain footage of blinds swaying, that’s it.

He was so close, he really thought he was. He thought he had you, he thought you were almost ready to let him move to the next level. He thought you would accept if he were to ask you to be his girlfriend, he thought you would let him kiss you, and let him into your apartment, and let him exist within the air you breathe. 

But you left. 

So, naturally, he works up the courage to grab his camera and hook it into his pc. Obsessively searching for any sign of you within the footage from last night. He tries not to think about missing a glimpse of you as he is away from his window, seeing as how you must not be home. You must have left days ago just to get away from him.

Until…as he fast forwards all of the footage, he sees a light flicker on. 

The timestamp reads four in the morning, and the light stays on for a mere minute and a half before turning off again. 

One thought floods his mind. 

Did you find out that he watches you? 

Then another thought.

Are you hiding from him? 

And one last thought. 

How can he explain and still get you back?

And as he continuously paces his apartment, unable to focus on anything other than knowing you���re in your bedroom hiding, nothing on this earth could calm his frantic brain.

Should he go over? Should he come see you? Should he text you again? Should he–

Pacing the same path in his apartment for far too long, nearly ripping his own hair out, he stops in his tracks at the sound of his phone. He knows that vibration like his own mother tongue by now. That’s you. You’re finally texting him back.

You: are you mad at me?

The relief is instant and near orgasmic. The first contact in what felt like an eternity for him in his head, he takes a deep and calming breath. His eyes flick back to your window, where your apartment still appears to be hidden from his view. 

Jake: never, i was just worried since you stopped talking to me. 

You stare at your phone, scrolling up the some fifty text messages Jake sent you over the last several days and feel awful for not once checking your phone. To be fair, you’re afraid that every message is from your ex and you eventually just ended up turning your phone off. 

After all, you remember what happened the last time you blocked him. That wasn’t even an option for you at this point if he really knows where you are. 

The fear inside of you is so strong by this point that you can’t help but want Jake to be with you. Even inside of your apartment, where you’ve yet to invite anyone aside from family. You just want one single day of calm, one single moment of feeling okay. The past three days have been nothing but a paranoid delusion for you. 

Each sway of your curtains in front of your blinds is a person who isn’t meant to be inside of your space. Each footstep in the hallway outside of your apartment isn’t other residents, it’s someone trying to get inside. Those missing batteries from weeks ago? It was him. Your missing panties? He has them. 

Just like Jake, though unknowing to you, you have been pacing much like he has. You’ve been on the verge of ripping your hair out too.

You: i think we need to talk

Jake’s relief turns to curiosity, to confusion, to horror, to excitement.

Jake: of course, love

Jake: do you want to go to the park again tonight? 

You shake your head as you text back with a firm “no”, wanting so badly to explain to him why you’re acting the way you are, and why you’ve always acted so defensively. You need him to understand so that he doesn’t leave. You need him solely because he is all you’ve got right now. 

You: no

You: ill explain everything but can you like…

Jake’s ears twitch as if he can hear your words, with your pretty voice, and that cute pitch it has when you talk to him. 

You: i don’t like to invite people to my apartment but I'd really just rather you come over. 

In less than a second Jake’s heart threatens his health. Yes, yes, yes. Fuck yes. After days of festering in love rot for you, months actually, you’re finally inviting him. All forms of negativity towards your lack of speaking to him lately is laid to rest instantly as he jumps to his feet and makes his way to the bathroom to clean up. 

Jake: just tell me when, you know I’m here when you need me. 

It’s a shame that he said that, really, because you take it to heart. You need him now and will probably need him far past his ability to give to you. He will grow so tired so fast, surely, but you can’t deny nor can you avoid that you need him. 

You need his comfort, his safety, his smile, his dilated pupils each time he looks at you, and his careful hands reluctant to hurt you. 

You: can you come now?

Jake is already out the door, following the same path he took the first time he went to your apartment. Honestly, it’s quick enough to remind you that he’s just next door. 

Jake: im in the lobby, where do I go?

You pause, briefly realizing that you’re inviting a man into your apartment just so you can feel safe from another man you once invited into your life the same way. You were so enamored with your ex, never thought he could have done what he did to you, but he did. He shattered you from the inside out through years of meticulous work, and he’s still doing it now, all because you trusted him.

It’s driving you to act as recklessly as you once did, and it’s like you’re compelled to do it. You feel forced to trust Jake, despite none of the force coming from him. It’s coming from deep within yourself. Your brain is repeating whispers of “do it, do it, do it.” when it comes to him. 

You can’t resist it. 

You don’t want to resist it. 

You’re fast when you text him your floor and room number, and somehow still find yourself shocked at how quickly there is a knock on your door. 

Jake didn’t need your informational text though, he knew exactly where to go. He knows where he belongs, and the excitement within him to have an explanation from you is one thing. The excitement of standing inside of your apartment with you is another. 

His thoughts remain on that camera he placed back into his window, knowing that he will finally see himself in the footage with you, in the very spot he thinks about the most. He’s worked so hard for this, so hard. 

And his hands are shaking when you open the door, his heart is shaking when he takes in the scent he remembered from before, his legs shake as he takes a step in with a face of somewhat genuine concern for you, simply to hide the way his entire body is fluttering in euphoria. 

“Hey,” You start, trying to be nonchalant, trying to ignore that you look like shit. “Sorry for the mess.” You add, gesturing to not only your apartment, but at yourself as well.

“Aw,” Jake coos, poking out his bottom lip before opening his arms wide as he hears the door fall closed behind him. “Come here.”

Instantly you do, and instantly your face is hot. 

Searing. On fire.

Jake freezes, feeling the warmth against his chest paired with the death grip your arms instantly lock him into. This grip on him is painfully heavy and seeped with emotion, he can feel your hot tears soaking into his hoodie and it raises goosebumps across his skin. 

This is where he belongs. 

“I’m sorry–” You hiccup, feeling stupid for instantly crying at the touch of another person. “This must seem so annoying to you.” 

“Sorry for what?” He asks gently, finally managing to come back to your reality to hug you and hold you there, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. “Is everything okay?”

He can’t bear to let you pull away, so he holds you tighter against him, willing those salty sweet tears to seep through both layers of his clothing to his skin. Somehow, you still manage to make him fall harder for you. He’s so fucking in love with you. The way you cling to him like this? You’re everything he’s ever wanted and more. 

You try to pull back though. Once, twice, and by the third time he finally relents and lets you back away. 

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze for just a moment and seeing the concern in his eyes. Pupils still dilated like they always are, but brows knitted together, with a small tilt to his head to offer a silent question.

You turn away from him to hide your face. You feel so seen, so vulnerable, and so stupid for involving him in this. 

“It’s–” You pause, catching your breath and wiping your cheek as you try to make your way back to your safe space. Your bedroom. “It’s a long story.” You finally mutter out. 

Jake notes where you’re headed and doesn’t want that. He needs his camera to get this, he needs to look back on this moment later, he needs to remember the smell of your tears, the feeling of your pain, the suffocating atmosphere within this apartment. 

So, he takes a seat on your couch, blatantly ignoring how your voice fades before getting closer again. 

You look at him when you go back to the living room, confused as to why he doesn’t follow you. 

“You mentioned not inviting people into your apartment, don’t you think it would be best if I stay here for now?” He offers, giving you instant comfort in the way he doesn’t try to invade your space. “Come over here.” He continues, patting the couch cushion next to him and glancing to your window for a moment. 

You watch him continue his own train of thought, shifting to reach for the blinds and open them. “It’s so dark in here, let me see you, love.”  He offers again, going back to patting the couch after letting the sun in and making it seem, somehow, more enticing. “Please?” 

You listen, quietly making your way to him and sitting closely against him. 

“I thought I scared you away because I–um,” He gazes at you as he speaks, seemingly studying the emotional baggage under your eyes. “tried to kiss you.” He trails off, very much wanting to kiss you again. 

“That didn’t scare me.” You shake your head, still trying to avoid his eye now that you know the sun is allowing him a true view at how destroyed you must look. “It’s just, we’ve been on a few dates now and I like you– alot.” You say more to yourself than to him, as if you’re confirming internally that you need to explain some things to him before giving him the option to run away. “I feel like I–”

“I like you.” He interrupts you. “Alot.” He continues, becoming hyper-aware of everything in the universe. He can feel the hairs on his head grow, he can hear the birds a country away, he can taste the sunlight spilling against your watery eyes. 

You like him, and he likes you. 

And he takes intense note of the way you dip your head, a small smile curling up on the permanent frown you previously had. 

“But Jake,” You say, letting your face fall again. “I think we need to talk about some things before, like, you decide if you really like me.”

That’s silly. He knows everything about you already. He’s in love with you, nothing you could say or do will ever change that. He wishes you could see it, he wishes you knew that he was made for you. 

“There is nothing you could say to change my mind,” He says sternly, turning towards you and attempting to make you look at him by grabbing your chin gently between his pointer finger and thumb, “Hey, look at me.” He urges you, pleased in the way you do turn to look at him. 

He’s stunned. The whites of your eyes are red, your eyelids are puffy, you appear to be so tired, and still you are so beautiful to him.

For a moment, you take note of the way he looks at you and wonder how he could genuinely think that way and show it so blatantly. Are you the one who is acting recklessly here, or is it him? Somehow, it brings you comfort, even if you feel the need to force your eyes away from him. 

He doesn’t let you, and you let him not let you. 

Your eyes stay on his. 

“I don’t think you realize how much I want to be with you.” He admits blatantly, forcing you to forget your train of thought for a total of three seconds before your eyes really lock onto his. “I don’t think you’ll ever realize that.” He continues. 

“Jake,” You mutter out, feeling so full of emotion that you weren’t quite prepared to accept yet. “Please,” You mutter again, continuously losing your thoughts, only to gain them back moments later, and then lose them again when his eyes stare through you. “Please, let me explain something before you say that.” 

He pulls his eyes away now, closing them and pinching the bridge of his nose out of frustration before breathing out and adjusting his eyes to you again. 

He nods reluctantly, relaxing against your couch and throwing his arm around the back of you, pulling you to lean against him, where you can instantly hear the way his heart is beating. 

It’s beating fast. So fast that it’s almost distracting to you if you think too hard about it. So, you don’t. You try to ignore the way it beats against the top of your head just so you can finally give him some insight on why you haven’t texted him, on why you didn’t let him kiss you, on why you’re so reluctant. 

“Remember how we were talking about our last relationships?” You finally say, feeling his hand on your shoulder rub little shapes against your shirt in a comforting way.

He hums, continuing to trace his own name against your sleeve as he confirms your words. Because of fucking course he does. He remembers everything about you. 

“Mine was bad.” You pause, willing the emotion to say in your throat. “Really bad.”

“How bad?” Jake encourages you instantly, already knowing the answer. 

To be fair though, he’s been waiting to hear the words from your own mouth. He’s been pretending to not know this entire time, holding in his rage when he’s in front of you, seeing how it affected you, feeling what he did to you through your lack of trust and affection. 

“I think you could probably guess, considering I didn’t let you kiss me.” You try to say without going too deep into it. “Considering I’m afraid to let you touch me.”

“But you did.” He says calmly, running the hand on your shoulder down to your waist to pull you in closer. “You did let me touch you.” 

You recoil internally. 

“I let you hug me, and I let you keep me warm.” You admit. “I don’t know why I let you though. I wasn’t afraid when it was with you.” 

Jake knows exactly what you’re trying to say to him, and loves that you admit that he’s different. He is different because of you and for you. His stomach flutters at the fact that you know that, and you accept it.

“Because I wouldn’t hurt you.” He continues to echo his words to you, seemingly giving you a final answer to a question in your head that you have yet to find an answer to. “Because I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt you.”

God, the warmth that floods your body is what you’ve been wanting. This is why you wanted him to come over. This is why you need him. You can’t do this alone, you want him here with you.

“I think, deep down, you know that I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to you again.” He continues, talking for you, talking as if he is inside of your head. 

“I can make an assumption on what he did to you and I don’t need to know how far it went, but it’s not going to keep me away from you.” He takes in a sigh, releasing his next words with a breathy chuckle. “I have always wanted to be with you, and I still do.” 

He feels the way your breathing evens out as you listen to him. 

“Did you stop talking to me because of this?” He finally asks, letting the question hang in the air before his hand grips your waist tightly, holding you so close against him that you’re nearly on top of him. “Did you think I wouldn’t fight to have you?” 

The words are brash and hard to swallow, but that’s not why.

If you could, you would have gone the rest of your life without telling another person what happened to you. You don’t want it to define you, and you don’t want Jake to ever feel like he needs to fight for you. 

You shake your head.

“No.” You say sternly, now wrapping your own arm around his middle and hugging him as tightly as he does to you. Your head dips below his chest, up against his ribs as you curl yourself into him entirely, preparing to tell him. “I moved here to get away from him–” You start, feeling your body shiver in each spot your ex hurt you from before. “And I think he found me.”

You feel it before Jake realizes it himself, but it’s like all of the warmth left his body within seconds. He stiffens, his grip on you loosens, and he trembles for just long enough for it to be noticeable. 

“What?” He says, breathing in through his nose and staring straight ahead, seemingly out of it. 

“He texted me a few days ago, mentioning he knows where I work, asking if I want to have lunch with him.” You try to explain. “I freaked out, I called in, and I haven’t left my apartment since.”

“He what?” Jake repeats, now slowly turning to you.

For the first time when you meet his eye, you see his pupils constrict. They’re not dilated, in fact, they’re tiny. Horrifically tiny. And if you look hard enough, it’s almost like they’re vibrating against the pretty brown color of his iris. The simple act of watching them change like that felt uncanny. You pull back from him, shocked at the expression and not quite recognizing him compared to moments before. 

And then, he realizes your reaction to him and is immediately pulling himself back to you. He pushes that shocked rage back for now. Just for now. His pupils fall back into their permanent dilated state. His face softens, his body relaxes, and then he’s holding you again. 

“No one can hurt you when I’m here.” He finally whispers out, trying to keep his voice even and warm to calm you down. “So, he found you? So what?” He continues, letting his confidence take over. “I already told you, he can’t touch you.”

For some reason, his initial reaction sinks into the back of your mind as he holds you like this and says things like that. Why? Because you believe him. 

Somehow, you believe him. 

“Can you promise me that?” You ask reluctantly, taking everything you can get from Jake at this moment in an attempt to feel safe, to feel better. 

He nods instantly, and keeps nodding as he shifts his head to look down at you. This prompts you to look up at him, making direct eye contact and holy fuck. It hurts him not to dip down and make you forget that anyone else in this world exists aside from him. 

From this angle, as you look up to him with a promise swirling around the two of you, he knows he’s got you. You’ve never looked at him like this. There is no hint of doubt, curiosity, confusion, or fear in your eyes as you wait for him to answer. 

All he can do is stare at you, breath caught in his throat at the constant realization that he’s here. You’re against him, you’re talking to him, you’re looking at him, you’re–fuck, you’re everything he’s ever wanted or needed in life. 

“I can promise you that, and more.” He finally whispers out to you, knowing you can feel his words spread across your forehead. “I think I’d do just about anything for you.” 

You nod, keeping eye contact with him for a moment more before lying your head back against him and breathing a big sigh of relief. 

“I guess I’m yours then.” You sigh out, feeling comfortable saying the words. 

And oh. 

Oh, the fucking joy that rattles every bone in his body. The immense amount of love, adoration, and wonderstruck devotion he feels for you fills his body from the core, he can feel it seep out of him with each breath, each tear that reaches his eye, each goosebump, all of it. 

You’re his. You said it. With your own voice, your own words, your own thoughts, right up by his heartbeat, you fucking said it.

“Yeah,” He says in his own shaking breath, blinking away the first tear he’s felt in his eye for years, wanting to squeeze you so tight that you go numb. “You are.” He continues, swooping down just slightly and prompting you to look at him again.

Those dark eyes are dazed, and once again you feel like he sees you as the only other breathing person on this planet with him. It’s….so nice.

Silence hangs in the air as you look at each other, seemingly confirming a relationship that feels more uncertain to you than it does to him, but you know you’ll try. You want to be his safety too, you want to give him everything you have. 

And then he says it. 

“Does this mean I can kiss you now?” 

It hurts you when you hear the way he says it. So uncertain and reluctant to cross a boundary. You’re trying to confirm his feelings for you, the feelings that you feel so lucky to receive. You’re trying to make him understand that he’s the only person you’re comfortable with. He’s the only one you’d ever let kiss you. 

You’ve made him hold back so much, you can imagine. 

You nod to him first, watching him almost immediately close in to do just that, but you pull back on instinct. 

“Just–” You raise a hand in front of him, putting your fingers to his lips to halt him. “Let’s go slow.” You say, already knowing he will accept it. He will go slow for you. 

“Love, you really just don’t get it.” Jake smiles, averting his lips and landing a kiss to your forehead, relishing in the feeling of your skin against his lips for the first time. “I have enough patience for both of us.”

And if only you knew how true that statement is. For him, he’s already been waiting for this moment since before you knew he existed. Despite his small moments of losing control, needing more, he could have waited even longer for this moment with you. All of it is worth it in the end if he gets to hear you call yourself his again. 

You are his. You have always been his. 

And you decide at that moment that he is right. He’s been nothing but patient with you, and has done nothing to make you feel otherwise. 

A kiss wouldn’t hurt, a few kisses wouldn’t hurt. 

So, you lift your head just a bit more, closing your eyes softly and waiting for him to do it. Waiting for him to kiss you, waiting for him to–

“Little more,” He encourages you, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. “Just a little closer.” 

And you do. The least you can do is close the distance for him, especially after what he just learned about you. He probably wants you to be the one to approach him, he probably doesn’t want to cross a boundary, or scare you. 

For Jake, the way you listen without a hint of hesitation is…well. It scares him. It scares him how every assumption he had about you was right. Given, he knew he would be, but experiencing it right here, right now, is amazing to him. 

He keeps his eyes open through all of it, seeing your heavy eyes stay closed as you place your lips on his. 

It’s so soft. Your lips are plush when they’re puckered against his own, soft, so fucking soft. He chokes back a relieved sob at finally getting this from you, hiding it with a thick swallow and his hands rushing up to cup both of your cheeks in his hands as he lets himself feel you like this.

He’s thought about it so much. Just these few seconds of feeling you kiss him already exceeds his expectations. He can feel your eyelashes flutter on the tips of his fingers, and it only makes him tilt his head just a bit to slot his lips against yours in a more comfortable position.

He doesn’t move after that, nor do you. Both of you just feel it. 

It’s the first time you’ve kissed anyone since your ex and even he didn’t hold your face against his like this, despite swearing he loved you more than life itself. You can feel the burn at the corner of your eyes, and you breathe out through your nose to try and keep them in. 

You don’t even notice the tears that escape until Jake is tasting them, relishing in what you’ve chosen to give to him. Never realizing how good pain can taste until it comes from you, and then he pulls back just slightly.

It was nothing but a long and drawn out act of lying lips against each other. There was no tongue, there were no frantic movements. It was just…a first kiss, that lasted what felt like years to you, and only a split second for Jake.

He blinks down at you, noting the beads of tears bunching up in your bottom lashes and uses his thumb to swipe just under your eye. That view alone of seeing his hand do it was enough to confirm for him that he is no longer chasing. You are his, and never will another person get the chance to look at you as closely as he does. 

“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” Jake smiles when he says it, feeling your tears nourish his body. 

You nod, still blinking up at him. 

“In passing, on dates. Never like this though.” You admit in a small voice, feeling a bit shy with the way you feel entirely new when he’s with you. 

“I’ll tell you every day.” He says, leaning down to connect his lips with yours once again solely because he can’t choose between staring at you or kissing you now. 

All of his senses are in overdrive. Kissing you, looking at you, sitting on your couch in your apartment, none of it will ever satiate his need for more, more, fucking more of you. And all of it is happening right there, in front of his camera. 

He can relive this time and time again for the moments he can’t be with you. 

You stay silent after that, alternating between the same long and simple kisses and staring at each other until you can see the sun shift positions in the sky. Sometimes he will say things during this time, sweet and passionate words that only make you feel safer and safer in your own space.

Up until you feel his body shift and his hands pull back to his own body.

You look at him as if he just interrupted a very important moment in your life, and in a way, he did. You could sit with him like this for three hours more if he allowed it, but unfortunately, nature does tend to call. 

“I’ll be back–” He whispers right up against your lips, knowing that you’re already growing familiar with how they feel against you. Smiling when your lips chase him as he stands up. He lends you one more. A quick kiss, one that reminds you that he isn’t leaving you. “Just a second.” He adds in an even smaller voice, heading straight for your bathroom.

You’re still so in awe at how slow the night feels with him, loving every warm second of it. You’re not thinking about anything but him and the way his lips feel. Hell, you haven’t even gotten a full glimpse of him since that first kiss. 

So, of course you don’t notice how he somehow knew which door held your bathroom behind it, or how long he stayed in there. You weren’t paying attention at all as you flop back and do your very best not to kick your legs out of happiness at this moment. 

You finally feel comfortable, even while a threat looms just outside of these walls. You have a boyfriend now, one that appears to be willing to stay beside you through all of it. 

You’re happy. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

All good things come to an end but at least this time, it’s temporary. 

The night with Jake felt much needed on both accounts, but it became one sided when your discomfort kicked in. It’s not that you didn’t want him to stay, above all you almost needed him to. 

He was so willing to stay, you could tell just by looking at him sitting next to you with kissed lips and dazed eyes, far too late in the night to excuse what you eventually made happen. He had to go back home.

Again, it’s not because you didn’t want him to stay, it’s because you felt better. You felt so much better that you didn’t think even for a second that Jake wouldn’t come running back over if you so much as hinted through a text that you needed him. Not to mention, upon your anxieties calming, your rational thoughts took back over and reminded you that this was enough. You don’t need him to coddle you more, or to worry for you. 

You’re not entirely ready to let a man sleep in your home, despite very much loving the time you spent with him here. 

After all, you interrupted his day already by asking for him to cater to you. Cater he did, and you wanted to do the same for him. Kissing him one more time with an apologetic look, stating that it’s best if he goes back home for the night. 

You still remember the look on his face when you walked him to the lobby. Reluctance, confusion, even a bit of panic. He needed another kiss, and another kiss you gave. 

His shoulders relaxed at that, and you watched him turn on his heel and head back home to presumably sleep without you. 

And while you slept well that night, thinking of him and how you somehow found a boyfriend amidst all of your fears, Jake was wide awake and reeling from the conversations he shared with you, the kisses, the cuddling, the smell. Fuck, it was so much to face by the time he made it back into his cold and dreary apartment. 

He doesn’t belong in this space, he belongs just across the street with you. But, for your sake…he will continue the patience he promised you. After all, he could see in your eyes that briefly, you considered letting him stay. 

And throughout the night, his calm overtakes him as he rethinks, staring down his camera and trying to decide if he should watch it back until you eventually text him after you wake up. 

He ultimately decides to watch, checking that your lights are off one last time before moving to his PC and plugging in the camera. The first thing he does is fast forward to your first kiss, and then the second, third, fourth…

He rewinds it to watch again, almost feeling that you’re still against him when he presses play a bit too far back in the footage. 

You pull away from him in that moment and suddenly he remembers why.

Before the blissful moments he spent with you, there was a moment of intense and uncontrollable rage within him. When you told him the less-than-detailed story of what your ex did to you, he was expecting it. He knew how to act surprised, he knew how to comfort you, he knew how to make you understand that your past wouldn’t scare him away.

What he wasn’t prepared for was to find out that your fears that he read in your journal were very real. Learning that your ex texted you and that he knew where you were was one thing, but hearing your voice crack upon telling him that he wants to meet with you is another. 

Jake couldn’t have prepared a reaction for that even if he tried. Not one that wouldn’t have scared you, at least. And now, this night of reliving the hours in which it took for him to make you his girlfriend once and for all turned into a night of internet sleuthing. 

Finding the man on social media can’t be that hard. All he had to do was search your name to find your family, which he has done probably a thousand times by now. He knew that within the public posts of your family, this guy had to have been associated somewhere. 

And after three hours of finding nothing, a little hint of who this man is reveals itself. 

So far into his searches, intense googling, and even yearbook studying, he finds an older facebook account of your mother and he slaps himself in the forehead for not double checking the profiles sooner, he could have saved at least two hours if he had found this earlier. 

She must have made a new account after the divorce that she clearly had and shared with the world. It only takes a single scroll with his mouse wheel to find an image of her, another woman, you, and…that man. 

Jake sits and stares at the old image, noting that it’s over four years old. Indicating that you must have been with this guy for a long time. You look happy in the photo, with his arm snaked around your waist and gripping you tight.

Jake, above anyone else, knows that grip he’s got on you. It’s the same one he had on you just hours ago but he tries not to think too hard, prying his eyes away from a happy you with that piece of shit. If he ruminates on this image of you with another man, he very well may resent you for ever letting another man be with you in the first place.

Instead, he has to force his eyes from the younger college version of you and look at the reactions of the photo. 

Of course your mother is the type to have hundreds and hundreds of friends, most that she doesn’t even know in real life surely. The image has seventy three likes, and he goes through each and every single one until he finally recognizes the account of the very man in that photo, holding you, as if it’s his rightful place beside you.

God, safety concerns be damned. He cannot believe that your mother never deleted this account. Your ex probably looks at this photo all the time, he probably gets off on it too. Like he must think that because he had you once, he could win you over again. No.  Jake will see blood before he ever lets that happen. 

Jake rolls his eyes, giving himself a mental note to find a way to tell you that your mother should really watch her online presence if her own daughter’s safety is in danger, and then he continues his snooping on your ex.

One simple google of his name and city and Jake’s got a workplace address. Come Monday morning, you’ll never have to worry about this guy again.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Every. single. day. 

Every day you have texted him since the night he left your apartment, and every day he hopes that you force him to be patient with you. Why? Because for the first time, he needs to stay distant for now. 

He kept his promise. Maybe he even overdid it a little bit. 

Given, he knows you’d probably be happy in knowing what happened, he just thinks it would be best not to tell you about it. For now, at least, he doesn’t want you to see the mark above his eye because if you find out what happened, perhaps you’d stop needing him for comfort. Maybe you’d even break up with him since you’d no longer need him. 

He’s going to ensure that you are safe, and he’s going to keep you. 

Unfortunately, Jake is awful at telling you no, awful at living up to his patience, and fucking horrible at staying away from you. When you text him this morning, just two days after he met with your ex, it’s not your usual greeting. 

You: they need me to go to the office today…

God, has he no shame? No. He doesn’t. Never in his life could he even imagine being ashamed to instantly come at your beck and call. Though you have nothing to be afraid of anymore. 

Jake: I’ll walk you there. 

You smile at his immediate act of protection of you. 

You: It’s okay, my manager is already on her way to pick me up. she knows about everything so i’m still safe!

He pauses, trying to look at the bright side of not seeing you. He’s not in fear of your safety like you are, because he definitely took care of the matter, but…under the guise of you still needing it, he doesn’t like that you’re letting someone else protect you on your trip to work. 

Jake: oh

You stare at your phone, feeling bad that you haven't offered him much since he was last at your apartment. You don’t want him to think you’re avoiding him again, or to think that you don’t want to see him but…your manager has a car. If you were to let him walk you to work, you’d just be paranoid of being on the street. 

You’d just feel bad for him to have to walk back home alone. And you’d feel even worse knowing he’d make the same trip to walk you back home. 

You: i don’t want to have to walk to work, even if I know you’d be there with me. It’s just a huge inconvenience for you and a big safety concern for me…

He reads your text and scoffs. Do you still not understand that it’s what he lives for? He would walk across the fucking country if you so much as suggested there was a leaf on the ground that you wanted to look at. It’s not an inconvenience. 

The inconvenience is you giving someone else the right to what he is supposed to be doing for you. 

Jake: it’s ok love, just text me when you get there safe

You pause, unable to shake the feeling of guilt that’s threatening your brain right now. It feels awkward, it feels weird. You’re more than aware to know that he probably wants to prove something to you, especially with such a new relationship but you can’t help but feel like you’re the only person who needs to prove something. 

You need his protection, but you don’t want to exhaust him. That is your biggest fear, even over the idea of your ex finding you. The idea of being wanted by someone you hate hurts far less than the idea of being unwanted by the man who is seemingly upset with you over not getting to walk you to work.

So, you’ll prove to him that this isn’t because he isn’t capable of protecting you. You’ll prove to him that you do want to see him. 

You: Can I see you after i get home? I miss you.

His reactions are always so immediate as he slams his phone against his chest, sighing out of relief that you want to see him tonight. So what if he has a blatant and obvious bruise on his face? He will proudly present it to you, with a lie of course, solely because he knows it’s proof that he would do anything for you. 

Jake: I miss you too :) just tell me when she’s bringing you back to me and i’ll be waiting in the lobby for you. 

For some reason, those little typed words of “bringing you back to me” hits you hard in the chest. It makes you feel warm, happy even, as you head out of your apartment and straight for your manager’s car.

Sure, you might not be walking to work when they need you to come in for a while, but you’ll sure as hell be certain to make it up to Jake every single time. You can practically feel his excitement through his quickly sent texts, and you can’t help but thrive off of it. 

Now, even as you’re worried that you’ll be at work, in a place where he can find you, you feel excited. You’re looking forward to getting to go back home, and looking forward to hugging Jake, and talking to him, and seeing his pretty face. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

  You don’t recall your work days going by this slowly, as you fiddle around your desk wondering why they called you here today in the first place. “For a meeting” Your manager had said. Well that’s all fine and dandy if it weren’t for the fact that the meeting isn’t scheduled until four thirty in the afternoon, the end of the fucking day. 

You could have worked from home and just came in for the meeting if that was the case, but you’re already here and mostly just annoyed that you had to come at all.

You scroll your phone, do some paperwork, scroll some more, more paperwork, and then, just as you open your messages so you can complain to Jake about how stupid this work day is, you pause.

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of everything and everyone around you, and all you can do is sit at your desk and pretend that you don’t see the man across the large room filled with fifty other cubicles, eyes scanning for you. 

The only thing you know how to do is drop to the floor upon seeing that familiar smile. You’re not ashamed when you text your manager, telling her who security just led to your floor. You’re even less ashamed in the way you quickly rush to the back, around a corner, and out the fire escape.

You came to work today to miss not one meeting, but two, apparently. The only reason you even feel safe enough to power-walk back to your apartment is because you know exactly where your stupid handsome ex is, and you know exactly why he’s there.

He’s not following you right now, you’re sure of it. You told your manager exactly who he was before, and she knows exactly where he is now. Surely they’re distracting him, because your manager, bless her, already texted you that she would take care of it and that you should get home quickly.

Insane scenario, really. You should have just called the police, but it’s not like he fucking did anything within these city limits outside of take an elevator to your floor. 

God, how did he even know you were going to be at work today? 

And as you rush into your apartment building, not even knowing how long or how short it took you to get there, you feel your phone vibrate before you even get in the building’s front door.

Jake: why are you home so early, and why did you walk alone? 

Instantly you call him, not thinking even for a second that it’s strange that he saw you come in. If anything, it was probably just a coincidence. He just happened to look outside and you just happened to be panic-walking inside. 

“Come over.” You say, out of breath into the speaker. 

Jake doesn’t even respond, he just hangs up and is immediately rushing to your building as quickly as his feet can carry him, for the first time unsure of what’s going on with you. 

He thinks this may actually be his record time of getting to you even, considering you’re walking up to your door as soon as he steps out of the elevator and rushing up to you.

“What’s wrong!?” You hear his panicked voice from behind you as you unlock your door, stepping inside and grabbing him by the shirt, not even looking at him before pulling him inside. 

“I missed you.” You say, desperate to feel safe again and running entirely on adrenaline as you lift up and kiss him harder than you ever have before.

Jake freezes, feeling your grip on his shirt and your hardened pucker against his lips. He doesn’t relax into it at all, in fact, the way you just grabbed him runs straight between his legs and all he can do is grab your shirt back, pulling you up more, kissing you twice as hard. 

He knew you could be forceful, and somehow this is the last thing he was expecting. Did you rush home alone and call him with that desperate voice because you needed him? Did you finally give in? Does he mean this much to you already?

There are no words in this breathless moment as you let yourself spiral into a void with Jake. Feeling only safe when he’s with you, on you, holding you, touching you. You really should have let him walk you to work. You should have let him stay with you there, you shouldn’t ever let him leave your side. 

You only feel calm when he’s with you, and god you almost hope your ex followed you here so that he can walk in and find you kissing someone else. Someone better.

“What happened?” Jake groans out his words between the harsh kisses that are quickly turning heated. Your grip on his shirt only tightens, and you stumble back to pull him with you. 

You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to explain, you just want to…do this. You need him to give you that brain fog that makes you forget about anything else. 

And it’s the first time he’s ever felt your tongue. So desperate to part his lips, so frantic, so sweet. The new feeling is more than he ever could have imagined, he feels like he’s almost forgotten how to kiss you back at this point. He lets you do all of the work right now, tasting inside of his mouth and fluttering your lashes against his cheek bone when you skew your head just a little bit to kiss him deeper. 

He’s feeling everything at once, and the fact that he’s finally back in your apartment only makes this worse for him. Or maybe, better? He isn’t sure, but what he does know is that if you keep doing this, he won’t be able to hold back. How could he? You’re pulling him, nearly tripping over your own feet just to pull him deeper into the room– right there in front of that same fucking window. 

Your tight grip on his shirt warms him along with knowing this is being recorded, right up from the brief amount of cold air that hit him on his run over. It was freezing, and he left without even throwing on his hoodie. Which is nice and detrimental to his health. It’s like you’re closer than you’ve ever been to him without two layers of clothing on, just this shirt keeping you from gripping his skin instead. 

And he would let you, he would let you grip and claw through his chest to pull him further into your space. If you missed him so much, perhaps he wouldn’t need to hold back. Your kisses are bruising, and the little breaths you take with each tilt to your head drives his heart to tremble in his chest, he’s sure you may not want him to hold it in any longer. 

He’s tasting you right now and only because you’re tasting him first. 

Safe to say, he’s in shock and entirely turned on right now with the way you try to overpower him. He lets you. Yes, yes, yes. Why wouldn’t he? You’re not being shy and your defenses are entirely down for him. 

You continue to stumble back with him, up until your legs hit your couch and he very nearly falls on top of you, but instead he holds steady, watching you fall from the close proximity against his lips with a huff after you hit the soft cushions.

He felt his shirt slip from your fingers in the descent and can do nothing but look at you in pure awe. You look like you want him right now, you look up at him the same way he looks at you.

Your pupils are dilated, your chest is heaving, and you’re just staring up at him with each breath. 

“Jake?” You mutter in a slight whisper and furrow your brows at your findings upon finally looking at him. In your rush to kiss him and to have him as close to you as possible, you nearly missed it. 

You reach a hand out and see him immediately take it, your gaze still trained on the bruise above his eye. You pull him to you instantly, landing your lips just below his right brow. “Why is there a bruise?”

He pauses to feel your breath hit his brow, entirely forgetting that he is a human being with flesh that can be marked by another. Forgetting that pain exists, solely because the kiss you just landed against that swollen spot felt good. So good.

“Ah–” He chuckles slyly, feeling you repeatedly kiss the area, bruising it more by the force behind your lips. “Dropped my phone on my face a few nights ago while texting you.” 

You smile against it, finding the image endearing before pulling back and taking note of the way he hovers above you, not letting a single part of his body touch you without you prompting it. 

“You should be more careful,” You smile, pulling him down more, until he is forced to use his arms on the back of your couch to steady himself. “Stay like this.” 

He notes how you look so small under him, and he would want nothing more than to stay like this for you. 

“On top of you?” He asks gently, allowing his hungry eyes to fall to a half-lidded stare, he tilts his head and inches back to your lips as he says it, entirely drunk on the image of you against the couch and totally barred from the outside world by his body.

“Yeah,” You sigh at how pretty he is close up, dark eyes taking you in with that deep stare. “Feels like nothing could ever get to me if you’re like this.” 

He nods confirmation. 

“You were scared of being alone today, weren’t you?” He asks gently, pulling back from the almost-kiss and now adjusting you to lay down on your couch, all so he can more comfortably fulfill the request you just asked of him. “Don’t go anywhere without me again, and I'll stay like this for as long as you need me to.” 

You stare up at him and his words as he crawls onto the couch with you, over you. He nudges himself between your legs and only now do you understand what it must feel like to want someone to love. You never imagined you’d let a man be with you like this again, and yet there’s so much truth in his facial expression after he said those words. You can’t help but feel like you were stupid to ever think you could do any of this alone. 

You never could do it alone to begin with.

“I won’t,” You confirm for him, lifting your hand to move a strand of hair that hangs over that darkened bruise above his eye. “So, stay like this.”

And he does, eyes lost as they glance at every part of your face, only closing his eyes to feel your fingers in his hair for that short moment. He lets out a long sigh, trying to keep his lower half from losing control, both understanding and not comprehending that he’s on top of you right now. 

Only now, with his mind racing and skin reacting does he dip back down.

“Alright.” He whispers just before the kiss, intentionally relaxing his lower half and allowing you to feel exactly what you’re doing to him. 

He feels you shift when you feel it, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he presses forward a bit more with his hips, making sure you feel his love for you in its entirety. 

And when your hands find their way into his hair and you hum against his tongue, that’s when he pulls back.

“Sorry,” He admits, looking away from you. “Didn’t know you were going to just– grab me like that and kiss me.”

All you can do is smile at him, refusing to question why you don’t recoil at the idea of a man being turned on. If anything, you give in to the feeling of pleasure yourself. Especially after so long of not only denying it to yourself, but fearing it.

And the two of you just lay there, shifting from time to time to get more comfortable and to ease numb limbs. Just kissing. Just making out. 

Hot, wet, warm kissing. To the point of being out of breath but not yet pulling back. Never wanting to be the first one to break the contact, but always wanting to be the first to dip back in. You feel his excitement throughout all of it, and you feel his patience as well.

He doesn’t even chase when your body arches into his intense kisses, he doesn’t ask for more, and ultimately, it doesn’t matter that your ex showed up at your workplace today. Because you’ve got Jake right here, on you, shielding you, holding you. 

No one can get to you right now. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake holds you as you sleep, as tight as he can manage without waking you up. Thinking in his head over and over again about how pretty you are, how perfect you are, how utterly infatuated with you he is. 

He wasn’t expecting you to fall asleep like that, gentle fingers scratching the back of his neck and holding him just as tightly. Whispering to him that you don’t want him to leave this time.

Muttering that you want him to stay. 

He remembers so well how pretty your half-asleep voice sounded, with your half-asleep eyes, and half-asleep legs tangled in his own.

He didn’t sleep. 

No, no. He couldn’t have. He didn’t want to miss a single breath or twitch of your brow as you dreamt. And he really didn’t miss a single one either.

The sun is long gone in the sky by the time his own heavy eyes force him to blink. It’s so dark in the room but you brighten it up for him just fine, with that pretty breath and sleeping face. His gaze falls upon the window as he smiles, hugging you even closer to him just to feel you nuzzle your nose up and against his neck.

He has yet to set foot into your bedroom since the first time he’s been here but that doesn’t bother him. You both fit perfectly on this couch. Forced proximity really lives up to its name in this city, apparently. You haven’t ever been without him, and you never will be. 

He’s more than delighted to–

His thoughts shake the same way your phone does. A vibration sending his mind into a spiral at who could possibly be texting you at this hour if not him. 

The phone lights up the room and he’s very careful to reach for it, smiling when your sleepy brain tells you that he’s reaching over you to hug you closer again, not to grab at your phone that you left forgotten on the table.

He’s so quiet, so careful. 

The screen lights up his face, causing his dry eyes to water until they adjust to the notification. 

A text message.

From an unknown number. 

His eyes fall to you as he tries to remember the patterns of numbers you’ve typed into your phone, only to fail a total of three times before gently shaking you. 

“Love,” He whispers, lying his lips against your forehead. “What’s your passcode?”

“Hmm?” You mumble against him, his shirt bunched up against your own lips. 

“Your passcode,” He repeats in a more gentle voice, trying to keep from waking you entirely. “I forgot my phone at home, and I want to set an alarm.” 

Your sleepy brain barely registers his words, or the fact that he’s lying. You felt his phone in his pocket when he was lying on top of you all night. 

“Ah,” You sigh out, clearing the sleep from your throat as you whisper out the numbers to him, slurring out the last one as you fall right back into your deep slumber 

Jake smiles, dumbfounded yet again by how adorable you are for him. 

Now, with one hand unlocking your phone and the other tracing his name, once again, onto the fabric of your back, he swipes to your messages.

Rage.

Unknown number: so who is the new guy

Unknown number: get me banned from your work then you send him? fought like a bitch

Unknown number: i’ll be seeing you soon babe

Empty threats, he knows they have to be. Blatant lies and empty fucking threats. This idiot can’t do shit considering how battered he managed to leave him. 

He thinks hard about the pain against his knuckles and even harder about how you didn’t note that they’re just as bruised as his eye. Thankfully, you were too enveloped in kissing him to take note of his bruised hands, or the lie about dropping his phone. 

Jake easily deletes the texts and blocks the number, understanding that this little problem of yours is his problem to solve. And the worst part is that he knows exactly why this man wants you back. He hates that he understands the thought process from the root, knowing that if he, himself, couldn’t have you, he’d have to take desperate measures too. As if he hasn’t already. 

He’s similar to your ex, who was far more handsome with blood on his face, and you can never know that. As similar as he is, mirroring the love and abundant weakness he has for you, he would never. fucking. hurt. you. Infact, Jake would set himself aflame before even imagining you crying for him to leave you alone. 

Why would he set himself up for you to fear him? Your ex is a royally vacuous man, at least Jake has the smarts to treat you well. 

Still, he gets it. 

Who wouldn’t want you all to themself anyway? 

You’re Jake’s though. You belong to him and only him, you always have, and that’s the only reason, he thinks, that you’re in this mess. Had you not tried to love someone before him, perhaps you wouldn’t have that little journal filled to the brim with night terrors and body shakes. 

And as he ruminates on whether or not he should pay your ex another visit, this time without holding back, he searches the rest of your messages simply because he is entitled to it. 

Every text you have is from your family and him. Good. 

Your photos. 

Most of you and your family, one specific photo of you. Deep within your camera roll, pressing your tits together, hand grabbing one of them, panties sitting prettily on your hips. 

Who did you send that to? It’s old, your hair is different, but he’d like to hope it wasn’t to the man whose blood he’s currently craving. Still, he feels discomfort in knowing this photo was taken long before he loved you, and long before you loved him. Meaning, whether it was to your ex or not, it wasn’t for him.

His length stirs immediately still, so turned on by the image of you, the feeling of you currently against him, and the internal future promise to feel your ex’s teeth break against his fists. All of it is making his dick ache, as he chews the inside of his bottom lip and easily sends the nude to himself before deleting it from your phone forever. He’d better be the last to see this image of you, and the last to ever feel you hug against him like this. Then, he removes the sent message from your phone to hide the traces of it entirely.

You shift against him at this moment and he pulls back slightly to look at you, quickly closing out your apps, locking your phone, and tossing it to the floor. There, he wraps both arms around you, hugging you so tightly that you do wake up this time. 

“You’re so cute,” Jake mumbles against the top of your head. “Wake up so I can kiss you.”

You smile against him, shifting your head up and finding his lips within the dark room. It’s soft at first, and you assume he’s going to pull back, satisfied with it, but he doesn’t. 

It’s a quick movement, one that causes your sleepy groan to come out as a surprised yelp. He easily moves on top of you again, using his knees to spread your legs so he can lay between them, and his fingers locking into yours, pressing them into the cushion above your head. 

“Sorry,” He pouts, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, sorry.” He continues, kissing down to your jaw, and just below your ear. “I’ve been so turned on all day, please.”

You chuckle, feeling the tickle of his plush bottom lip meeting the sensitive pulse point of your neck. Pleased with how much he wants you, and even more pleased that you kind of…want this too. But, you’re not entirely ready. Even in this perfect atmosphere with the perfect man. Room shielded entirely by night, warm lips kissing you, strong arms holding you…

You’re still not ready. 

“Mm, Jake.” You hum, catching his attention and feeling him move his head back to look at you. “Not yet.”

And then you hear him let out a nervous chuckle, a sigh, and a whisper. 

“Alright, baby.” He pouts again. 

He moves back to your side and hugs you against him, trying not to seem as disappointed as he really is right now before you hear him speak again. You barely hear it, and you barely comprehend it within the comfort of his hug, but you do think you’ll remember it. 

“Then when?” 

Even as you fall back to sleep, you think about it. The fact that he’s already been so patient with you and that you knew it would run out eventually. You’ll lose him at this rate, and these soft arms vowing to protect you.

If anything, Jake has given you everything and you’ve given him nothing. If he finds out that you’ve already spotted your ex at work, he might really run away knowing that no matter what he does, you may never be ready to give him intimacy on a deeper level as long as said ex is around.

You felt how much he wanted you today right up against you. If you were any other woman, you wouldn’t have been able to pretend it wasn’t there. You would have touched him, you would have given yourself to him. 

And god, you want him so badly at the same time. The only thing holding you back is the fear of it hurting. The fear of regression, of dissociation. 

Yet, still, your dream state forces you to promise. You’ll be everything that Jake needs you to be in time, and he will be the only person able to teach you how to love again, the only man that will touch you in a way that feels good.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

part two

taglist: @skzenhalove , @taetaemylovie, @soocult, @nyanggk, @grilledbananas, @dneltrise, @becc09, @nielle002, @sjyfolder, @sd211, @moonmoongi, @sweetiewolfie, @ksnooppy, @woongkification, @laxatives4hre, @hiddensideofmoon, @mywaaw, @beomstarz, @multifandombtvh, @heeverseblog, @floclover, @elliesuh, @iloveleeknow, @crazydelulu, @dasa3040, @sluttyhee, @bethroedtojae, @cherryunie, @hiamlili, @seojunandsoju, @parksunghoonsgf, @jungwon-xo, @fxiryeon, @jwnghyuns, @juliesblogs

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Meeting Up With Ken After He's Moved Back To Japan

Ken Sato X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: Reader has a slight panic attack, touch of angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

(A/N:) I have never watched Ultraman in my life and I never planned on it honestly. But dang I saw the trailer ad for Ultraman Rising and they barely give you a glimpse of Ken but it was enough. I watched it. I loved it. And now I'm obsessed with Ken Sato. End of story. I have lots in my drafts I want to write for him so keep an eye out! But until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The day that Ken Sato had moved out of your life had been the saddest one you could remember. Being kids, the adults didn't see it as such a big deal but between the two of you, it seemed like the world had ended. You both kept in touch but it still didn't make the distance seem any shorter. Years passed by and video calls turned into phone calls. Phone calls turned into missed calls. Missed calls turned into text messages and even then that didn't last long. As you grew older you let the thought of seeing Kenji again go and then the pain finally eased. You never felt that ache again, until you watched the news.

Super star player Ken Sato returns to his home country and that is the day your little world stopped spinning. Your phone rang off the hook as your friends tried to call you.

"Did you hear," your friend screamed making you grimace, "Kenji is back!"

"Yep," you sighed. "It's all over the news. Hard to ignore it."

"You don't sound excited! I thought he was your best friend when you were kids?!"

"He was, but that was a long time ago and now he's this superstar baseball player. Why would he remember me when he's made it so big?"

"Don't make that excuse, you need to go see him. You'll see that he'll be just as happy to see you as you are of him."

Despite your better judgement and a long sleepless night, you found yourself at the Giant's stadium. You had tried Ken's house only for him to be gone. And despite feeling like a stalker you tried both day and night. When that didn't work you tried looking at the restaurant you both loved as kids, no luck there either. You knew the stadium would be your best bet but you didn't want to get carted off for trespassing or embarrass Ken by your being there. Maybe you were using those as excuses. Or maybe you were terrified by the face that he probably wouldn't remember you or he'd laugh in your face that you came crawling back. Your heart slammed against your chest and your breathing turned into panicked gasps. This was impossible, you didn't know why you even bothered.

Reporters began to exit the building, pushing you along as you tried to calm yourself. The chatter of the group was too much for you at the moment. You stepped away towards a quieter part of the stadium, not noticing that you were entering in a restricted part for players and managers only. The quiet helped calm you and now you finally realized where you were at.

"Miss are you lost," a man wearing a security uniformed approached you and your panic starting to rear it's ugly head once more.

"I'm sorry I got lost," you eased back, clinging tightly to your bag's strap.

"It happens," he said politely. "May I escort you back to the main entrance?"

"Yes please."

You deflated as you followed the security guard. It didn't seem like you were ever going to see your best friend ever again. Your heart broke and you refused to let yourself cry until you got home. You almost made it back to the hall where you got lost in the flood of reporters when a voice calling your name had you freezing. He couldn't possibly know it was you? After all this time did he really remember you so well?

"Kenji?"

"I thought it was you," he grinned.

You sucked in a breath at the sight of the boy you once knew. You could tell he was handsome on the TV screen but you weren't prepared for the sight in real life. Even as a kid you had a crush on him, you just didn't realize it until later. Your mom thought it had been cute but now you just felt embarrassment. With longer sleek black hair and eyes that were so dark they sucked you in. You stopped breathing for a second when he finally stood in front of you. His eyebrow raised, he bent over waving a hand in your face. Lean and tall, it was no wonder he was an amazing athlete.

"Hello," Ken stared leaning over. "You still with me?"

"It's so good to see you," you stumbled stepping back at the proximity. "I didn't know you were coming back so soon."

He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "It wasn't planned honestly. Losing mom and dad needing me."

You gasped grabbing his arm, "Kenji I'm so sorry."

You glanced to your hand and you quickly let him go, cheeks flushing brightly.

"It's okay," his smile wavered. "Have to grow up sometime."

"But," you started feeling horrible.

"It was good seeing you again," Ken replied turning away. Though this was the first time you'd seen him in so long, he still had that same way of showing his true emotions. The slightly hunched shoulders and it felt like all the warmth suddenly left the room.

"Kenji wait," you yelled.

He turned keeping his hands in his pockets. The sorrow in his eyes had you blinking back tears and you knew it was time to be brave. He remembered you and though he wasn't the same person when he left, he was still your friend. Yeah a little taller, a little more selfish, a lot of ego (you couldn't deny he earned the right), and a lot more handsome, but Kenji Sato all the same.

"Wanna go get something to eat? Our old haunt is still open and I would love to treat you. I've," you paused. "I've missed you a lot actually."

Though it didn't quite reach his eyes Ken smiled, nodding in agreement, "I'd like that. But I'm buying, no arguments."

"Fine Mr. Super Baseball Man."

He laughed, "You haven't changed at all."

That was a little disappointing. You were hoping he'd at least see how much you've grown, while he was away.

The restaurant was busy, a line forming outside but you both didn't mind waiting. Kenji hadn't eaten here in years and if you were honest, you hadn't either. You tried once after he left and though the food always tasted delicious, it wasn't the same without him. You both were ushered in a little bit after arriving and after all this time the owners remembered you both. Ordering the same thing as you both did all those years ago, it didn't take long for contentment to ease between you both. Ken's foot tapped beneath the table and you could tell he was struggling.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," you spoke up. Not wanting him to feel like he had to do anything to make you comfortable. Though you still felt awkward, especially when fans made their way to him for pictures and autographs, you couldn't deny that it was still easy being around him.

"It's not that I don't want to," he groaned, now drumming his fingers on the table. "It's been forever. I should have so many things to tell you and I do! I just...I don't know where to begin."

"Start with baseball that seems to be going well," you grinned.

"Ha! You could say it is going decent," he nodded. "It was different in America, I'm curious to see how it's going to go being back home."

"I imagine so. Not going to lie though, home wasn't the same either when you left. It felt like I had to start all over, it was kind of terrifying."

"I'm sorry."

You touched his hand, "It's not your fault. We were both kids. Life changes, gets in the way, separates us from loved ones. We had no control over it, like we don't have much control over anything now. I'm glad you were able to find your way Kenji. I'm glad you made a life for yourself and I'm glad you got to follow your dream. I can tell how much baseball means to you."

Ken nodded a small smile pulling at his lips again, "It does. But I think this moment right here with you means more to me than baseball right now."

You flushed brightly. You weren't expecting a reply like that but it made you feel warm inside. You opened your mouth to reply, though unsure of what you could possibly say when your orders were set down before you. Saying thanks for the food and the chime of you both breaking chopsticks apart. Another peaceful silence stayed between you both as you both slurped noodles. True to his word Ken paid for the meal and you both left with full stomachs. Your heart felt lighter and you could have sworn you were walking on air. Glancing up at Ken, you caught him watching you intently.

"Something on your mind there Mr. Sato?"

Ken shook his head giving you a look like he'd tasted something bitter, "Please don't ever call me that again. Making me feel like my father over here."

You could tell things weren't good between Ken and his dad so you didn't pry. "Okay Kenji," you crooned making him shiver.

You didn't realize how you made him feel. When Ken saw you lost in the stadium, following that security guard his heart had skipped a beat. You two had always been close as children and even though you had stopped communicating for years, what he felt for you never waned. Having you here by his side, so close and yet still so far away, it felt like a dream. One he never wanted to wake from. With a soft touch, his fingers trailed down your arm leaving goosebumps in it's wake. You stared up at him, soft eyes taking in every bit of him. He never felt so naked or alive. He didn't stop until he found the back of your hand and still he slipped further, pointer stroking against your digits. Then he bit the bullet, taking your hand into his. He almost laughed at how much smaller your hand was compared to his, but he didn't want to ruin the moment. He squeezed tighter, careful not to hurt you in anyway. You stiffened at first, shocked at him being so bold. But you had to remember he was used to getting what he wanted.

"Would it be possible that we could do this again," he asked. "Maybe somewhere more formal?"

You nodded unable to speak. He kissed the back of your hand and you could have melted right then.

"I would like that very much Ken," your voice wobbled but you didn't let it keep you from speaking.

The answering smile had you in a puddle, the only thing keeping you upright was Kenji himself as you both started reminiscing. And now that some things had been brought out in the open, you both found yourselves talking a lot easier as the past few years passed by with every verbal exchange. You never felt so happy and all it took was for the game of baseball to bring back your best friend and you were ready to see what the future held in store.

[downbadf0rficppl]

someone's there

Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack

Repost

You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.

You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.

Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.

And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.

The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.

You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.

She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"

Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.

Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.

You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.

The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.

The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.

Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.

The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.

You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.

The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.

"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.

The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.

"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.

You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.

By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.

You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.

But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.

To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.

You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.

You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.

As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.

Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.

He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.

You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.

He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.

You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.

It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.

You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.

"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.

"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.

"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."

"The pizza place?"

"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."

You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.

"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.

"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.

"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."

"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.

The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.

"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."

June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.

Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.

Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.

You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.

Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.

A teenager was on the phone with the police.

You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.

The door swung open, letting in a draft.

Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.

Sirens.

"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.

A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.

"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.

You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.

"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.

"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.

You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.

You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.

"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"

He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."

You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.

"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Take me home, Buck."

fin.

buy me a coffee

[love-bitesx]

I loveeeedd the last story Tysm ❤️❤️❤️ Keep up the amazing work 🌈

I have another request

Hobie x fem spider reader

Reader has a weird stalker ex-bf, and the reader tries to keep it a secret from Hobie but he finds out and deals with the ex.

: ̗̀➛ STALKER. hobie brown x fem!reader

any criminal minds fans out there … i hope u see the parallels of my baby spencer also i'm so sorry, i didn't see until after i wrote this entire thing that you said 'fem spider reader' so it's a fem normal reader, so sorry! i hope it's still okay, tho!! thank u sm for ur support angel !! summary: hobie & y/n have been doing long distance for months, but she never told him exactly why. words: 2.8k (the words just kept coming, sorry its so long lmao) warnings: fem!reader, pronouns not really used but "my girl", "lady", etc. are, read at your own risk! weird stalker bf, creepy fella, hobie n y/n are long distance, very very soft hobie

“when can i call you next, darlin’?” hobie’s voice was laced with longing, bass distorted by static at the other end of the phone.

“if you’re quick, we can call tomorrow after 5,” you smiled, and if you were in an 80’s romcom, you’d be twisting the phone cord between your fingers.

“5pm it is, don’t be late,” you can hear his smirk, and a bolt of guilt strikes your chest.

“look, i need to ask something, and i think i already know the answer,” hobie speaks, and you bite your lip in anticipation, “the band and i are playing at a new venue tomorrow, it’s the biggest we’ve played, we’re all dead excited, and…”

a sigh.

“well, it won’t feel the same without you there, pretty.”

if the first bolt wasn’t enough, then the second one lived up to it, striking you into the dead center of your heart. it had been well over 6 months since you met hobie. well, “met”. you’d accidentally called the wrong number one day, meaning to contact a friend of a friend, but typing the last number wrong. picking up at the other end was a deep, almost mesmerising voice, telling you; “no bother, darlin’. it happens, just make sure not to lose this number, wanna hear more from ya.”

“hobie, you know i can’t,” your voice is brimming with remorse and you look to the ground.

“i know, shit with your parents, i get it," he tried hard to hide the disappointment, but his heart twanged with neglect and it creeped through into his words.

parents. strict, all-demanding 'parents'. that's what you told hobie when you first started dating, that the reason you aren't able to see him was because your mother was overbearing and extremely protective – it was a lie. a lie that was eating you up from the inside out. the truth was slightly more grim, however.

years ago, you got involved with a guy at work. a couple brief conversations turned into dates, and dates turned into anniversaries, anniversaries turned into toxic, violent arguments and after a long time of dating, you broke up with him. to say he took it badly, was a criminal understatement. threatening phone calls, showing up at your work, sending you gifts and menacing letters – his signature move was scaring off, and even once harming, any man or potential love interest that you interacted with. it was exhausting, and terrifying.

and hobie was different. he was sweet and kind, but rough around the edges, and his voice dripped in passion no matter the topic of conversation. his promises were never empty, and most importantly – he loved you. and you loved him. the last thing you wanted, was your ex to pop up and scare him off, so you kept it from him. limiting your relationship to phone calls at arranged times incase your ex was keeping tabs.

“i’m sorry, hobie,” is all you could muster, not even scratching the tip of the catastrophic iceberg that wedged the back of your throat.

“it’s okay, darlin’, don’t worry that pretty little head over it,” and just like every phone call, you melted into his words, “i love you, yeah? i’ll call you tomorrow at 5.”

“i’ll be waiting,” you smiled, cheeks flushed at his gentle affirmations, “i love you.”

with a ruckus of movement, and what sounded like a kiss, the call ended, and you stared at the screen silently for a moment. not much longer could you avoid it, and the malten bubble of dread spilled into your gut.

sending him a quick text:

‘good luck tomorrow, handsome. what’s the venue called again? you’ll do amazing x’

you turned off your phone, discarding it on the bed as you climbed into the hole of guilt you’d dug yourself.

“oi, you ready, blud?” hobie’s band mate yelled above the bustle and cheers from the crowd before them. large, bejewelled hands poised onto his guitar strings, he smirked.

“always.”

with a nod to the roadie, the lights went up, illuminating the stage and instruments, hobie's glowing with a harsh red tint. immediately, his sepia eyes digested the crowd. seeing the flushed, excitable faces staring back at him sent a shot of confidence to his bones, and they moved, strumming the guitar with such vigor that the stage floor shook beneath his feet. cheers erupted, and yet felt oddly empty. it was missing something, and he knew what it was immediately.

he'd truly give his all to have you there, front stage in his eyeline, screaming his songs like gospel. not that he'd ever seen you properly, only seeing teasing selfies you'd sent him over the months you'd been together. he didn't care, inherently, he'd fallen head over heels for your personality; a pretty face was only just a bonus.

however, he did yearn for your touch. to feel his hands in your hair, to kiss your cheek, your nose, your neck. he longed to have you with him, even just doing stupid little tasks, having you by his side through the domestic side of life.

his gall spurred him on, his passion surging through his fingertips, spilling out into the sound waves. the audience were lapping it up, screams and chants only barely audible under the booming power of their set. song, after song, after song his talented blood seeped out onto the strings, and his feet were almost numb from the vibration of the bass.

the final song arrived, and his chest was burning, vision blurry, heart pounding against his chest – and he loved it. it was their biggest crowd, their most excitable achievement so far, and his blood pumped with adrenaline as he finished off the set, falling to his knees as he strum his guitar with one final chord. lights falling, his chest was heaving and his eyes scanned the audience one final time – you weren’t there. he had to accept that.

“that was fuckin’ sick, blud!” his bassist yelled as they exited the stage, palm slapping hobie’s shoulder blade and elicited a wide, ecstatic grin.

“you smashed it, mate,” hobie shouted back over the booming stereo that took their place.

“nah, man, you stole the show,” his bassist shook his head, patting him again in appreciation, “good that your lady’s here to see it, too, she must be proud.”

“i wish, mate,” he sighed.

“did you not see her?” his ears perked up, and at his confused expression, his bandmate continued, “over at the back, by the bar, i didn’t know what she looked like, but she was asking after you. ‘er story adds up.”

"shit," he mutters, feet solid on the ground. his heart pounds, skeptical of your presence, but chest bursting with hope that it just might be you, "look, bro, i need to–"

"go! go, man, go see her," his bandmate pushes him in the direction of the bar, and he almost stumbles over his own feet to push the stage door open, met with the chaos of the crowded bar.

dark eyes scanning the aimless faces, he searched for anyone who could look like you; his stature brought him above everyone else, only by a little, but gave him an advantage to seek you out.

"sorry, i need to get past," he repeated, over and over to unassuming bodies, setting through the chaos to find his peace. pushing out at the back, a wave of light met him, shining through empty pint glasses and illuminating the bar.

there you were.

standing quietly, head nodding along to the blasting instrumentals, drink in hand; you were heart-stopping. and he was pretty sure his did. even if he’d never seen you face-to-face, he’d memorised the soft plump of your lips, alluring light in your eyes, even the way your hair fell against your skin from the photos he'd seen. there was no doubt it was you, and my god, you were beautiful. he couldn’t even stop his legs if he tried, as they carried him over to you.

"y/n?" his voice barely travelled through the sound waves, but it hit your ear like a familiar embrace.

turning to him, eyes wide and bright in the twinkling of the bar lights. you drunk him in, warm eyes swallowing every part of him. you'd seen pictures, again, but it could never compare to him. dark brown skin, soft to its complexion, hugged his bones in every perfect way; folding at the creases of his handsome face. he was tall, very tall, and the detail of the curves and indents of his muscles, altered by the shadows of the dim bar light, made your head fuzzy. god, he was beautiful – nothing that a digital screen could ever portray with justice.

"hobie," your voice was crisper than he was used to, and he would bottle it if he could, "hey, handsome, you got a–"

"come 'ere," he interrupted, essentially scooping you into his tense embrace, melting into your scent, the feel of you in his arms. his heart was pounding against his chest. you wrapped yourself around him, running your hands along his leather jacket, ghosting the skin below it.

"you interrupted my introduction," you pouted against his shoulder, "had a whole little joke planned and everything, you know."

"go on, hit me, love," he pulled back a tiny bit, his arms still glued around your waist, looking down through his lashes. you faltered under his intense gaze, giddy smile bursting onto your face and you buried your head in his chest.

"nuh uh, not anymore," you shook your head against him, "you ruined it."

his hand came up to touch your face whilst you spoke, following the edge of your hairline and tucking your hair around your shoulder. he was in awe, having you here, having you with him. tightening his embrace, he didn't want to let you go – ever.

"mhmm," his voice vibrated his chest, and you pulled away, "i'm sure it was hilarious, love."

"it really was," you chuckled, giddy in his presence.

the air grew thicker, your laughter dying out and left with just his strong gaze, his dark brown eyes following yours. you could barely comprehend him being here, in front of you, around you, and he was so much more than you had imagined. feeling his calloused hand caress your cheek, you leaned into his touch, inviting him into your world. cupping your face, hobie bought himself to you, leaning down until his pierced lips were ghosting your own. months he'd dreamed of this, imagined how it would feel to kiss his girl, to taste your lips and feel your love. he could feel your breath, and you were about to give in, until you pulled away.

"wait, i–" you swallowed thickly, pulling your touch from him.

"what's up, darlin'?" his eyes scanned your face for any sign of reason, "did i do somethin'?"

"no! no, you," you sighed, "you're perfect, it's not you."

he'd be lying through his teeth if he denied the pit of anxiety building deep in his stomach, bubbling up his throat.

"what is it?"

"i–" you stuttered again, and fought to get your words out of your brain and into the thick air of the bar, "i haven't been telling you the truth."

silence. just for a second. hobie's brain working over time.

"look, if you've got another fella, or somethin', just get it over with–"

"no! no, hobie, i'm yours, i promise," your words settled him for a second.

"my parents don't care about us, they aren't strict, in fact, they were happy when i told them about you," you begun, opening the dam.

"they know about me?" his voice was smaller than you were used to, and if your brain had a spare synapse to process it, you'd probably have melted.

"yes, and i'm sorry i haven't told you," you avoided his eyes, "it's my ex."

"oh, fuckin' 'ell," he sighed, dropping his arms to his side, and he's about to speak, until you interrupt.

"we broke up years ago, but he's never left me alone," you ring your wrists with your hands nervously, and hobie notices – you looked terrified, "i've tried everything; i've tried the police, i've moved countless times, i've changed jobs, made new friends, met new people – he won't leave me be."

tears welled up now, and his heart reached for you, but his arms stayed stuck by his side.

"every guy that i meet, he's, i don't know, calling them telling them i'm someone i'm not, or following them home and slashing tires, or roughing them up outside pubs," paranoia enveloped you, and your eyes darting around the crowd, "i was so scared, because you're the best i've ever had, and probably will ever have, and i don't want him to scare you off."

"y/n–"

"and i understand if this has done exactly what i'm scared of, because i get that keeping it from you was awful, but i was only trying to protect you and–"

his lips cut you off, warm against your own, capturing your words and pushing them back down your throat. hands on your cheeks, body flush against your own, you melted into him completely. it felt like heaven, like months of tension and longing unravelling like ribbon into the wind. it was safe, gentle, like a promise – a promise that it didn't scare him, and that he was yours.

"is he here?" his voice was low, lips hovering yours.

"i-i don't know," you were flustered, your brain trying to make sense of it all, but his hand on the small of your back stopped any cognitive thoughts, "i haven't seen him."

watching him, hobie's dark eyes floated around the crowd, before falling back onto you. smirk on his lips, he placed a quick peck onto your cheek.

"hmm, i hope he enjoyed the show," he chuckled lowly, and you couldn't help but mimic it, relief flooding off your shoulders, "how about we go somewhere a bit safer?"

"like where?" you questioned, intrigued by the coaxing tone of his voice.

"well, i only live around the corner," he shrugged, before offering his hand. blushing, you slipped your hand into his, the soft skin of his fingers pulling you towards him, until he threw his arm around your shoulder.

"nothing could scare me off, you know," he whispered, placing a kiss to your hair, "i'm 'ard as nails."

"oh yeah?" you giggled.

"mhmm."

clothed eyes glued to the suspicious figure, hobie stood on a rooftop, footsteps silent as he follows the man below. tailing him through the cobbled back lanes of london, hobie's back tingled with apprehension – he'd been following him for at least a mile, waiting for a perfect opportunity.

and he'd finally found it.

pausing his heavy stroll, the man dug into his pockets and pulled out a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes, fumbling further for a lighter. a small orange glow lit up the air around him as he puffed away, smoke fluttering to meet hobie's nose.

silently, hobie swung to a platform below, pulling his guitar tighter against his back and dropped to the hard ground. the sound of his leather boots colliding with the cobble made the man turn in his direction, eyes wide at the sight.

"spiderman?" the man breathed between puffs, voice hoarse, "can i help you?"

"you know what, i think you can," hobie strutted, hands stuffed into his leather jacket, lanky stance towering him, "are you y/n's ex fella?"

"who's asking?" he questioned stupidly, and hobie let out a laugh.

"bruv, who's– are you stupid or somethin'?" hobie punched him lightly in the shoulder, "do you not see the whole get up?"

"the fuck have you got to do with y/n?" he spat, defensive stance taking over his body.

"none of your business," hobie knew that would sting, "but you're gonna leave her alone, fella."

"you don't know what you're talking about."

"i'm not askin', mate," hobie stepped closer, "and i'm not givin' you a choice."

before he could even utter a response, hobie had swung his spike-studded arm in his direction, knuckles colliding against the pathetic man's jaw, knocking him to the ground below.

"tha's my girl you're messin' with now."

[ashwhowrites]

An idea that popped in my head before bed. I hope you guys enjoy it! Been a bit since I've written my own Robin idea so I hope it's worth the read 🫶🏻🩷

Robin writes a love note for Vickie but accidentally puts it in Readers locker

Wrong locker

Robin has been trying to figure out the best way to confess her feelings to Vickie. Robin figured since she couldn't even speak a word to the pretty redhead in general, writing down her feelings would be best. But Robin didn't want to sound like a crazy stalker so she settled for a simple love note.

Robin took a deep breath as she walked to Vickie's locker, she slipped the pink paper in the small cracks. She held her breath as the note dropped in. The sound of the bell had her racing to the other side of the hallway. She tried to look busy but kept her eye on the locker.

She smiled as Vickie walked up, but her stomach dropped when she noticed Vickie was opening the locker next to the one with the note. Robin panicked, whose locker was the note in?

Fear filled Robin's bones as Y/N walked up. The girl's atmosphere was terrifying. Her leather jacket smelled of cigarettes and perfume. Her healed black boots echoed down the halls. Her tight jeans framed her body along with her tight band T-shirt. She was intimating, and she liked to be. Her sharp eyes glared at anyone who looked at her. A snarl on her lips if anyone bothered to talk near her.

Robin felt like she wanted to die when Y/N opened her locker, the pink note falling to Y/N's feet. Robin prayed she wouldn't pick it up, maybe stomp on it and move on.

But no, Y/N picked up the note. Robin was stuck in her spot, she needed to run but she couldn't move.

Y/N tried to keep the smile off her face. No one has seen her smile and that wasn't going to change. But she couldn't help but feel her heart flutter at the sweet note. She knew she was intimidating and scared people off. But she's never had someone see her in such a romantic way.

She knew of Robin Buckley, the cute bandgirl. Y/N played on the volleyball team and the band always played at their games. Was Robin watching her the whole time?

Y/N put the note in her pocket, closing her locker. She turned around to walk to class when she spotted Robin staring. Once they made eye contact, Robin looked down at her shoes.

Please don't walk up to me

Please please please

"Hey Buckley," Y/N's voice ran shivers up Robin's spine. She gulped and looked up. Y/N stood in front of her, her confident frame stood tall.

"I'm sorry! The note was-" Robin went to explain what happened but Y/N cut her off.

"The note was very sweet. Thank you, it made my day. I'll call you." Y/N said, a smirk on her face as she took in Robin's nervous frame.

Robin didn't dare to breath until Y/N strutted off.

~~~

"And turns out it was the wrong locker!" Robin explained, her voice wavering between pitches. Her nervous hands were shaking as she told the story to Steve.

Steve nodded along with his arms crossed. Robin tended to talk throughout their shifts and not do any work. So Steve picked up the slack. But the place was dead so gossip time took full attention.

"Whose did it end up in?" Steve asked, he uncrossed his arms as he reached to grab his drink.

"Y/N."

Steve's eyes went wide and his water flew out of his mouth. Steve was a grade above Y/N throughout high school, and even he was terrified of her. He prayed he'd never run into her after graduation. Her sneer and hard eyes kept him up at night. He still has nightmares about the day he ran into her, his hot coffee staining her shirt. Steve could almost feel the bruises on his cheek forming again.

"You're fucked!" Steve said.

"Dingus! Don't you think I know that? She said she was going to call me! What the hell do I do?" Robin panicked.

"Maybe she won't call you! Let's not stress about anything yet." Steve said

~~~

Robin sighed in relief when she crawled into bed, not a single phone call from Y/N. Maybe Y/N just wanted to make Robin nervous and never planned to do anything about the note.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Robin gulped as she picked up the phone, she hoped more than anything that Steve was calling about his lame date.

"Sorry, gorgeous. Volleyball went very late." Y/N's voice traveled through the phone, and it still made Robin nervous.

"It's okay." Robin gulped, her fingers playing with the telephone cord.

"I know this place downtown, maybe Friday night after the game, we can go?"

Robin tried to say no, all she had to do was explain the mix-up. But she was scared of Y/N's reaction. One date couldn't hurt, maybe Y/N would realize how boring Robin was and wouldn't be interested.

~~~

Robin packed up her instrument, talking with Vickie about the game. Robin tried her best to keep the conversation going.

"Ready gorgeous?" Y/N asked. Robin couldn't help but blush at the nickname being said to her face. Y/N was sweaty and panting from the game, and Robin couldn't help but find it hot.

"Yeah just gotta pack up." Robin rushed out, her eyes meeting Y/N's for one quick second.

"Okay. I'm going to change then I'll meet you in the parking lot?" Y/N suggested. Robin nodded and felt the air return to her lungs when she walked away.

"What's going on?" Vickie asked, she didn't bother to hide how shocked she was.

"She kinda asked me out." Robin shrugged.

"Oh, cool," Vickie said, but Robin couldn't help but notice how displeased Vickie looked about the news. Was she jealous?

~~~

Robin tried not to stare at Y/N as they walked into the bar, but Y/N looked hot in her tight black jeans, tank top, and signature leather jacket. Robin tried to ignore how sweaty her palms were.

Robin was confused about why they'd go to a bar when they weren't of age, but Y/N knew the bartender it seemed. Y/N walked to the back booth, near a pool table.

Y/N had a beer and Robin had an iced tea. Y/N made good conversation and Robin was surprised by the things they had in common. Robin found herself enjoying Y/N's presence.

A few hours passed and Robin swung her feet as Y/N played pool. Robin didn't know how to play and she did not want to look like an idiot in front of Y/N.

"Come here and just try!" Y/N encouraged, she's been trying to get Robin to play for the last hour. But Robin kept shaking her head.

Y/N gave up on convincing Robin, instead, she'd make Robin do it.

Robin gulped as Y/N grabbed her hand and lifted her off the stool.

"No, I'm not any good!" Robin tried but Y/N shushed her. Y/N placed the stick in Robin's hand, stood behind her, and corrected her form. Robin couldn't help but feel slightly turned on as Y/N's body was pressed against her back. The feeling of Y/N's breath against her ear, and Y/N's arms wrapped around her, made Robin feel fuzzy.

Robin took a deep breath, letting Y/N guide her to hit the small white ball. Robin watched as the stick hit the ball, it rolled and rolled until it smacked into a red ball, disappearing into the corner.

"You did it!" Y/N cheered, Robin couldn't help but get lost in her dazzling smile. At that moment Y/N didn't seem so scary and intimidating. She looked beautiful and happy.

~~~

A few weeks passed and Robin cursed herself for leading Y/N on. Robin couldn't help but be swept up in all the dates and how special Y/N made her feel. It made Robin wonder why she never looked at Y/N in the first place.

But Robin was tugged between Vickie as well. The girl the note was made for. It seemed Vickie was jealous of all the dates between Robin and Y/N. Robin remembered the hard look in Vickie's eyes when she showed up in Y/N's jacket.

"Are you cold?" Y/N asked, her hand laced with Robin's as they walked through the carnival. Robin wore a thin long sleeve, not expecting the wind to be chilly.

"No, I'm fine!" Robin argued, but the shivering of her teeth and tight shoulders gave her up.

Y/N smiled and took off her jacket, placing the warm leather over Robin's shoulders. Immediately lacing their hands together again.

A jacket Robin still hasn't given back. She wore it every day to school. To make Vickie jealous? Or to have pride she got Y/N to go soft? She wasn't sure.

She felt torn between both girls.

~~~

"Do you like her?" Steve asked, he felt bad for the situation Robin got herself in.

"I think so? But I don't know if I like her because she makes Vickie jealous." Robin explained. She was stuck in her personal hell.

"Well if Vickie's jealous, it means she has feelings for you. So you have your answer. Vickie is interested and single. Do you want to go after her? Or stay with Y/N?"

"I think I want Vickie. I mean the note was meant for her but I'm afraid if Y/N finds out the note was for Vickie, she'll snap me in half " Or maybe she was worried it would snap Y/N in half.

~~~

Robin sat across Y/N as she sipped on a milkshake. Robin's stomach hurt too much to enjoy the sweetness.

"Are you okay? You look like you might be sick." Y/N said, her milkshake pushed to the side as she reached across for Robin's hand. Robin gulped as Y/N's soft thumb rubbed her skin.

Just say it, Robin repeated in her head. She needed to tell the truth before Y/N truly fell for Robin.

"I need to tell you something," Robin said, her free hand gripping the leather jacket by her lap. Y/N encouraged her with a small smile.

"Remember the note?"

"Of course I do." Y/N smiled

"I put it in the wrong locker," Robin said quickly, wincing as the words finally were put into the air.

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, her head turned as she tried to understand.

"I wrote the note for Vickie and I was scared to tell you. " Robin looked up to catch Y/N's reaction. The smile turned upside down as a frown covered its place. Robin has never seen so much emotion on Y/N's face. And just like she feared, the terrifying hard mask appeared on Y/N's face.

Robin tried not to flinch as Y/N removed her hand and moved it quickly into her lap. Robin's palm smacked the table. As always, Robin ran her mouth until she made it worse.

"And I just didn't want to hurt you! And I was a little scared you'd break me in half. So I went along with the date, not expecting you'd like me! Because like I'm me and I'm so boring compared to you. I figured you'd see dating me was blah and wouldn't be interested. But then you asked for more dates and I was-"

"Scared to say no, yeah got it." Y/N barked. She was an idiot to believe someone saw her as something else than a scary monster that lurked in the halls. All this time, she thought Robin saw something in her, something worth liking and learning to love. But no, Robin was scared just like everyone else.

Y/N refused to let how upset she was shown on her face. She shook it off and grabbed her wallet. She slammed down some bills on the table, the harsh air hitting Robin's hand, she flinched again.

Robin was scared to look up as Y/N stood up. She was too scared to see the look on Y/N's face.

"Look at me," Y/N growled, Robin swallowed nervously and looked up. But there was a softness in Y/N's eyes.

"You're not boring, and you're not blah. You're funny, fun, and beautiful. Don't think so low of yourself. Next time, make sure the note goes in the right locker. I'll see you around Buckley."

Robin didn't know what to say. Y/N walked off, leaving her jacket with Robin.

~~~

Robin barely slept that night. She felt so guilty, and not all relieved. She thought telling Y/N would take the weight off her shoulders, but it was the opposite. The weight on her shoulders now crushed down on her chest.

Y/N's jacket thrown over Robin's desk chair was a painful reminder she had to see Y/N again.

The next morning, Robin held the jacket in her arms as she walked up to Y/N's locker.

"Um hey," Robin said quietly, Y/N and Vickie looked up at the sound of her voice. Robin shrunk under the gaze of both girls.

Y/N figured she was talking to Vickie so she turned back around to her locker.

Robin couldn't help but feel like she was slapped in the face as Y/N ignored her completely.

"I have your jacket." She said, tapping Y/N's shoulder. Y/N turned around, grabbed the jacket, and slipped it back on her body. In a way Robin felt a weird feeling of pride. She knew it was Y/N's jacket in the first place, but Robin wore it for weeks to where it almost felt like hers. It felt like Y/N was wearing Robin's jacket.

"Thanks," Y/N muttered the locker behind her slammed shut as she quickly walked off. Y/N couldn't watch Robin and Vickie talk about their feelings.

"Yikes, she's back to cold." Vickie observed.

"Yeah I kinda broke things off," Robin explained, a feeling in her stomach as Vickie tried to fight off a smile.

"Oh that's too bad!" Vickie said, but Robin could hear the excitement in her voice. "What happened?"

"I wrote this note to ask you out and I accidentally put it in her locker. I've been too scared to tell her but I finally did. And I think she hates me." Robin said, looking over her shoulder but Y/N was long gone.

"Ask me out?" Vickie asked, a smile on her face.

"Yeah," Robin said with a smile. Her face warmed when Vickie reached forward to lace their hands together. Robin couldn't help but notice Vickie's grip wasn't as tight and safe as Y/N's. Robin didn't feel like she was protected like the way she did in Y/N's hands.

"I'd love to!" Vickie cheered, both girls sharing a bright smile.

But Robin couldn't help but feel an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

~~~

It didn't take long for Robin and Vickie to officially be together. Steve was proud of Robin for finally making a choice, but even he couldn't help but feel like it was the wrong one.

Robin spent every minute with Vickie, searching for the fluttering in her stomach that she had with Y/N. Robin thought it was fear but maybe it was excitement.

Robin tried to fight off the frown on her face when Y/N passed her in the halls. No more warm smile sent her way. Just a hard look, the same look she gave everyone else.

Was Vickie the right choice?

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere! Supernatural Harem

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

A/N: This idea was inspired by a Reddit prompt.

Ever since you were little, you’ve always attracted unwanted attention from supernatural creatures. You were like a magnet, a special enigma that only certain entities were aware of. Werewolves would try to take you to their dens, sirens would always try to lull you towards the sea with their voices, fairies would try to guide you to their forbidden forests. The list could go on and on.

Mythological creatures thought to be made up scary bedtime stories would always line up outside your door. It didn’t matter how old you were. Childhood memories consisted of these monsters trying to kidnap and force an adoption upon you. Teenage/adult years consisted of marriage proposals and courtship. No matter where you were, there was always a stalker up your trail following you.

Having friends was basically impossible. Every interaction you’ve had with another person has always ended up badly for them. Whether they be mutilated beyond recognition or become a seeping liquid you knew better then to go out and make friends. Thankfully, you’re family was never harmed by this ordeal and you moved as far away from them as possible to keep them safe.

Currently, you have a dilemma on your hands and right now it’s because of a certain Naga.

“Do you like my skin?” He asked in a tense voice. As he stands before you with his long serpent tail wagging through the air like a dog.

“It’s very pretty” You knew better than this. You felt like an absolute fool for picking up his shedded skin. Honestly, you should have just ignore it and went on with your day as if nothing was there.

“I’m so happy you think that way. If you like it that much let’s get married and I can give you as much as your pretty little heart desires. I’m so happy I decided to approach you. It took me months of prepping and working my skin to make sure that it shined brightly when it came off”

“It’s happening again,” you thought. Interactions like this happen on a daily basis. It would be strange not to see one marriage proposal a day from these guys. No matter what you did or how much you changed your appearance, these guys would always come back with eyes filled with love. Everyone of those supernatural creatures had their own unique version of courting and expressing their love.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think I’m ready for marriage”

“You don’t have to be, as long as you come back with me I’ll make sure to treat you right and absolutely worship you. Being in your presence and being the only thing to brace your eyes is enough for me.

“I need some time to think about this, my emotions are still unclear”

“I understand this concern of yours and shall agree to give some time to ponder about this. However, I shall be coming back within a month's time and if you are still unsure I will take you back with me whether you like it or not” The naga states as slithers out of your yard and back into the forest.

The day just started and you were already exhausted. It honestly did not matter if he came back or not because, as said before, at least one supernatural creature was at your side. When he comes back, there would most likely be a bloodthirsty fight between two entities and you were sure as hell not going to get in the way by stopping the fight.

Well, there’s no use in moping around might as well just go back inside to make dinner for yourself. Walking towards your kitchen you go to pick up some food but before you could everything in your house was being knocked over.

“Seriously, again?!” You were honestly getting so sick of this. Your ghost admirer seemed to have barged into your home and was making a mess of it.

“If you’re going to stay here you might as well help me cook dinner” Honestly, the audacity of this man has you appalled. Out of all your obsessive admirers, the ghosts were definitely the most annoying. Every single day they always barge into your home and there’s nothing you can do about it because they can quite literally go through your walls.

“I’ll do it but only if you call me husband” he says lovingly as he starts to make his form appear visible to your eyes.

“Please, husband” And just like that, ingredients start to fly through the air. Hey, I mean who are you to deny free labor. If they're always going to make an appearance in your life might as well just make them useful.

After dinner, you decided to take a long needed bubble bath. Sometimes you wonder what life would be like if you were just a normal and average person. It didn’t really even matter anyways, it’s not like those wishes would ever become a reality.

Moving your way out of the bathroom you start to make your way to bed. As you lay there your eyes begin to droop and sleep begin to succumb to you.

It would have been a peaceful scene had it not been for the vampire staring at you through your window…

Pt.2

[chrissv4mp]

— I COULD CHANGE YOUR LIFE -

the prologue , it was important. — | — ...back — | — next... — |

summary: chris has an obsession with you, one of the most famous pop stars of the last few years. when he goes out to eat at a local diner with some friends, he spots you, and his obsession turns to something bigger.

pairing: stalker!chris sturniolo × singer!reader

warnings + topics: cursing, stalking, murder, weapons, blood, obsessive behavior, suggestive moments, breaking & entering, crying, arguments, chris is crazy, choking, drowning, etc. more than half of these topics are mentioned in later chapters, not the prologue.

author's note: if the person reading this is sensitive to any of the topics listed above, please do not read this. i am not responsible for your own media consumption, and will not change any aspect of the story for your own pleasure.

author's note 2: no but real talk, this is probably the most motivated i've ever been while writing/coming up with a story😭 i really hope all of you enjoy this and please remember this is just my imagination and is not real at all!!!

word count: 1.8k

"don't be afraid of me,

i'm what you need."

chris laughs at his brother's joke, hand landing on matt's shoulder as he clings onto the brunette boy. nick just chuckles, glancing over at madison only to see her laughing her ass off as well.

nate smiles at matt, taking a quick look at chris before he lets out a quiet giggle. chris was always making the group laugh, he was just unintentionally funny at times.

chris begins to tickle matt with a cheeky grin on his face, resulting in his brother pushing him away. matt steps in front of chris before opening the door for his friends, flashing a smile at madison, nate, and nick. he only sticks his tongue out at chris, and his younger brother does the same.

matt couldn't help but laugh before following close behind the group, looking back to make sure nobody else was coming through the door.

"haven't been here in years." nick says, taking in the atmosphere of the older building as he looks around the place. he can't believe it's been so long.

madison listens with intent as matt chimes in, adding on to his brothers new topic, "yeah, i can't believe it's still up."

"we always went here after our lacrosse and hockey games for a celebration, even if we didn't win. it became a tradition until we moved to la, so it's special being here again." the middle triplet explains with a smile on his face, reminiscing the vibe of the place.

nate hums at his friends memories, looking around the small diner that was mostly empty. there wasn't many people who came here as often, but it was very popular back when the triplets were in high-school.

chris grabs both of his brothers, pulling them closer to him with a huge smile on his face, "yup, gotta love the memories we made in this place." nick grimaces at his brother's cheery tone, but he still pats his back affectionately.

matt just ruffles his hair before distentangling his and his brothers limbs, settling his hands in his jean pockets as he waits for someone to speak again.

"let's go sit?" madison suggests, and the whole group collectively agrees as matt and madison lead the way to a booth in the corner of the building.

all of them immerse in conversation as they look over at the menu, chris looking over at the kids menu occasionally and getting interested in the short list of options. chicken nuggets did sound good, but he wasn't seriously gonna get them.

"kid seriously got dino nuggets," matt laughs, and chris only flips him off, "shit is crazy."

madison looks over at chris, grabbing his forearm to slowly bring it back down on the table. as chris turns his head to look at her, she sighs, eyes wide in warning. "if you bark at me again..."

nick laughs, looking over at nate and matt to catch their reactions. nate snorts and matt laughs harder at his best friends reaction. he can't help but grab nates shoulder and rest along his back comfortably, tears almost pricking in his eyes.

madison forks a piece of steak into her mouth, looking over at chris to see that he's already munching on his meal.

"slow down, chris. you're gonna get the hiccups." matt says, tone warning as he looks at his brother with a slightly concerned expression.

the brunette picks up his sandwich before biting into it, his eyes trained on his younger brother as he bites down on a fry.

the others begin to eat, chatting in between bites as they get sucked into the topic of work. chris hates the topic, but he has no choice but to listen in. some of the stuff he finds interesting, like designs for merch and new ideas for vlogs over the summer.

he can't help but let his attention wander off from the conversation in front of him, eyes roaming the old diner and looking around for any other things that catch his eye. he doesn't want to think about work the entire rest of the night, that's actually what he wants to get his mind off of.

his foot taps against the side of the booths seat, his leg hanging off but not quite touching the floor just yet. did they raise the seating in this place? maybe, but all he could focus on at the moment was a girl sitting across from his friend group.

chris could only see the side of her face, but he knew who it was. he knew very well who hid in a booth at the back of the diner. it was y/n l/n, one of singers he's been obsessing over lately. what was she doing in boston? no, what was she doing in such a low-quality diner like this? he seriously didn't understand why huge a-list celebrities went to run-down places.

maybe for the aesthetic, the scenery. he does the same thing, but he never thinks bad of the places he goes to. nothing is really considered bad unless it's falling apart or smells horrible. like chobani yogurt. he couldn't stand the smell of that... substance. he wouldn't even clarify it as food!

"what the actual fuck." chris says out in the open, louder than he intended to but not loud enough that she could hear.

nick tenses up at his brothers tone, grabbing onto matts shoulder tight as he looks over at the younger boy, "what. chris, what?!"

matt winces at the small pain, but he also becomes alert, looking around the place for any signs of danger. he sees none, and his eyes return to chris again. everybody's eyes are on him now, but the longer-haired boys eyes aren't on them.

"chris!" nate exclaims, shaking his friends shoulder and finally making him come back to reality.

the brunette has to hold himself back from pointing, gripping the seat under him as he speaks quietly, like if he spoke any louder the building would collapse, "y/n l/n. y/n l/n is in that booth right-fucking-there, look, look!!"

the entire groups heads turn in sync, looking the direction that chris' eyes were pointed at. madison, nick, and matt's jaws dropped, and nate only looked around in confusion. madison began to shake matt by his shoulders, and he let her.

he was sure the entire group, minus nate, was in shock. they all had the same questions as chris, why was she here? who was that girl she was with? would she take a picture with them if they asked?

chris didn't give them any more time to think, practically jumping out of his seat and holding himself back from running straight towards her. he was about to meet his favorite female singer ever, and possibly even take a picture with her? how could this day get any better, seriously.

"hi, excuse me. sorry to bother you, but could i get a picture?" chris smiled, eyes glistening in the dim lighting of the diner, and maybe even in admiration of the beautiful girl in front of him.

she looked up from her friend, who chris knew as olivia rodrigo, and looked at him with a sweet smile. he swore her teeth glowed, "of course,"

she stood up from the booth, the drop being insanely tall for her shorter figure. chris had a couple inches on y/n which resulted in him looking down at the h/c girl. she cocked an eyebrow as she took a better look at him, eyes basically glowing at the realization.

"hey, aren't you that famous youtuber that films with his brother? correct me if i'm wrong, but you're chris, right?" she asks with slight confusion in her voice, and chris just stares in awe at the knowledge that y/n knows who he is.

y/n stares at him awkwardly, hearing olivia giggle behind her quietly. that's what snaps chris back to reality, and he nods his head, "yeah, yes, that's me! how'd you know? do you.. do you watch us?

he watches you. interviews, live performances, listening parties. that's what he meant, he wasn't some creep that followed around people he liked. probably.

she nodded her head as she looked up at the taller boy, still shocked that one of her favorite celebrities came up to her. y/n didn't even see him walk in, and now here he was, asking for a picture. "yeah! and i would assume you listen to me, hm?"

chris nodded happily, a grin on his face as he stared into her eyes with adoration. y/n was so much prettier in real life. now, he could really see all of her facial features, he could see the features that made her special, "yes! i love your music so fucking much. it always brings me up whenever i'm down, you're really a huge part in my life."

y/n made a gesture with her hands, putting them over her heart as she looked at chris with her doe eyes, "that means so much to me, chris. you're so sweet, thank you."

she couldn't help but wrap her arms around the boy, and chris only welcomed her warmly, taking in the scent of her perfume as his head rested on the h/c-girls shoulder. she smelled as good as she looked. damn, the things he'd do just to have her perfume on his nightstand.

fuck, the things he'd do just for her love, even. he would steal for her, and he had just met the girl. no, it felt like they've been friends for an eternity, and now they were just meeting again for the first time in a while. that's the real story. it's not fake.

"i saw you on the screens

i know we're meant to be."

matt opened the door again, beckoning all of his friends and his brother out the door of the old diner. he watched as chris stood still, leaning against the wall as he stated over at y/n. she was making small talk with her waitress as she signed on the bill.

chris couldn't get enough of the girl after that interaction they had. he couldn't get her out of his mind, she was just there, clouding all of his senses with nothing but y/n.

"hey, buddy!" matt snapped, and chris turned to look over at his brother who just stared at him with suspicion in his gaze, "are you coming or not? we don't have all night, y'know."

the younger boy shrugged, turning back to look at that beautiful girl, "i'll take an uber home. you guys can take madison to her hotel and nate to his house, i just have a few things to do."

matt sighed quietly, worry and suspicion flashing across his features as he looked at his brother. he just shrugged it off before walking out the door, and chris smiled when he heard the door shut.

he had things to do tonight, important things. his brothers wouldn't care if he was out late tonight, right? i mean, after all, he had to do this. it was important.

comment to be on this taglist! @livialifesblog @zayyluvz @snowysosturn @mirioosos @1800-love-me

[rainbow-nerdss]

AITA for accidentally traumatising a 13 year old kid by pretending to be his dead mom?

So basically a couple of weeks back i (33F) was at work and I noticed this guy (30sM) staring at me. Now, this isn’t totally unheard of, I'm kind of used to it because I've done some acting in the past and sometimes people sort of stare while they try to figure out where they know me from. Usually I ignore it, but this guy was like crazy hot so I figured, fuck it, I’ll go talk to him, maybe make a sale out of it. We sort of talked a bit while I served him, and found out he’s a single dad. He had sort of sad vibes and I was kind of into it so when he asked me out I said sure, why not and we agreed to go for dinner.

So everything was going well for a while, we went on a few dates but mostly we facetimed bc he works 24 hour long shifts and scheduling dates around that and a kid is tough, which i totally understood and I was happy to be patient with him.  I should also say we still haven’t kissed at this point, even when he took me out on a boat on a lake, which was probably in my top 5 dates of all time? Anyway, I got the vibe he was holding back a bit but I figured I could wait bc he seemed like he was working through some stuff and dating in LA is fucking hard. 

What happened next was where the real shit started to hit the fan, though.

Basically, I decided to bring him some brownies at work, but I mistimed it and he’d already gone home so I gave them to his coworker who looked at me like I was a ghost or something. I should have recognised something was off then but I brush it off and the next day I get a call from the guy, and he asks me to come over to his place which hasn’t happened before. I figure this is a good sign, that maybe he’s ready to start moving things forward, but when I get to the house, there’s all these pictures on the coffee table and they all look EXACTLY like me. My first thought was: holy shit, this guy’s a stalker. Great. Then I looked closer, though, and the pictures weren’t even of me. Turns out, I look exactly like this guy’s dead wife???

Anyway, that was wild and obviously I left after hearing him out a little bc I just needed to wrap my head around it.

Now this next bit might be where i’m the AH, bc i haven’t had a chance to do any acting in a while and I genuinely felt bad for the guy, he just wanted a chance at closure with his wife and I couldn’t really fault him for that. 

So long story short, I cut my bangs (they looked cute in the pictures of his wife so I figured they’d work on me) and I went to his house in character as his wife and encouraged him to say what he needed to say to her. Things got pretty heated and he shared some really intimate thoughts and feelings so I was getting into it, you know? We embraced and I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I thought it really helped him until the door opened and in walks his kid with a woman who is apparently his girlfriend? So i guess the single part of “single dad” wasn’t totally accurate either.

Also, the kid called me mom, which kind of broke my heart, and I feel like maybe I might have fucked up somewhere here.

So reddit, I have to ask AITA for pretending to be a dead woman and accidentally being the other woman while simultaneously traumatising a thirteen year old kid?

[weirdworldofwinnie]

Happy Halloween!🎃Here's a treat for all you Jonathan Crane lovers out there:

Face Me...

Dr. Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow x Female Reader (NSFW 18+ only smut)

Summary: You work at Arkham Asylum in Gotham and Dr. Crane has been stalking you for a while, but you are leery of him and have been avoiding him outside of professionalism at all costs. One night though as you are leaving work, he tracks you down at your car to see just what you're so afraid of.

Word Count: ~4,426

Warnings: Semi-rough car sex, non-con elements, forced oral (male receiving), dirty talk/language, slight degradation, hair pulling, slapping, stalker behavior, talk of virginity loss, birth control, Dr. Crane being kind of a creep in general

Note: Reader does not know he is actually Scarecrow! And images above are sourced from Pinterest. This story is based only on Cillian Murphy's version in the Batman films and is my interpretation of the character; I don't own him or any part of the franchise, this is just for fun.

Tonight was swathed in misty sheets of rain in the gritty darkness lightly tainted by the glow of streetlights as your car, parked a few blocks from Arkham Asylum, beeped to unlock and you slung your purse over your shoulder, sighing after a long day and wanting to get home to a hot bath and a drink or two. But a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach at a shadow from your peripheral vision made you hesitate and you squinted through the hazy shower that was tapering off to a light drizzle, dampening your hair.

A suited man, height on the shorter side, was stopped no more than twenty feet away and a jarring jolt rushed to your bones when you saw the street light glint off his narrow framed glasses and you paused, hand on the car door. He was utterly silent and you were unnerved by his stiff posture and oddly clenched fists, half thinking to jump in your four-door-sedan and peel out of his presence, but he then walked forward causally, those hands relaxing and slipping into the pockets of his black slacks.

"Good evening," he called out, stepping into view under a streetlight with a smirk and you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms defensively as he slowly approached, that sick smile never sliding off his features that were - you'd have to admit - frankly handsome... No, beautiful was a better term.

"Why are you stalking me, Dr. Crane?" you asked with edginess to your tired voice. It was late and you didn't even live in Gotham City, you just commuted here for work.

"Stalking? Oh no, I am simply observing," he replied smoothy, but it came off as more snappy and insincere.

"Right... Don't you have somewhere to go?"

"Do you?"

"Yeah, home to my apartment miles away. It's been an exhausting day and too late to be out on the town, so if you're proposing anything, I can't take it tonight."

"It's always a long, late night in Gotham."

He moved within a few feet of you and you swallowed nervously, but remembered a man like him could smell fear, so you put up a brave front.

"So when do you finally fuck off and leave me alone? It's unprofessional to follow someone without their permission, you know. Keep this up and I'll need a restraining order."

"But you always avoid me during work and now you reject my offer for simple company?"

"Company late at night at my car in the rain? And aren't you technically my boss? We aren't friends and I don't know why you're so interested in me, but I don't think you should be. I'm not looking for a man like you. Right now I'm just looking for a nice glass of red wine honestly."

"Really...?" he drew the word out to almost a parodying tone and you pursed your lips.

"Yes, really. Now I bid you goodnight, Dr. Crane." You opened the car door fully, ducking and stepping a foot in when the door caught and you looked up to see him holding it in a firm grip. He was stronger than you expected.

"Stop denying it, I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. Stop hiding and face me once and for all," he insisted darkly.

You took a breath, desperately trying to calm your beating heart and yet the horrible feeling that this evening wasn't going to end on a dull note persisted.

"Don't hurt me, I'll-" you started to warn and his eyebrows shot up with a shake of his head.

"Call the police?" It sounded like mockery from his mouth and you scowled as he continued, his pale hand sprinkled with rainwater sliding up and down the car door frame.

"Hurt you, hm? Well, only if you want me to." He chuckled and you stared at his slightly floppy dewey dark hair and raised eyebrows.

"Why the hell would I want you to hurt me?"

"You tell me. I do know you secretly want something else, don't you? Something more... erotic?"

You scoffed angrily, hating how he was worming his way past your exterior and into attraction, but you couldn't let it happen.

"Take a raincheck. I'm going home." You tried to shut the door but he was still holding it in a death grip, knuckles white and veins bursting out the back of his hand.

"Stop fucking around, I don't have time for this sh-" you cut off your sentence with a yelp as Dr. Crane shoved you inside the backseat of your own car and you landed flat on your back as he came inside to hover over your vulnerable body, wetting his pink lips.

"Please! Don't do this!" you cried out of panic and he leaned back, breathing heavily.

"Don't go anywhere," he warned and you struggled to sit up, throwing your purse up front and he slammed the side door shut, getting more comfortable in the backseat, which you were not pleased about.

"This is MY car, get out," you commanded, but he was as cool as a cucumber as he cleaned his glasses with a cloth from his suit jacket.

"I just want to talk one on one, which we never do outside of the usual board meetings and it can be so boring, always about psychiatry and stats and police reports and this patient and these crazies and-"

"Oh sure you just want to talk. I'm not some kind of naive idiot to the desires of the opposite sex," you rolled your eyes and he scoffed, settling back on the seat with a cross of his legs and looking up to the car ceiling.

"It's so cold and wet tonight, shame we aren't someplace more cozy," he muttered and you awkwardly crawled into the driver's seat with your keys and fumbled to insert them in, starting the ignition.

"What are you doing there?" he asked mildly and even that sounded passive aggressive. God, he sure was insufferable.

"Turning the heat on because you're whining about it. I just wish you'd get out of here, completely violating my privacy."

"This is a public street you're parked on, isn't it? And is this how you treat all passengers?"

"I never have any passengers," you remarked bitterly and Crane leaned forward, putting his hands on the back of the seat and peering around to you as you glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"Indeed. I know you're mostly a loner with almost no friends and orphaned from family or maybe you've lied and they aren't dead and are only estranged... Either way, no one cares and no one understands how you spend office hours in a facility full of the most criminally insane but you do it for the money and to quench your curiosity because deep down, you know - you know you're a freak too who sees no normal in what you have deemed a, oh say... corrupt kind of world."

You swallowed at his assertions and unfortunately fairly accurate reading.

"I don't need sympathy from you of all people," you snapped, putting the heat to full blast. It was freezing tonight and the defrost was battling the condensation filling up the windshield.

"I'm only trying to understand you myself, it's my job to psychoanalyze."

"I'm not one of your patients or experiments," you told him in disgust.

"Every human being is an experiment in the eyes of their creator, which is me for you because I happen to be the one who hired you in the first place. Without me, you would not have a job and therefore I created you in that respect," he replied in absurd smugness.

"Then what am I? Frankenstein's monster?"

His eyes flashed and he adjusted his glasses reflexively.

"I wish. No, you're my first prototype I have yet to diagnose."

You shut the heat off once the internal temperature was fairly toasty and cracked a window down a fraction for circulation. A beat of silence befell until he suddenly climbed into the front, dropping into the passenger seat confidently, and you realized how lithe he was, how easily he fit into spaces not designed for someone with such an overshadowing, all-encompassing ego.

"Now what are you doing?" you asked exasperatedly. He didn't answer and you hated the way looking at him was making your heart flutter despite your anger and the alarm bells ringing in your brain. Something about him was always... very off and you never could quite place your finger on it, he was a blind spot, but it was undeniable. Which was telling considering the people you were exposed to every day.

Crane reached up and removed his glasses entirely with a swipe to set them on the dash and your breath caught with that simple action. You admitted how he was very visually pleasing without those lens obstructing his intense blue colored orbs were. You glanced down and fiddled with the keys when he suddenly snatched them up out of your lap and pocketed them into his own pants with a manic expression.

"Hey, give those back!" you yelled and began to wrestle with him, arms flailing as he held his own above his head, palms up and empty.

"You want those? You have to do something for me first."

"I-Okay, what is it?" You dropped your arms and glared at him suspiciously. He smirked once, speaking with a tremor of excitement.

"If I was civilized, which I'm admittedly not, I'd ask you out on an old fashioned dinner date and then walk you to your door, give you a nice polite kiss and send flowers to your desk on Monday. But I can't wait anymore for that saccharine romantic scenario, so we'll get straight down to business. I want to fuck your brains out, right here in the car."

You blinked, rather stunned.

"I... I-I no, I can't, I mean that's-"

And here was where your confidence utterly failed as he suddenly lunged and grabbed you to pin you down inbetween the passenger and driver seats, head flung upside down almost to the backseat floor and legs helplessly kicking towards the windshield.

"Please, don't do this!" you yelped anxiously.

"Don't tell me you're a virgin who has never had a dick in you before," he whispered, misreading your fearful hesitant expression. Actually, you'd had sex once with a lame boyfriend back in college and since then, avoided the dating and hookup scene, content just to masturbate when you could.

"Oh, fuck, I should've guessed. What a shocking discovery," he wrongly concluded rather sarcastically and you cringed, twisting your head away from his warm breath and ridiculously good looks.

"This makes it all the more interesting, then," he murmured with a feathery caress to your cheek and you flinched, giving him a kick and successfully wriggling out of his grasp to curl up against the door in the backseat.

"I've been waiting a long time for our encounter," he mused, utterly unfazed at the negative reaction.

You immediately went to open the door, ready to run for your life if he became overly threatening, but he hit the button that locked all the doors. You manually unlocked your one door - thank God for that safety feature - but his deadly voice made you freeze.

"Are you quite sure you want to do that?"

"T-This is my ensured vehicle and y-you are violating every right of mine by t-taking over like this," you stated, but your voice was shaking like a leaf through the words.

"That's it, you are afraid of me..." he whispered slowly and the pure delight with pride in his voice was unmistakable. You turned to look at him directly, unable to hide and deny anything any longer.

"I think you are being very inappropriate right now," you admitted nervously.

Crane moved to join you in the backseat, but you felt stuck even though you could technically open the door and make an escape. There was no way he could really stop you, was there? He didn't have a weapon on him, did he?

"If you were really frightened, you would have bolted by now," he said as though reading your thoughts and you gulped, realizing he was right.

"Dr. Crane, I-" you were broken off by him abruptly grabbing your face and kissing you, his tongue sloppily forcing its way into your mouth and you naturally reciprocated while inhaling his sharp stinging scent of expensive cologne. He pulled back with a gasp and a mischievous spark in his eyes that made something awaken deep inside.

"You kissed me," you said in a stunned voice.

"That's precisely what I did, Y/N," he answered with another touch of smugness and you closed your eyes, knowing you were in too deep now. He was going to take this all the way and you felt helpless to stop it. Did you even want to stop him?

"I knew if I exposed myself enough to you, you'd finally stop being immune," Crane told you with a sort of self-righteousness as he ran his hands down your back and shrugged your coat off before moving to your front to remove your blouse carefully, button by button.

"I hate to see such pretty tits contained and so oppressed... Let's free them, shall we?"

He unclasped your bra and removed it, tossing it to the floor and you shivered, goosebumps peppering your bare arms and neck.

"Aww, is it too cold?" He made a pout and privately you wanted to smack those stupid lips right off his condescending face but it was if you were under a spell of a sudden, entranced by his actions and his hypnotic eyes. He trailed his fingers down from your throat to your nipples and you hardened at the stimulation, closing your eyes in regret. Dr. Crane was turning you on, dammit.

"Better than I could imagine..." he breathed, taking in your appearance for a minute while groping your breasts, squeezing, and you gritted your teeth as he teasingly tickled you under your arms, making your breath hitch and a stupid giggle slipped out.

"Sensitive, are we? I promise I won't hurt you."

You leaned back, casting a fretful look out the windows in case of onlookers, but the street was empty and the glass was streaky with rain, creating a thickly translucent rippled covering not unlike a shower curtain.

"No one knows," Crane stated flatly in response to your paranoia while untying his dress shoes and pushing them under the seats. You just nodded, taking off your own and then unzipping your pants the same time he undid his own. His tight dark grey briefs were bulging with his cock and you hesitated, absolutely unsure of what to do when he completely stripped and out popped out his erect glistening-at-the-tip penis in full view.

"Take it in your mouth," Crane ordered abruptly, pushing you down beneath him.

"Um, no I think that's disgus-" Your voice was cut off as you nearly choked; he roughly shoved his cock so fast into your parted mouth. The silky end of his tie tickled your nose as he inched closer, and clearly this was much more enjoyable for him than it was for you as he groaned in building ecstasy and you kept your mouth closed around it, afraid that if you moved, you'd gag or get hurt. He forced your head up a little and bobbed, but you could feel a dribble of precum seeping down your throat and now you reflexed, yanking yourself from him with a loud noise and banging the car door open to cough and spit violently out onto the pavement below.

"Get back in, do you want someone to see us?!" Crane hissed and you felt a sharp tug on your hair as he pulled you back. You shrieked and self defensively twisted to slap him straight in the face. He gasped from the unexpected blow, falling back and banging his head on the opposite window as you spat, wiping your lips of his mess.

"Can't take it like a common whore, can you? Feel like being a goddamn difficult bitch, don't you? Think you're better than me, do you?" he seethed, rubbing his cranium and you huffed.

"I thought you'd just put your dick in me, not that bullshit."

"It's called oral and many women in fact enjoy it."

"How do you know, you've done that before?"

He had a strange expression when he replied briskly.

"I've read up on the concept, you know."

"You've studied about women and sex. Amazing. Is that what you do on your lunch break or...?" you almost laughed, but the way he was staring at you wasn't in a joking manner. He had the look of an inmate one straw away from a full psychotic behavior break down. Basing from your training, you decided to distract his frustrating anger and talk nonchalantly to calm him down.

"Okay, I'm kidding around, I get it, and I don't mean to hate or spite you. Remember when I was initially employed at Arkham, fresh out of college, and I met you for the first time? I personally thought you were extremely cocky and looked waaay too young to be a top psychiatrist in such a grand high security institution. Now I can say with certainty that while you are, um, creative in your methods with the inmates and I do admit I find you very terribly attractive, I have to say Dr. Crane... I still think you're an arrogant son of a bitch."

"Call me Jonathan," he replied, unimpressed by the insult and wrestling off his tie.

"Well, Dr. Jonathan, you sure are a pretty piece of work," you replied with ample attitude and he was fed up, dumping his jacket and shirt from his body and twisting the tie in his fingers. He held it up and a muscle spasmed in face, jaw clenching and enunciating his cheekbones.

"You want me to choke you with this?"

"I'd really prefer you didn't and it would be very nice if you weren't such a dick forcing your sex on me," you answered matter-of-factly.

"Lie down or I'll fucking fire you from your position, understand?" he snapped loudly and was extremely serious as you glared, but then reluctantly laid back obediently on the seats just to avoid complications and he came down swiftly, carefully aligning to position his penis at your entrance. He cautiously touched the moist head to your vaginal lips when you held up a hand onto his chest, stopping him.

"Now hang on doctor, don't you want to warm up first?"

"I'm obviously already warmed up, Miss Y/LN."

"But I don't have lubricant on me, so you're going to have to get me naturally very wet for penetration because right now I'm dry as a bone," you warned for your own protection, but hardly expected him to listen.

"Don't tell me how to do it," he replied, snippy.

"I'm serious, you can't just stick it in there; it will be just as hard for you as it'll be for me and I don't want to end up seeing a gynecologist."

"So you aren't a virgin after all?"

"I had my hymen broken with a loser in the past," you told him and he raised one brown eyebrow, creasing his forehead with a few fine lines.

"Then how should I start, Miss doctor?"

You wordlessly took a hold of his index finger and guided it to your opening and he pressed lightly, feeling pooling liquid.

"You little liar, you're already discharging," he whispered disapprovingly and he massaged your clit in slow jerky rhythm. You nodded in approval, losing your control as he slipped a finger in and moved around enough to make you clench a bit, trapping his digit.

"How does that feel?" he asked almost clinically and you closed your eyes, urging him to put in another finger. He did and you almost orgasmed when he extracted much too soon, sighing.

"This isn't much fun for me," he whined and you made a face, shifting position to spread your legs wider, putting your arms up and accidentally smearing the fogged window with your fingertips. You looked utterly submissive, practically begging to be fucked, to get it over with (so you convinced yourself).

But for all his aggression to trap you in your own car for penetrative sex, Jonathan was now becoming oddly timid as he hesitantly closed the gap between you, realigning his bare body to yours.

"Wait, have you done this before?" you asked suspiciously and he was sheepish in answering.

"I told you, you are my first prototype."

"Shit, you're the virgin here?!" You laughed as though this made this experience any less stressful or partially contrived.

"Do you masturbate?" you then asked and he rolled his eyes.

"What kind of man of do you think I am?"

"Is that yes or no?"

"Doesn't matter, Y/N. Now, let me ask you a more important question: are you on birth control of any type?"

"I..." you hesitated to answer because if you told him 'no' would he go any further? You had pills at home as a precaution, but neglected to ever take them, assuming you'd be remaining single. But you had no intention of getting into a full relationship and certainly not being impregnated by this man.

"I left them at home," you finally answered truthfully.

"I have something for that then," he assured and you stared as he leaned back and rummaged in the pockets of his clothes on the floor. He produced a tiny pill container and dropped a pill into your open palm. You didn't ask why he was carrying around birth control pills, but assumed he had indeed been planning this for a while.

"Don't want any unnecessary side effects of something that I'll have to end up terminating anyway," he muttered bitterly as you popped it in and climbed into the driver's seat to swig some water from your plastic bottle in the cupholder, feeling grateful that at least he didn't administer that Fear Toxin he was always messing around with in the asylum.

"Now can we get started?" Jonathan asked impatiently and you took a breath, easing the front seat down so you were lying parallel to him. Jonathan clamored on top of your naked flesh and straddled you, his cock rubbing up against your thighs, then vaginal area and you squirmed, clutching onto his back. He pushed in gradually, but densely, and you whimpered at the stinging pain and then the growing pleasure bubbling around his cock within your walls and you clenched hard, much harder than you had with his fingers.

"Oh... Fuck, Jonathan..." you groaned and he bounced up and down lightly, thrusting with slaps of skin and you felt your bottom sticking with sweat to the leather seat as he kept at it for several minutes, gripping your hips and nearly plowing you apart. It hurt, no getting around it, and he wasn't privy to what you were feeling as he seemed entirely in his own zone, racing for his pleasure until you moaned loud enough to cause him glance down, realizing you were getting close to free falling off the edge.

"C'mon, you're so close with that pretty little pussy of yours, almost..." Jonathan breathed in your ear and as he hit the spot, finally the climaxing orgasm came with a bang and it was so intense, probably fueled by adrenaline and stress more than actual love, that you emitted a high pitched shrieking whine which trailed into a low moan of relief while it tapered off and he grunted, somehow thrusting even further. Yes, you had minimal experience, but had never ever been penetrated this far before and you dreaded how much longer he could rail you, but thankfully his own orgasm came with a grunting groan as he spilled into you and you held on, digging nails into his shoulder blades and nearly biting his neck. He panted heavily in your ear and his tickle of breath made your stomach flip.

He laid still on top of you for awhile, cock twitching and warming your insides. The windows were fogged up completely and the cold was now non-existent with the heat you and him were creating out of friction alone.

"You enjoy yourself?" you whispered hoarsely to Jonathan as his breathing slowed sluggishly and he looked like he was falling asleep, so you shoved him off your aching body and he blinked, rubbing his forehead.

"Yeah, that was satisfactory. Maybe I should bump up your paycheck."

"I'm not a prostitute, but thank you."

He smiled lazily, eyes rather unfocused, and you pulled your seat up with the lever, reaching for his glasses on the dash and handing them back to him. He, in turn, retrieved the car keys from his pants and tossed them back to you with a clanging jingle.

Casting a look around your car, there were streaky handprints on the fogged glass, thin swipes of fingers and imprinted palms decorating the back windows and you reached over to one and drew a heart outline in a patch of blank space. Jonathan's own finger speared through it, making a arrow.

"Very romantic," you commented sarcastically and moved to join him in the backseat as he started to draw a creepy face reminiscent of a familiar spooky icon (a clown? Maybe a scarecrow?) when he stopped and checked his watch.

"I need to go," Jonathan coldly stated out of the blue and began to hastily gather up his clothing, awkwardly dressing before he stepped outside and zipped up his pants, and inhaled the late October city air, somewhat out of breath. The rain had stopped and the skies were clearing, the full pearly white moon slicing through the curtain of storm clouds, and you drew your blouse around yourself with a shiver before sliding into underwear, realizing you'd never look at Dr. Crane the same since this intimately raw experience.

"So I'll be seeing you around tomorrow...?" you wondered aloud and although you meant for that to be purely work related, he clearly took it the other direction.

"Oh, I'll be seeing you." He smirked knowingly and then slammed the car door closed in your face, leaving you sore and to reel from whatever the hell this twisted specimen of a man just put you through. Did you like it?

Maybe.

Thanks for reading 🖤 First time writing for Jonathan Crane, so I hope this was halfway decent!