sum. pranking the lads men by telling then you need space/a break from this relationship.
notes. based on a suggestion from a lovely anon, so thank you!! again not very proud of this one (i was half asleep making it idfk how i thought of this) anyway, no warnings, slight hurt to comfort bcs of the prank!!
Blunt!Simon, who has never once been good at keeping his mouth shut. He says this exactly as he sees them. Simon, who has the exact same mindset when he sees you enter the bases gym, clad in leggings and a standard issue sports bra.
'Can see yer nipples cuttin' through yer top, luv' he said gruffly, when you came over to say hi. You stopped dead in your tracks, blood rushing to your face, who even says that?!
You try your best to get on with your workout, opting to do some cardio to warm up...
After a few hours, you head over to the water fountain to hydrate, where Simon had been standing, filling up his bottle. 'Been enjoyin' the outline 'f yer cunt, luvie' he says, looking down at you as you cough on your water in shock.
He bends down to get close to you 'dyin' for a taste... give yer LT a han', aye?'
Blunt!Simon who has you throbbing with his crude words.
Thinking about dog shifter!reader who, when little, would lie in your mothers lap during slow evenings and simply enjoy the peace she brought you
Of course, that was back when you were a pup, small and soft and easy to love.
Nowadays, you're nothing anyone wants to cuddle. A giant anatolian shepherd, you can remember clearly the day your mom told you the weight was too much, and you'd simply have to curl by her feet. Age has changed you just as war has.
No one wants to hold you, too big and awkward to fit in anyone's lap.
That is, until you meet ghost, your new lieutenant. A giant of a man, even in your human form he easily outclasses you. Of course, ghost has worked with plenty of shifters before, killed plenty too, he knows exactly how to read your body language.
Meaning it almost takes you off guard after a bad mission when he drops a heavy hand on the back of your neck like he's scruffing a pup, grunting "with me, runt."
"Go on, shift." He orders you in the recroom he just locked that you're pretty sure he shouldn't have keys for. Maybe you see him a bit as a pack leader, so you shift without asking why.
Only for him to bodily haul you onto his lap, entire couch sagging with the weight of you both. He doesn't groan about how big you are, or how your claws dig into his jeans.
He only cards two hands into your fur and gently scratches until you let your mind really sink into it.
Because for ghost, you aren't too big. Your ugly parts, your neevous habits, all of you. He can handle it if you'd just let him.
゛★ nsfwtwt ! satoru gojo has a secret porn account.
CHAPTER 1 ⇢ NEXT CHAPTER .
#nsfwtwt nerdjo ⋆ satoru is secretly a freak ⋆ blackmailing him ⋆ goes to uni with reader ⋆ no smut ⋆ nsfw/heavily suggestive . art by angrymiloras
Calculus.
The word itself was a curse. It wasn't just a subject; it was designed by some ancient, sadistic mathematician to make pretty girls like you suffer. What was his name? Archimedes… something like that. Yeah, screw that guy.
You were a popular girl. It wasn't a title you'd given yourself, that would be lame, it was simply a fact. You knew the right people, said the right things, and always looked effortlessly put-together. Someone like you didn’t have the time for complexities of differential equations. But that was okay, because that’s where your live-in (ish), human calculator came in.
You glanced across the table at him.
Satoru Gojo. The campus's quintessential nerd. Tall, lanky, perpetually hunched over a textbook, hiding behind a pair of black glasses that made his bright blue eyes look a lot bigger than they actually were. He wore oversized sweaters and button-ups that were always a size too big, the sleeves hanging over his hands. He was the guy you'd copy answers from in lectures, the one you'd text at 2 in the morning with one, demanding message: "hw answers.”
He was a tool. Useful, quiet, and unassuming. He wasn’t even saved by his name—just “nerd from calc” because what other use would he be of to you?
"So, did you get the derivative for problem seven? The one with the... ugh, whatever it was," you groaned, leaning forward and tapping your manicured nail on his open notebook.
He didn't even look startled. "It's an implicit differentiation problem. I put the work for it on the second page," he said, his voice low and monotone. He didn't look at you.
He never did. It was part of his schtick, you guessed. Too shy to make eye contact with you or some nerdy shit like that.
You grabbed his notebook, snapping a quick picture of the page. “Thanks, nerd. You’re a lifesaver.” You said it with the kind of smile that would make any heterosexual man trip over their own feet. He just nodded, eyes flushed to his laptop screen. What a loser.
You rolled your eyes and were about to turn away, phone in hand, when your gaze snagged on something. His hair. It was white. Not blonde, not gray, but a stark, almost shockingly pure white. It was messy, sticking up in all directions like he'd just rolled out of bed. You blinked. A sudden, strange feeling washed over you.
Where had you seen that hair before?
The memory hit you like a freight train.
Last night. 1 AM. You'd been bored, scrolling through Twitter, looking for something... interesting. You weren't ashamed of it. You were a teenage college student with needs. You'd been searching through the depths of the more porn-y side of Twitter, looking for some good stuff, when you stumbled upon a page.
The username was "@glassesoff."
The pictures were... god. Well, they were mouth-watering. Not the usual, low-effort thirst traps. These were high-quality. S-tier jerk off material. Tasteful, even, if you could call a close-up of a massive, perfect and pretty cock "tasteful." The shots were low-angle, emphasizing the sheer fucking size of the guy. Pictures of a shredded, lean torso, biceps that looked like they could choke you out in seconds, and a set of abs that had a six-pack so defined it was practically a twelve-pack. And the dick. You involuntarily licked your lips just thinking about it. A solid seven inches, maybe more, thick and beautifully shaped you got hot just thinking about it. There was no face. Just a body, and a hint of a messy head of hair.
White hair.
Who the fuck had white hair?
You’d followed the page almost immediately after binge watching his stuff with your fingers stuffed inside your pussy. You had a great time. Fantastic, even. Fell asleep right after, exhausted and thoroughly satisfied.
Now, looking at the quiet, nerdy boy in front of you, you felt a shiver run down your spine.
No way. No. Fucking. Way.
The username was "glasses off." Satoru wore glasses. He had white hair. And underneath those baggy clothes...
You stared at him. Hard. Freakishly hard it would be impossible for him not to notice. You were trying to see through the fabric, trying to imagine the body you'd seen on your phone screen hidden under all that shapeless cotton and wool.
He must have felt your gaze—there’s no way he wouldn’t. He finally looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours. "You're staring," he said, a faint frown on his face.
You snapped out of it, a flush creeping up your neck. "What? No, I wasn't. I was just... thinking. Don’t flatter yourself, four-eyes,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as your arms folded over your chest and your foot tapped a continuous pattern on the floor.
He raised an eyebrow, a skeptical look on his face. "Uh-huh. Sure. Look, if you're done, I have to get to my next class." He started gathering his things, shoving his laptop into his bag.
You watched him go, your mind a hurricane of possibilities. It was impossible. Wasn't it? There was no way the skinny, shy nerd who you had relegated to "tool" status was packing that kind of heat. No way he had a body that could make a porn star jealous.
And yet, the thought gnawed at you all day.
You couldn't focus in your lectures. You couldn't even concentrate on your Instagram feed which was not normal. All you could see was that low-angle shot of a perfect, beautiful cock that you wanted so badly. And then you'd imagine Satoru's shy, blushing face behind it. You shook your head—literally. Trying to shove the shameless thoughts away. AP lit class isn’t the time for horny thoughts. Especially not ones possibly related to your calc classmate.
That night, you were back in your dorm room. It was quiet, your roommate already asleep— totally and blissfully unaware of what you were doing. You opened Twitter, your finger hovering over the button on the search bar of "@glassesoff"’s page. You clicked on the profile, scrolling through the pictures again. It was admittedly your favorite page. You'd already jerked off to it twice. You’d probably do it again. But… the fact that it could be your nerdy classmate made it a bit weird.
You paused on a particular video. The camera angle was from the guy's perspective, looking down at his own body. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants, pushed down just enough to reveal the base of his… fuck, it’s so pretty. He gave a slow, deliberate stroke, and you heard a soft, breathy gasp.
Then a whisper.
"Yeah, you like that? Fuck, feels so good touching myself to you."
Your blood ran cold. You replayed the video. Then again. And again. The whisper was barely audible, but you recognized it. Satoru’s voice was a very distinct one. You could’ve chalked it up to similarity but it was just too obvious to ignore. It was muffled, almost lost in the background noise of his hand on his dick, but it was clear as day to you.
"I can't do this again,” you muttered to yourself. “Fuck no. Fuck. No.”
It was him. It was definitely Satoru.
You sat there, your jaw on the floor. Your nerdy little homework dispenser was a secret fucking sex god. Your "nerd" was a certified freak. And you orgasmed your brains out to his videos. Multiple times.
You wanted to block him, forget about this forever and never talk or think about it ever again. But a better thought crept up on you like a devil on your shoulder. You bit your lip and smiled like you had the greatest plan of all time. This was too good. This was better than any A you could get on a calculus test.
The next day, you didn't text him. You didn't ask for homework answers. You cornered him.
You found him in the student lounge, a quiet corner away from everyone else. He was alone, hunched over a textbook, a cup of coffee untouched beside him. You walked up, your heels clicking confidently on the linoleum floor, and sat down directly across from him.
He looked up, startled. "Oh. Hey. What's up?" He began to reach for his bag, assuming you were just there for the next assignment.
"No," you said, your voice low and sharp. "You're not going anywhere."
He froze, his hand hovering in mid-air.
"Okay...?" He looked confused, and a little wary.
"I know," you said simply, leaning back and crossing your arms.
He blinked. "Know what?"
"Don't play dumb with me," you said, a triumphant smirk playing on your lips. "I know about your little side hustle. at glassesoff?”
You watched the color drain from his face, his Adam’s Apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed.
It was instantaneous. His eyes widened behind his glasses, going from startled to panicked in a fraction of a second.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, his voice cracking.
"Oh, really?" You pulled out your phone, holding it up so he could see the screen. It was his profile page. His shirtless body.
"So this isn't you? The guy with the white hair and the... well, you know."
He stared at the screen for a moment, then looked around and shoved your phone down quickly. Looks like he didn’t want anyone seeing his little secret. Perfect.
"Where did you get that?" he whispered frantically, hand on your phone as he made sure it stayed shoved face down on the table.
"The internet, genius. It’s a public account,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Honestly, for a guy who’s so smart, you’re not very good at covering your tracks.”
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing again. "Look... please. You can't tell anyone. Please."
"Tell anyone?" you scoffed. "Now why would I ever do that? That would be boring." You leaned forward, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "No, I have a much, much better idea."
He looked at you, his blue eyes full of fear and confusion. He knew whatever you had planned could not be good for him. "What idea?"
You smiled. "From now on, you do all my homework. All my assignments. All my projects. For the rest of the year. You do them, and you do them well. You get me an A in every class. And in exchange, I don't tell anyone that the nerdy math whiz is actually a secret internet porn star."
He stared at you, his mouth slightly agape.
"You're blackmailing me?"
"Bingo! Give this geek a prize," you said, clapping your hands together. "So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?"
He didn't have a choice. You both knew it.
He just slumped in his chair, defeated. "Fine," he sighed, “I’ll do it.”
"Perfect. Knew you’d make the smart choice," You smiled, shoving your phone into your purse. "I’m going to pass with flying colors this year thanks to your little secret."
You booped his nose before standing up, ready to leave, but you paused. You looked at him one last time.
His head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. He looked defeated. Good.
But as you walked away, you couldn't get the image of his videos out of your head.
The thick, veiny cock, the ripped abs, the way he touched himself. You came to that. You were likely going to continue to coming to that.
The new arrangement was in effect. You got back to your dorm, feeling so pleased with yourself as you slipped into your pjs and hopped into bed. Your roommate was gone for the day—thankfully, so. You had his personal number, but the rules of the blackmail were more fun if you used the account to text him. You pulled out your phone, your thumb hovering over the Twitter app. You navigated to the page you’d bookmarked: @glassesoff.
You shot him a DM. No preamble.
You: yo nerd.
For a moment, nothing. Then, the three-dot bubble appeared, then vanished, then appeared again.
@glassesoff: hey
It was simple, just like him.
You: ok so the calc assignment. the one with the integral that looks like a demonic pentagram. i need answers. whole thing and not just the final answer. the steps too so it looks like i learned something. due thursday. thx.
You watched the screen, waiting for his typically flustered, long-winded reply you’d get on his regular texting app. Something like, "Oh, sure! No problem! I'll write it out as clearly as possible. Did you try using integration by parts? It's really a beautiful problem once you see the pattern!" or some other annoying thing.
It didn’t come.
@glassesoff: cool. u got it. the trick is just a simple u-substitution at the start, the rest is just mechanical. i’ll have it for u after my 4pm lecture.
You blinked at the screen. "Cool. u got it." No emojis. No frantic reassurance. Just… cool. It felt wrong, like hearing a cat bark. It was too confident, too streamlined.
You: …not gonna ask if i want u to colour code it so its "easier to follow?" lol
@glassesoff: that what you think? i’ll just send you the latex so it’s clean. less messy.
You snorted. Less messy. The guy who once gave you a handwritten guide to the periodic table with color-coded elements by atomic weight. You decided to test the waters, to poke at the persona.
You: latex lmao. sounds kinky. u into that kind of shit, nerd?
You expected him to immediately backpedal, to sputter out a denial. To revert to the Satoru who couldn't hold eye contact for more than two seconds.
@glassesoff: you’re the one who’s been scrolling through my page for a while. you tell me.
Your jaw actually dropped. You read it twice. Now where the hell did this come from? This was not the same person. You felt a familiar flush of heat, the same one from last night, creep up your neck. This was the guy from his videos, the one who knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how it made people feel. It was like a switch had been flipped. The meek, socially anxious guy from the lecture hall was completely, utterly gone.
You: wow. bold from the guy who almost cried when i said i knew his secret
@glassesoff: bold from the girl who's used me for homework for 3 years and only now knows my name. let’s just say its easier to be myself behind a screen.
This was… surprising. You were a predator, toying with your prey, but the prey suddenly had teeth. And horns. And maybe a tail you kind of wanted to pull.
You: oh yeah? and who would “yourself” be? the one who posts his abs to thousands of strangers?
@glassesoff: among other things. you know. you saw them.
You bit your lip, hard. He was right. You’d seen them. You’d watched a video of him specifically, one where he was kneeling, a professional, almost cruel angle making his body look like a carved Greek statue. The video was titled "need an assistant for this lab," a low groan accompanying the mess he made.
You: yeah i did. i gotta say, your nerd routine is good. i almost believed it. 7 inches of "i can do your homework" was a hell of a plot twist.
@glassesoff: 7.4, actually. and i can do more than just homework, clearly.
You caught yourself in a giggle. You couldn't help it. The sheer audacity of the guy who hid in the back of the classroom, the one who seemed afraid of his own shadow, was throwing your innuendos back in your face like he was born for it.
You: calm down with the ego, nerd. u still owe me an assignment.
@glassesoff: and i’ll deliver. but since we’re being so honest now, how was your night?
Your heart did a little skip. He knew. He had to know. You’d followed his page, you’d watched his videos. The sly fucker was asking you to admit it.
You: it was fine. slept like a baby.
@glassesoff: liar. you followed my page at 11:47 pm. you didn’t sleep for at least another hour. i can see the likes on my post, princess. you liked and bookmarked the "lab assistant" one.
A sound escaped your throat. It was a mix of a laugh and a gasp. Princess? He’s calling you princess? This was a complete role reversal. You were supposed to be the one in control, the one holding all the cards. But he was dissecting your online activity with the same precision he probably used to solve his quantum physics equations.
You: stalker vibes. not cute.
@glassesoff: don’t have to be cute to make you cum.
The bluntness of it slammed into you. You had to put your phone down for a second, your face flushed now. This was a side of him that was completely not what you expected. Not… necessarily bad, but the kind that made your stomach flip and your thighs press together. This was stupid. This was the guy from the videos, the one who didn't stammer, the one who knew his worth. This was Satoru, not just the nerd, but the guy who could probably ruin you in the best way possible. You hated that it turned you on. You had blackmailed him, but it felt suspiciously like you’d just fucked yourself over.
You: i’m gonna pretend i didn’t read that. just get me my assignment, gojo.
@glassesoff: i’ll have it for you. but don't pretend. it’s boring. you're not boring.
You: and how would you know, nerd?
@glassesoff: because you're the only person who’s ever tried to blackmail me into a study date. a whole year of study dates. you're creative, i’ll give you that. be seeing you.
You stared at the last message. Study dates. He called them study dates. The absolute gall of this man. This was not how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to have him wrapped around your finger, not the other way around. But this version of Satoru, the one who typed with a lazy confidence and knew exactly how his videos affected you, was a completely different person.
You checked the time. You should probably go to bed. Early classes tomorrow… the same routine.
Your phone buzzed again. You almost didn’t want to look.
@glassesoff: also, for the record. you're right. i am a bit of a freak.
@glassesoff: good for you, though. you get to see it all for free now. my content isn't cheap.
A scoff escaped you, but it was laced something else. Anticipation, maybe. Arousal? That’s stupid. Really stupid.
You: is this your way of trying to get me to subscribe to your OF, gojo? pathetic.
@glassesoff: no. it’s my way of saying you don’t have to keep being a bad bitch for me to find you interesting.
@glassesoff: you're already interesting.
He was right. You didn't know it. You didn't know anything anymore. The sweet little nerd you'd been using for years was a literal online sex god. And now, thanks to your brilliant blackmail scheme, he was contractually obligated to spend an entire year helping you. Which meant you had a front-row seat to his secret life. The irony was almost too much.
You typed a final response, feeling the shift in the air between you. You weren't quite sure who was blackmailing who anymore.
You: fine, freak. i’ll see you at the library tomorrow. don't forget my homework.
@glassesoff: i won't. and don't forget to bring your headphones.
You: …why?
@glassesoff: so you can watch the new video i post tonight. it’s a special one. just for you.
You stared, wide-eyed. A video. Just for you. You were supposed to be the one calling the shots. But as your thumb hovered over the keyboard, you realized you didn't want to be the one in control.
You wanted to see what he had for you, despite your better judgement.
You: i’m that special?
@glassesoff: guess you are. see you soon.
And just like that, he was gone. The three-dot bubble disappeared and didn't come back.
You were left in the quiet of your room with no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into and whether or not it would come back to bite you in the ass.
You knew Zayne worked out very intensely. Hell, you reaped the benefits of his intensive stamina exercises nearly nightly.
But you didn't know he ended up...like this.
"Hi." He pants, still out of breath as he pours himself a glass of water, immediately downing it as you gape at him. His hair is pushed back, drenched in sweat, as is the rest of him. His usual white long sleeve somehow clings tighter, and has gone nearly translucent. His abs are clear through the fabric, forcing you to wonder if he'd caused any car crashes running near the road.
You need his dick in your mouth right now.
He makes a noise of surprise when you sink to your knees, uncaring about how the cold tile will definitely leave bruises. You're simply too preoccupied with pulling down his shorts and laving your tongue along his balls.
"You don't w-want to wait till after I've showered?" He's not complaining, given the way he grips the counter and leans back to give you better access. You shake your head, swirling your tongue around his tip to taste the salty precum and nearly moaning.
"You're insatiable." He gasps, as if he hadn't eaten you out three times this morning just for looking pretty while you sleep.
"You love it." You mumble as his cock gets harder in your mouth. You hadn't bothered to work him up, too desperate to wait that long. But now that he's hard enough, your goal is clear. You need him to cum.
"I'm-fuck!" He gasps as his cum shoots down your throat, whimpering when your moan at the taste over stimulates him. You take your time pulling off, cleaning every drop off his cock. When you're done, you look at him through your lashes with a satisfied grin.
Warnings: Yandere tendencies, injuries(reader), I think that’s it!!
Yandere!Doctor who started developing obsessive, unhinged and unhealthy tendencies towards you when he had to visit your home after you missed a couple of appointments to see you under mountains of blankets running an alarmingly hot fever.
Yandere!Doctor who knew you reciprocated his feeling whenever you leaned into his hand while he cupped your face checking your fever. I mean why else would you lean into him?!
Now that you are not sick anymore and see him every six months, he can feel you pulling away and going with your friends who are not a good influence.
It’s clear to him that you need him even if you don’t realise it, it’s okay he will just make you realise it.
During your check up he has you on the bed provided and while distracted, he manages to inject you with a sedative.
And bring the last appointment of the day he manages to carry you to his car and take you to his home, with no witnesses.
Yandere!doctor who works from home and has more time to watch over you.
Yandere!doctor who has to rush in to the hospital and from the rush he forgets to put your chain on.
Yandere!doctor who breaks your leg when you try to escape. “Don’t fiddle so much darling you brought this on yourself. If you keep on moving you are going to feel more pain, now remember I still love you but you need to be punished.” He leans over your body and in a quick second you hear a loud snap before screaming and crying in agony. He looks down sympathetically and wipes the tears from your eyes. “I know I know my dear, it hurts right? Don’t worry it’s just a sedative it will make all the pain go away while you take a nap.” He shushes you and injects you, the last thing you remember before falling asleep is him lifting you up in his arms and walking towards the house.
Notes: omg he is such a fucking hypocrite I hate him :(. Poor reader fr </3. Uhm I kinda hate this but forcing it out of my drafts before I get into another writers block. Btw pics are not mine, from Pinterest <33
@mullermilkshake
MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY
Word count: 1.6k+
Link to part one
Enjoy!!
Warnings: a bit of Yandere tendencies, reader is heavily drugged, failed escape attempt, broken leg, reader is cut by glass, suicidal ideation towards the end. Probably some grammar mistakes.
Snow interlocks with the hailing against the window, creating a vast contrast; the hail knocks and bangs against the window, almost as if it is trying to creep in, whilst the snow cocoons the windowsill in a blanket of white- tight, unrelenting and fierce.
But it’s not the howling of the bitter, biting cold that disrupts your sleep- no what shakes you from your sleep is the knocking sound above you. The sound of footsteps coming closer and closer and closer. Your skin starts to raise up in goosebumps, sweat forming on your forehead, the only light in the room is the shimmer of tears and sweat on your body.
The doorknob shakes slightly, a clicking sound- the unlocking of a lock- before it opens fully. A large frame enters, so big it almost encases the entire door- or is that his shadow? You shuffle backwards, backing up until you feel wood behind you- but it never arrives. It’s only when you move your wary gaze from the dark figure to yourself do you realise you’ve not moved an inch.
And if not from the feeling of tears pooling in your eyes you’d be completely convinced you are comatose.
“What…what the fuck is this shit? Why the fuck can’t I move?”
No response, the figure merely stares at you for a few seconds more, before moving to the side of the room to a table, his frame encasing the entire area that you can’t even grasp hat he is doing.
“Hey! Don’t fucking ignore me…why can’t I fucking move? Did you paralyse me?!” Despite your attempt at a strong and fierce front, your voice cracks and you force the sob down your throat.
He brings a chair with wheels over and wipes your tears away room your sore eyes “Now now, no need for the hysterics you’re all safe here angel. Calm down and breathe with me okay?” He places his two fingers to your pulse point at your wrist and looks at you while breathing deeply in and out.
Once your breathing slows down-even just a little bit- he starts to talk again. “Now, I didn’t expect you to be awake just yet-but it’s no issue. Uh- let me finish angel before the tears begin again. No you aren’t paralysed- not permanently anyway just some sedatives for now. Can’t have you running out on me can I?”
Your heart takes a spike- like a fall from a cliff you respond quickly “I’ll scream. I’ll cry and fight if you even think of hurting me-“
His eyebrows draw quickly and he drops your wrist, brushing your hair from your face “Hurt you?” His voice cracks so ardently “You think I could- I could never even entertain the thought of anyone else even touching you, hurting you much less me. I know this all comes to a shock but you will find a better life here.”
“I don’t need anything from you- not a better life. My life may not have been old but it was mine!”
“Yeah?” He chuckles, so deep and so dark that you’re pretty sure you’re shivering not from the cold but the tense atmosphere he’s brought inside.
“You may have been alive but you weren’t living- not truly. I am doing this for you, for us! Why don’t you understand that? Why wont you understand that?”
“Fuck that noise! You had no fucking right, you motherfukcing creep.” You feel more energy and hate rise in your veins at his words- the fucking audacity of this man.
“This clearly isn’t working-not now at least. I think its best if you go sleep, you need some rest” before even waiting for an agreement he grabs a needle and injects you with a light dose sedative.
“No…I don’t want it please-“ he hushes you and caresses your hair, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead.
“Shh shh angel, don’t fight it- don’t fight me. Just accept it, accept us and go to sleep.”
You tilt your head away from him as much as you can and your gaze falls again to the window.
The hailing has calmed down, fairly hitting the window here and there-the fight of the weather dulling. The snow, however has not stopped as the snowflakes settle down it invades you in a stifling veil-encapsulating your unwilling surrender. Your eyes fall shut to the sound of haunting whispers of surrender and the dulled fight of the hail.
…
It’s the twitching of your leg that actually wakes you up, not the settling of snow blanketing over the house? You don’t actually know where you are, but you have to surmise that it is at least a house with you being placed in a basement.
The basement isn’t cold, it isn’t damp, it isn’t dark either. There’s a sofa, a bed, a small table with a chair that has wheels. But that doesn’t make it any more cozy, if anything you’d almost rather the damp and dark setting because even then your feelings of hatred and disgust would feel justified. Now it feels…you don’t even know how it feels, how you feel.
With the feeling of your limbs slowly settling in, you stumble off the bed but more accurately you roll and fall off the bed.
Leaning on the wall, you clench your fists and try to making it to the stairs. Crawling up the stairs, determined you use your grip on the doorknob to help push yourself up. And with all your strength you push against the door.
Once.
Twice.
But it doesn’t budge. Not once, not even a little.
You bite your inner cheek anxiously, looking around the room-as you stumble down the steps.
An idea, perhaps stupid hits you like the bitter cold from the window- the window!
Clenching your jaw, you lift yourself away from where you were leaning against the wall and head towards the table. Dragging it to the steps, there’s just barely enough space for it to fit in front of the door but just enough.
Next you drag the sofa to the window, placed high on the wall, and then place the office chair on the sofa.
Slowly, hesitantly you climb up barely reaching the window. Standing on the tips of your toes you aim your elbow for the window with your hand covering it and smash the window, shattering it completely.
Knowing now you are on a timer now, you rip some material from the dress he put you in-the sick fuck- you move the glass away from the sides and hoist your body up.
You land on your knees, but you don’t feel any pain only numbness. It must be the adrenaline, you can’t even feel the cold of the snow as you run and run through the white blanket of snowflakes.
Running straight you realise you don’t know where the fuck you are, he has you placed in the middle of fucking nowhere. You’re in a motherfucking forest.
You can’t let this deter you though, so you run and run deeper into the woods hoping you find the city. Dreaming of your escape, maybe there’ll be a documentary about it, maybe such a high esteemed doctor won’t even be convicted.
But you don’t even fucking care about conviction, all you want is to get away from the creep. He used to seem so nice aswell, years-years you knew him. Never thought-never thought he’d be a…monster. The kind people like him deal with the victims of.
…
Your heart spikes, and takes a dive off a cliff as you hear harsh and loud footsteps. The adrenaline wore off long ago, the dress not nearly enough to keep you warm.
Your fingers feel numb, turning blue but you can’t focus on that. You blow some heat into your hands, as you remain huddled against the tree.
Staring at the snow, your eyes feel heavy and even your eyelashes feel like they’re shivering.
They don’t even run the risk of closing before a rough grasp drags your legs down the snow, tightening around your ankle.
The snow bites further up your thighs, making you flinch into reality and start screaming and fighting the hands at the little strength you have left.
“No…no g-get off! F-fucker!” Your words come out shattered and quiet but his are the exact opposite of that.
“Angel, shush. Stop fucking fighting. Stop! I have to do this, the more you struggle the more it will hurt” His body twists until he’s right next to your left leg and in a quick moment your leg bends in a sickly way, it is twisted to horridly and won’t stop twitching. Why won’t it stop fucking twitching?!
There’s this ringing in your ears, a shrill scream- it’s so heartbreaking but also so loud won’t it stop?! You come to realise it’s your own scream when he tugs you into his chest and hushes your cries.
“I know, I know baby I know. I didn’t want to, I really didn’t but I had no choice. You needed to learn your lesson, you’ll be fine I have some sedatives when we reach home they’ll help with the pain. For now, just try to bear with it, it’ll be easier if you sleep it off okay, angel?”
He lifts you up and every gasp you take hurts, you feel like you’re choking on your breath. Eventually though, the pain knocks you out- you wish it’d kill you though, but there’s no rest for the wicked.
Content. You've been diagnosed with a "disease" and now you've finally figured out the truth.
Pairing. Yandere! Doctor x reader
Wc. 2.2k
The first time you met your doctor, he barely even paid any attention to you, at least that’s what it looked like. He’s tall, quiet, and mysterious, precisely like a guy from those dark romance books. Exactly the kind of man who had such a strong presence that could fill a room even when he said or did nothing. He could capture the attention of many without whispering even a syllable, that part was so fascinating to you.
Your doctor is a rather peculiar one. He’s always been the type to be more secluded, alone rather than with the crowd. Though, in times of utter urgency, he’s there when needed. He’s particularly famous for his successful medical history. He’s adept, more competent and logical than any other doctor some would claim.
He would’ve been easily forgotten if it weren’t for his sheer size. He isn’t overly muscular or bulky, but rather tall and slender. And some might even say he’s attractive… in a way. If it weren’t for his eccentric nature, you would understand it.
Some patients even admitted to fake sickness to get an appointment with him. But you’ll never understand. He’s direct and straight-to-the-point, so even if you did somehow get a scheduled doctor's meeting with him, it would be the fastest in and out.
It’d been only a year since you’d scheduled your first first meeting, only for it to end up with you being stuck in his office for hours and getting diagnosed with an incurable disease. Ever since then, you’ve come to his office regularly for checkups. But the odd thing is… you never knew what it even was.
Whenever you’d ask anything, he’d always end as quickly as possible by ensuring you there was no time and it was too complicated but you should understand the dire consequences if you were to ignore it. Missing an appointment would be shooting yourself in the foot. Although there were no visible, distinct symptoms that signalled your ‘upcoming death’, you still blindly followed him.
You’re stupid for believing in whatever he told you.
Stupid, I say. Stupid.
You’ve spent hours rotting in that cold, leathery chair— waiting for something. Anything. Yet it always ended with the same result. Treatments never did anything. To the point you’ve decided on accepting it over arguing about it.
It never crossed your mind; he didn’t seem like the type.
January 23rd. Officially 1 year and 1 month since you’ve been ‘diagnosed’.
It’s check up day.
Snowing and cold as usual, you put your winter coat on and got on your way to walk, a scarf wrapped comfortably around your neck, yet it still felt cold. He said it was due to your malfunctioning homeostasis, one of the many symptoms that come with your illness.
With every little step you took, you couldn’t help but feel anxious about the treatment you’re about to receive. It’s been a little over a year now and you haven’t gotten better, despite not feeling even the slightest ounce of change in your body.
It’s awful… isn’t it?
That’s the question he’d always asked you when he showed you what could happen to you if you didn’t take the pills he gave you. Always the same worrying yet cold sentence that shook you to your core. His voice always a flat line, barely emphasising the catastrophe you’ve been at war with.
The hospital he worked at was relatively small, catering only for the people in your small town. There’s only two floors, first being for mild injuries or cases and second for more major ones. You’re usually sent to the second one, where your doctor’s office is.
“Ahh… good morning [name],” the receptionist calls you, placing the needed files onto the counter as per the usual routine.
Most of the staff has already memorised your presence, what time you come and how many minutes you’d usually take. It’s pretty much become the norm for you to come and go from the hospital. Everything was routine and you’ve familiarised yourself with it enough to be able to do most of it without any mistakes.
“I hope you get well soon [name].” Her gaze softens as she meets your eyes.
Your hands grab the folder filled with the long history of appointments, and you reply: “Thank you. I hope so too.”
They, as well as you, had gotten so used to the routine it became technically second nature. Even without realising, they’d sometimes grab your folder by accident and placed it onto the counter where you usually grabbed it from on a day when you didn’t even have an appointment.
You took a deep breath before opening the door to your doctor’s office, only able to anticipate what’s coming.
“Good morning [name],” he greets, not batting an eye but analysing your brain scan. He was taking notes and jotted it all down in his notebook before he would eventually type it.
“Soo… is it any better?” You ask.
He doesn’t respond. As usual, he doesn’t respond. It’s never struck you the right way with how he barely shares any specific details.
“Your health is stabilising, but it’s not good enough for you to function as well as a normal person.” He states coldly.
That’s… good… I guess.
“How much longer does this treatment have to be? Is it really wor—” you ask, immediately silenced by the glare he gives.
He adjusts the position of his glasses, pushing it up slightly on his nose bridge with two fingers on the sides, before looking up to see your face. “It’s working; I promise. I know it’s been a long year but it won’t take any longer… I hope.”
“Me too.” you mutter accidentally, but it was too quiet of a whisper for anyone to hear.
He gently and meticulously picks up the syringe before flicking it a couple times to remove the air bubbles from the container. He carefully inspects the syringe for a few moments and when he deems it ready, he uses the sharp part to pierce through and pushes the plunger, slowly injecting the liquid into your bloodstream.
Finally, after the long moments of the needle penetrating your skin, he pulls it out and places it onto a tray. A bandaid is immediately stuck onto your skin the moment the needle leaves.
“Thanks doc,” you mutter. “I’m really glad I have you, I can’t imagine having to face this with an incompetent doctor.”
His pupil dilates ever so slightly. “You’re welcome. I’m glad too.”
He’s never reciprocated your affection as the usual person. A normal person would’ve been a bit flustered, but he’s more shocked than embarrassed.
That’s what you find so fascinating about such a man. Maybe he really is just that sophisticated and passionate about his work.
But you’ve never understood the hype around him. He’s stoic and cold; He doesn’t seem to be type to date either.
There’s only so much you can wonder and never get the answers to. Maybe it’s his attractiveness. He’s got everything that people usually deem to be attractive features like a high nose bridge, hunter eyes or whatever and he’s tall.
The metallic clatter sound brings you back into reality as he starts to look through the metal cart beside you full of medical tools, hands pushing it around to get better angles, and his brows furrow when he realises that what he needs isn’t there.
“Stay here. I need to get something from the staff room.” he orders you, placing down his clipboard onto his desk.
“Okay,” you respond.
5 minutes pass and he never comes back.
Then another additional 5 minutes pass and there’s no sign of him.
What could possibly take him so long?
You could only wonder. But the sudden curiosity struck you. He’s always so hyper focused on his computer and you can’t help but want to know what it contains. He’s never actually told you what illness or sickness you have, so maybe he stores it inside the computer.
When you sat down on his dark, leather chair, the computer was on the home page. There were several files with many different names and labels. Then you spot a familiar name in the bottom left corner.
Doctor Malcom Kyren’s
You hovered over the icon, biting your lip as you debated on invading his privacy. But it’s valid if it was just to check your data right… so you clicked on the file with his name. Various unrecognisable names popped up, but you spotted some you knew like your friendly neighbour and teacher from high school. It was lovely to see just how many people came to him for help… but you can’t help and wonder if you were the only one stuck in your position.
“[Name].” The stern voice of your beloved doctor woke you up, making you flinch in response.
“Is this really what you’ve been doing— please don’t tell me it’s all been fake. The treatment, the illness—” you took sharp inhales in between your speech, lips quivering and tears streaming down your face like a waterfall with no end.
You’ve never felt so alone before. Because of your so-called ‘illness’, you can’t go out as much, you can’t interact with others too much or they’ll get infected, you can’t. Everything he told you was a lie. It was all fabricated so he could isolate you from the people you love, only so he could play savior and fill the hole in by himself. So many hours that you’ve wasted on appointments. So many hours he took from you.
The room twisted in your vision, walls warping in and out, tears fogging your eyes.
“[Name]!” he yelled, gripping your shoulders so tightly they would bruise the skin. “I did this all for you!”
You tried to squirm out of his grasp but he didn’t let go of you, but the look in his eyes scared you to death. “No—! You did this for yourself. To keep me here. Was the medicine even medicine? Was the prescription even real?”
The same blue eyes that everyone adored seemed evil to you. It’s supposed to be a glimmering set but it’s not. “It’s all real. I did this all to protect you— to save you.”
“Protect me from what? The imaginary illness you created in your mind or from your own fantasies?” you kicked his leg and escaped, rushing towards the door to escape, the keys slotted into the keyhole jingling as you tried to twist it. Your hands shook desperately, tears emerging in the corner of your eyes.
He groaned in pain but nonetheless, he got up to retrieve you. You finally got the key open when he was only an inch or two away from you. Dashing out into the hallways, you notice it’s night. Heartbeats thud in your mind, and it felt like something was squeezing your brain so tightly.
There’s no one around. The lights are all off and since it’s not necessarily a 24/7 type of hospital, there’s no workers either.
From what you remember, it’s supposed to be around 10am in the morning… what? Has time completely sped up?
The hallways were dark, and you couldn’t see any sign of the end. It only seemed to stretch on longer and longer the more you ran through it.
Your fight or flight kicked in, adrenaline rushing through your veins, and you continued running, ignoring the cramps in your leg and blisters forming from it. Finally, at last, you saw a light— a shimmery moonlight and you dashed towards it.
Hands wrapped around the handle, you tugged. Hard. But it was locked. Then you pulled, this time using all your body weight. Doesn’t work either.
The sounds of your doctor’s shoes echoes grew louder and louder as he neared the entrance you were at.
“HELP!” you yelled as a last ditch effort, slamming your hand hard on the glass door multiple times in hopes that someone hears it. “PLEASE!”
It’s the handkerchief landing on your mouth that suffocates you into unconsciousness.
~
Eyes fluttering open, beams of light hit your face that force your eyes shut back again. It didn’t take long for you to feel your arms and legs bound to a medical chair.
You shook roughly in your seat. Then you let out a blood curdling scream, which is only muffled by the gag in your mouth.
Suddenly there’s a hand that places itself onto yours. “Please stay calm [name], this procedure will only take a while.”
You shook your head, eyes shot open in fear. “MMHHHH!”
“I didn’t want to have to do this, but if it comes to it, I will. Close your eyes and forget today [name].” he says softly, as if trying to comfort you.
The injection seems to have heightened your senses before completely turning all of them off in your body. Everything goes black, and you soon pass out on the chair you're bound and stuck to.
౨ৎ 18+ mdni , dark content , psychological horror , voyeurism , exhibitionism , toxicity , possession , reader uses one wish willow on gojo , reader hooks up with nanami , semi-inspired by Obsession , part 2 coming soon . this is a reupload for part 1 because tumblr hid the og chapter for some bullshit reason and i can’t appeal it 😐 but here it is anyways lol
Friday nights, you see Gojo Satoru bring a different girl home and fuck her on his very bed. Saturday mornings, you hated her for waking up where you belonged.
Your new next door neighbor was nothing but a debauched, filthy whore cycling through any random woman he finds; sometimes even men. Bringing them over to his house on the weekends just to hook up with them for the night. It didn’t help that Gojo’s blinds were rarely closed all the way, seeing right into his bedroom, where you can see everything he does.
You’ve seen him naked before. You’ve came across him masturbating before. It was disgusting, not being able to relax in your own room without the view of your own window being taken over by Gojo’s degenerate and perverted behavior and routine. Seeing him plowing the back of someone else, pinning their head down on his mattress or eating a girl out out until her legs start shaking and her fists ball his bedsheets.
However, your disgust never stopped you from watching.
And it was a shame that it was never you that got to experience how filthy and freaky Gojo Satoru truly was.
All you get were small interactions on your driveway, like waving to each other when you go out at the same time. He’s never had a formal conversation with you or invites you over. Never exchanged contacts yet. But yet, he's the only man that's making you muffle your moans and whines out of shame in your own home. Playing with yourself, getting off to that filthy sight across your window... no man has ever had you become this pathetic and you secretly loved it as if he's given you all the power to ruin yourself. That once he lays a finger on you, once you finally become seen by him, you want him to make it hurt real good for you.
He was the bane of your existence but also the object of your unholy desires. God, how you wanted him in a vicious, untamable way, how you craved for him in the dark where he cannot see. Because that’s all you could do, even though you were closer to him than anybody else could be, you feel so far away, hidden in your wild fantasies until you feel your ribs ache from how much you desired him to see you so badly. You wanted to, you wanted to. More than anything else in the entire world.
To be the one caressing every single inch of his beautiful body.
To be the one savoring his sweet and hot kisses.
To be the one pinned between him and his king-sized mattress.
To be the one to scream and moan his name over and over.
To be the one submitting yourself wholly to him.
To orgasm on his mouth, his fingers, his cock, his thighs when he tells you to.
To be put in your place, to be owned by him, to let him use all your holes and treat you like his own personal cocksleeve until you’re a shattering mess, until you can’t think for yourself anymore, where the only sensation that fulfills you is his cock ramming into all of your soppy holes and spilling his hot cum into your womb.
But this forbidden and disgusting desire, this dark obsession for him— you knew it was all unhealthy. As if your obsession for him had you on this permanent threshold of an imaginary heaven, suspended in a state of perfect anticipation. This unbearable itch to have him, to touch him, smell him, or just be around him was enough to make you scream in your own pillow at night.
It was pure and utter Hell, desiring someone so bad, knowing you can’t have them at all.
You wouldn’t go out of your way to make Gojo truly yours. He wasn’t some prize to be won or a possession to be claimed, he was his own person. Probably not going out of his way to pursue a relationship. Hell, you don’t even know if he’s truly single. You would never want to take his freedom away or strip his own autonomy, even though you wish that he’d freely hand it to you one day.
But it was just so hot and fun seeing your attractive next door neighbor getting it on… nothing wrong with that at all, right?
It wasn’t until a few months later you find yourself creating a Tinder profile.
There was this handsome man you matched with on Tinder named Nanami Kento. Five year age gap, strong jaw, hazel eyes, blond hair, looking for something meaningful. He looked so sharp and manly and handsomely delicate. Definitely someone that knew where his life was headed, someone who wouldn’t spend every weekend chasing after temporary distractions. Someone who could fulfill that ache in your core and fuck you so stupid and dumb until you forget about that degenerate, filthy man next door.
“Shouldn’t we close the blinds?” Nanami mutters in your ear, the husk in his attractive, sultry voice sending a shiver down your spine.
During your romantic Tinder date at a luxurious restaurant Nanami took you to, you just couldn’t help but tease him, hinting how badly you wanted him and couldn’t wait to take things to your bedroom. What also surprised you was the way Nanami was flirting right back at you, never taking your interest for granted. He was confident, smooth, and respectful— never aggressive or pushy. His effortless seduction and charm was enough to make you flustered under your own skin, especially when he knows how badly you wanted it and how badly he wanted to give it to you.
“My windows are tinted, baby. Nobody’s gonna see,” you say, quickly glancing at your window to see if Gojo was in his bedroom, but his lights were off. That fucking bastard.
As Nanami slipped off your dress and admired the way your bra looked so good on you, you couldn’t help but glare at your window as he was kissing your neck and your chest. Letting out soft moans and shuddering from the sensation, you knew that just because his lights were off doesn’t mean he wasn’t home. His car is still on his driveway, probably doing God knows what in his own house. But you still wanted to throw a show. You wanted to show Gojo Satoru what he does to you, how sick and filthy and disgusting he makes you.
He is the reason why you spread your legs for a random Tinder date.
He is the reason why you’re on your knees getting your throat fucked so hard.
He is the reason why your legs quiver and shake from your pussy getting fingered and eaten out.
The reason why you’re utterly losing yourself from getting pounded so hard, being tossed and flipped in numerous positions until you’ve reached multiple orgasms, until you’re crying two octaves higher, until you’re completely spent, until your whole bedroom is a mess.
“Fuck me against the window, Nanami,” you pleaded.
“On the window? You really wanna show your neighbors how much of a slut you are, huh?”
He loved the way you were taking him so well; eyes vacant, jaw slackened, your tits pressing against the cool surface of your window. Your pussy was shamelessly pulsing on his cock, your arousal gushing all over him— but your arousal only stemmed from the thought of Gojo possibly watching you in the dark corners of his room, fantasizing of him fisting his cock to you getting fucked even if you still couldn’t see him. But that didn’t stop you from acting like an exhibitionist whore that craved for his attention so badly, pretending to moan and scream while he’s thrusting behind you while your eyes never left his window.
When you wake up the next morning, your whole bedroom was a mess. Clothes astray on the floor, your makeup vanity unorganized, some of your stuff scattered around, and your bedsheets all coming undone. When you turn over to your nightstand to check the time on your phone, you see that your favorite crystal figurine you’ve been keeping for years as a collectible was shattered on the floor.
Nanami stirred in his sleep, wanting to spoon you again until he wakes up to you sitting on the edge of the bed. “Oh. Good morning,” he grunted, softly caressing your back. “Are you okay?”
“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” you chuckled. “I was just checking the time and I didn’t realize how carried away we both got. My whole room is a mess right now. There’s glass on the floor, too.”
He sat beside you on the edge of the bed and sighed deeply. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Where did you get it from? I can buy another one for you.”
“No, no. It’s okay,” you insisted to the sweet man. “It’s not your fault. But thank you for offering, Nanami.”
You didn’t expect for him to stay the morning after, passionately kissing you while the bright rays from your window was settling over your skins. You didn’t even expect for a man like him, your first ever Tinder date, to offer to buy you a replacement for some figurine that got knocked over from him fucking you so good all over your room.
After Nanami left, you headed down to the local coffee shop across your neighborhood that you would pass by on the weekends. After ordering your usual, a sheer moment of panic takes over your body, rendering you motionless in the middle of the cafe just seeing Gojo Satoru standing in line.
You couldn’t move an inch. You wanted to pass by him unnoticed and sit down by the window, but it was already too late when his icy blue eyes caught glimpse of you, a small smile stretching across his face.
“Hey, neighbor. What did you order? It looks good.”
This was the first time you saw him, really saw him in your field of view— his skin radiating from the sun beaming through the windows, his smile so bright and genuine, his unbearably attractive self. You almost stammered on your own words and your heart couldn’t stop racing like wildfire. However, you managed to collect yourself and mirrored his smile instead, telling him what you usually order at the cafe.
“…Maybe I’ll give it a try. I’ve been wanting to go here for awhile and now I finally got to try this place out,” Gojo beamed. “Where do you usually sit, by the way? Do you mind if I come sit with you?”
And suddenly that piercing, aching sensation of desiring him so badly flitted around the atmosphere like carnivorous butterflies, unable to form a coherent thought from your mind racing erratically. “Yeah, um— I don’t mind at all,” you chuckled nervously. “I’ll be sitting by the window over there.”
Once Gojo ordered the same drink you got and sat in front of you, you looked at him as if he was the most sublime creature you’ve ever seen in your life you almost couldn’t breathe. His eyes were just so striking and vibrant in the sunlight. His messy white strands had this warm cream-colored glow under the sun. As the two of you were talking about yourselves, you couldn’t help but study his prominent features up close that you were so aching to caress, to touch, to feel.
“So, uh— how long have you lived in the neighborhood?” he asks.
“I’ve been here for about four years now. I moved when I finally finished school,” you replied, his eyes softening everytime he listens to you speak. “I know it’s not that long, but I see myself still living in the same house until I get older. I don’t live far from work, which is a good thing, too.”
“Ah, I see. You know, your house is really big and nice. You sure you live alone? No roommates or pets? Spouse’s? Family?”
You softly chuckled. “No, I live all alone. It is a big house, but hey— it’s all to myself.”
“Huh.” Gojo leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I wonder how a beautiful woman like you is still single.”
His words hit you so suddenly that for a fleeting moment, the synapses of your brain fall frozen. People call women beautiful all the time, but yet, hearing it from him felt entirely different, especially the way he said it so casually. His blue eyes held yours across the table as he was waiting for your answer, his soft and genuine smile making your stomach churn.
Is it finally time?
Is this actually leading somewhere?
“I just… haven’t found the right guy for me yet,” you admitted, your gaze drifting towards the window. “I am looking for a long term relationship, though. Someone to settle down with. Get married and grow old in the house together.”
Gojo’s saccharine lips stretch to a smile, the way he looked at you causing your heart to flutter. “Aw. Well, speaking of long term— I just got out of one. I think I mentioned earlier when I moved here, I needed a change of scenery. I forgot to mention that I’m newly divorced and I’ve been spending time healing and working on myself.”
Working on himself?
By bringing random hookups into his house and fucking them all over the bedroom?
“Oh. I’m very sorry to hear about your divorce, Gojo,” you consoled, reaching for your drink just to have your hand near his over the table. For some reason when he mentioned getting recently divorced, your heart raced from this sudden rush of excitement. Your opportunity was sitting right in front of you and you were desperate to clutch onto it before it was too late.
“It’s okay. You know, things happen,” he shrugged, taking his hand that was beside yours to grab his drink. “But that’s also why… I’m not really looking for anything at the moment.”
The moment he gulped down his drink, time suddenly came to a full stop all around you. Your own heart dropped to your stomach that you almost felt sick from your breakfast. You could feel your own blood being forced through your veins with every loud thump from such unimaginable, staggering rage lighting a fire within you. Jealousy. Betrayal. Disappointment. Disbelief. Confusion.
How fucking foolish.
“Oh. I mean, uh— it is a bit too soon to be looking for a relationship right after a divorce, so that’s reasonable,” you fretted. “I do hope you find the right person for you.”
Gojo gave a small smile this time, sitting up from his seat. “I hope the same for you as well. And it was nice to finally meet you. Hopefully I can run into you again on your driveway and we can always plan something.”
After your encounter at the coffee shop, you couldn’t stop thinking all day about how much his words stung you, worse than any rejection out there and it wasn’t even a rejection. You clenched your jaw in aggravation as you kept replaying the conversation in your head— even though you spent several months of secretly watching him from a distance that it ruined you, at least you managed to sit across from him so painfully normal and have a normal conversation. But still; you knew you had no right to be disappointed. Gojo didn’t flirt nor promise anything. In fact, he was just being honest. Kind, even. But yet, this gut-wrenching feeling of humiliation wouldn’t go away.
By nightfall, you made it to The Green Man; the crystal shop in town that you haven’t stopped by for months. Everything was rearranged, new, and renovated. Your eyes wander around the crystals, rocks, herbs, spell candles, psychic readings, oils, books and other spiritual items until you finally find the collectible you were looking for, tucked in the bottom display shelf that you had to squat down for.
When you got up with the box, something else from the shelves beside you caught your eye. A small cardboard stand with a retro red and cream-colored design, tiny sparkles scattered across the packaging, and the words curved across the display. Organized neatly in the cardboard stand were these triangular prism-shaped boxes, the bright red graphics wrapped around the cream colored box, curving over the angled surfaces in cheerful swirls.
𝓞𝓝𝓔 𝓦𝓘𝓢𝓗 𝓦𝓘𝓛𝓛𝓞𝓦
𝓐𝓜𝓐𝓩𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤𝓡 𝓕𝓡𝓘𝓔𝓝𝓓𝓢
𝓞𝓝𝓛𝓨 $6.99
𝓖𝓔𝓣 𝓨𝓞𝓤𝓡𝓢 𝓣𝓞𝓓𝓐𝓨!
Out of curiosity, you take one of the boxes, its pointed ridge pressed lightly against your fingertips while the overhead lighting reflected across the glossy cardboard. Nothing about it looked magical. Nothing about it looked dangerous. It was nothing but a cheap novelty toy or charm, another possible collectible you can display somewhere in your house until it collects dust.
𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗦𝗛, it reads.
After checking out from the store and taking a bit longer than you expected, your interaction with Gojo this morning still replayed in your head as you drove home. That fleeting feeling of ecstasy, that beautiful moment he noticed you first at the cafe, turning into nothing but dismay upon realizing you were never going to be his first choice. The letdown gripped your stomach, allowing it to devour your entire body and soul.
I wonder how a beautiful woman like you is still single.
Your jaw clenched tighter. Gojo Satoru was like a drug, your high, your fixation. He was the only man woven into your brain coursing straight through your veins, and you just wanted more of him, more of him and not anyone else— for this unquenched thirst and unrelenting hunger made you just debauched as he is.
If only you could’ve said something to make your interest for him obvious. Something that would’ve made him look at you differently, literally anything to make him choose you. Anything to make him love you more than anything in the fucking world.
As you drove through your neighborhood, you find yourself easing off the gas when you passed by his house. The streets were quiet. Warm yellow light glowed from his windows. You see his car sitting on the driveway as well as his porch lights on. Gojo was obviously home, doing his own thing as usual late at night when you weren’t watching.
You find it so absurd— degrading, even, how easily your attention always returns to this man. You hate this feeling. You hate how much you hunger for him. You can’t help but savor the violence of wanting what corrodes you entirely. After months of imagining what it would feel like if he noticed you the way you noticed him, you were nothing more than just the sweet girl next door who secretly masturbates to him and forces down your dark obsession until it chokes you…
The rays from the streetlights gleamed onto the One Wish Willow box that was peaking through your shopping bag. You felt this strange and foreign magnetic feeling towards it, just like what you experienced seeing the display for the first time. You reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the box, your thumb brushing across the cardboard surface.
ONE WISH WILLOW
REMOVE FROM THE BOX AND JUST MAKE A WISH!
SPARK THE MIDDLE AND BREAK IT IN HALF.
You opened the box, suddenly flinching when a loud jingle started playing. Inside rested a small, fragile willow twig. As you held it between your hands, it felt almost ridiculous, thinking that this cheap novelty charm was going to actually work. Your car was idling with nobody around, the neighborhood silent while the stars above were sloshing behind moldy gray clouds. You take one more glance at his house again and sighed deeply.
“I wish for Gojo Satoru to love me more than anyone in the entire world.”
Crack.
The branch snapped easily between your hands, echoing inside your car and leaving you in dreadful silence. You scoffed, tossing the broken pieces back into the bag and ready to drive back home, which was literally right there.
But it wasn’t until you turned your head back to Gojo’s house.
Your heart thumped in your chest when you noticed him standing right on his porch, the lighting barely illuminating him. You instantly recognize his broad shoulders, his figure, his disheveled hair. He just stood there perfectly still like a dark shape carved from the night itself; one hand hanging loosely at his side while the other in his pocket, his head tilted ever so slightly at your direction. Your body seized like a deer trapped in headlights, refusing to move an inch in your seat or start the car as he was watching you. The intensity of it sent a cold shiver down your spine, your mind screaming for you to drive off, but also to stay back…
Because for the first time, Gojo Satoru was finally looking at you the way you’ve always looked at him.
You work at a nursing home in Manchester. It’s a quiet job, but you enjoy it, even if you’re just an administrator. One day, one of your residents gets a visit from a 6”2, masked, military man who bulldozes his way into your life.
Simon Riley isn't exactly what you'd call boyfriend material.
masterlist ❤️ ao3
tags: angst, fluff, referenced/implied sa (not graphic), violence, past trauma, elderly character in a care home, explicit sexual content, bdsm elements, female reader, reader has a deceased father, readers step dad is a pervert, Simon's brother is a dick, military inaccuracies, cod lore inaccuracies, dark fic
part 1/3, word count: 10.6k
“Don’t stare. That’s Mrs. Riley’s son. He won’t appreciate it.”
Your mouth was open as he walked through the entrance doors and into the reception area of the care home.
He was over 6 foot, the top of his head nearly brushing the lintel as he entered. He was as broad as he was tall, wearing tan cargo trousers, boots laced tight and uniform, and a black crewcut t shirt that showed every muscle on his torso. His biceps were large, easily the size of your head, and his left arm had a full sleeve of black tattoos. He was also wearing a black cap, with the peak facing forward, and a black surgical mask, the type you hadn’t seen on a civilian since the pandemic days. The cap was pulled low over his eyes, so you could barely make out an inch of his face.
“That’s her son?” You asked, turning to your line manager, Julia, who seemed far more interested in her chart than the militant, mysterious man who had just walked into reception. “The ‘sweet boy who looks after me ever so well’?” You quoted Mrs. Riley directly, from the conversation you’d had with her just this morning.
Mrs. Riley had moved into the care home you worked at as an administrator less than a week ago. She had no end-of-life ailments, she was just a sweet old lady who needed more care around the house than could be provided by her children. She was quiet, but also kind, and she spoke non-stop of her son, her sweet Simon, who would be visiting her any day now. You’d expected a kindly, baby-faced young man, not the hard muscled hulk of a man who was clenching his fists and surveying the reception area like he expected assassins to jump out from behind the magazine racks.
“He might be sweet.” Nicole, a young care assistant, leant over the reception desk to join in on your conversation, her eyes glued to your new arrival. “He’s hot, that’s for sure.”
“So sweet he put his mum in a care home.” Julia reminded you both, with raised eyebrows.
“He’s military.” You said. “Must be away a lot, right? Maybe there was no other choice. He’s paying for it all, apparently.”
You blinked when both of the girls stared at you.
“What?” You asked.
“How do you know he’s in the military?”
“Oh.” You blushed a little. “His bootlaces. My dad served in Afghanistan before he died.”
“No wonder you’re still single if you’re looking at his laces.”
“Nicole! You can’t say – Oh shit, he’s coming over.”
“Haha, bye!”
Julia and Nicole suddenly disappeared from the reception desk and you fought off the urge to curse them as you saw that the scary looking man was indeed walking over to you. He stopped in front of the desk, looming over it, and you. You peered up at him looking down on you, eyes shadowed under the cap and above the mask. They were brown, and hooded in a sort of resigned boredom. You felt like you were standing at the bottom of a mountain and looking up at the peak.
“Are you still allowing visitors, ma’am? I’m later than I was expecting to be.”
His accent was gruff, cockney, low and muffled incrementally by the mask he wore. It wasn’t out of place to wear a mask in a care home, and it was easy to believe that he was just being cautious, but everything from his attire to his guarded, boxy stance and the cagey look in his eyes told you he did not want to be looked at.
“Oh.” You were caught off guard by such a polite question from someone who looked like they could snap you like a dry twig – who looked like they did snap people like dry twigs on a regular basis.
You glanced at the clock. 3.40pm.
“There’s still 20 minutes left.” You opened the sign in book and pushed it across the desk with a pen. “Could you sign in here, please?”
He took the pen and you noticed that he was wearing gloves. Black gloves with skeletal hands printed on them, mimicking where the bones would be under his flesh.
He wrote his name down in the next available box. Simon Riley. Your eyes travelled over his arms while he did. They were thick with muscle, his tattoo sleeve was made up of skulls and guns, his biceps were vascular. The sound of the book being pushed back across the desk made you blink and look up. He was staring at you, his brown eyes hard as flint, and clearly unimpressed that he’d caught you staring.
“Uh, thanks.” You blushed, looking down at the book. He’d written 3.41pm as the sign in time and left the sign out time blank. Feeling guilty, you wrote 4pm down in the sign out box.
“There. You signed out at 4pm. You can stay as long as you like.”
His eyes wavered.
“Thanks.” It was a short, gruff remark and you knew that you weren’t forgiven for your misstep, but you could also tell that he hadn’t been expecting the generous action.
He walked from the desk without another word and through the second set of doors to the resident’s rooms like he’d been there before. Every single person in the reception stared at him until he disappeared and he didn’t acknowledge any of them. Maybe they were too short for him to see.
The next time you saw him was a little after 5pm. The reception was largely empty now, but even so, he was hard to miss – tall and built and intimidating. You glanced up on instinct and were surprised to find his eyes on you. He didn’t drop the eye contact, giving you a curt nod before he left through the double doors.
You blushed furiously, a result of that burning gaze.
…
He came back two days later.
You hadn’t expected it at all, bent down behind the reception desk to retrieve a file for Nicole, before straightening up and nearly jumping out of your skin when you saw the imposing figure of Simon Riley standing in front of the desk, unnaturally still like a statue. He was wearing jeans this time, and a black hoodie that was zipped up all the way, the hood pulled up over his head. He was still wearing the same black surgical mask and black skeletal gloves. You could see a tuft of blond hair peaking out from under his hood. The sight of his forehead gave you more of an indication of his age. He looked younger than you’d initially suspected. He looked different from the last time you’d seen him, too, if only for the fact that he was chuckling quietly.
“Scare you?” He asked rhetorically. The timbre of his voice struck you all over again. Gravelly. Deep. Like he’d been punched in the throat and never recovered.
“Yeah, sorry.” You shook your head, trying to not blush again and probably failing spectacularly. “Didn’t even hear you.”
He chuckled again, but this time to himself, like he was enjoying a quiet joke that you weren’t in on.
“Visiting mum?” You asked, putting Nicole’s file to the side and reaching for the sign in book.
“No, I’m here for the jelly.”
“It’s good jelly, understandable.” You joked, picking up on his sarcastic remark.
His eyes narrowed at your response, not in a nasty way, but rather like he was sizing you up.
He wrote his name down in the book and pushed it back to you.
“What do I call you?” He asked, inclining his head down to the book as you closed it and put it away.
It felt like you told him your name under duress. Did he even realise how intimidating his eyes were? How intense? Maybe they weren’t, maybe it was just particularly striking because you couldn’t see the rest of his face. You burned with the question of why he wore the mask. He was a big guy, and very attractive in a terrifying sort of way. You supposed his size and his razor straight confidence spoke to your cavewoman instincts, but then his guarded attitude and attire spoke to your gut instincts, and neither one of them could figure out what was more important.
You couldn’t imagine he was ugly, though, his eyes were too nice for him to be ugly.
He nodded in acknowledgment of your name before he took off for the resident’s rooms. You were so distracted by him that you nearly jumped again when the next person asked for your help, and you could even see them this time.
The third time you saw Simon Riley was outside of the entrance, on your way inside.
You were running late to your shift – your stupid bus hadn’t turned up and forced you to use a later service – clutching your bag, your coat and your water bottle and succeeding in tripping over your own feet in your haste to get inside.
“Easy.” It was a gruff voice in your ear and a firm hand gripping your upper arm and keeping you still as your water bottle tumbled out of your grip, rolled across the concrete ground and hit the brick wall of the building.
you recognised that coarse accent immediately and looked up to see Simon peering down at you curiously. He wasn’t wearing his hoodie this time, probably with it being a relatively warm day in drizzly Manchester. His shirt was crewcut, simple, black, and his surgical mask and cap were covering most of his face and head, the hand gripping your arm was gloved. Those damn skeletal gloves. Your eyes tracked the ink staining his skin as you looked at his tattoo sleeve, and it was only under the natural light that you really noticed the scars littering his flesh. Some of them were puckered marks and others were long, thin lines, pale white and pink and red, depending on how old and how big and how deep they were.
He released your arm and you blinked. He was unwaveringly still. You hoped he hadn’t noticed you staring at the scars on his arm, but you doubted that you’d gotten away with it. He seemed to notice everything, even now, his eyes were tracking your every movement.
This was the first time you’d been next to Simon without a desk between you and it made him so much bigger now. He was broad, he was eclipsing the sun in the sky behind him as he towered over you. You could smell him now. Soap. Deodorant. Something tangy you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“Thank you.” You said. He grunted and looked away from you and it was like the spell was over and your brain could finally focus on something else other than endless brown pools.
You spotted your water bottle by the wall and began to rearrange your bag and your coat to give yourself a free hand. You heard boots on concrete and watched as Simon walked a few steps and picked your bottle up. It looked tiny in his hand. He didn’t hand it back to you, instead he walked to the entrance doors and stood in front of them, letting his weight trigger the sensors that opened them.
“After you.” He said, inclining his head inside, his eyes still focused on you, like you were the only thing in the world.
“Oh, thank you.” You hurried forward, pink-cheeked, and he watched you pass him and trailed behind you.
Julia stared at you as you approached the desk, so did a few others, but Simon was only looking at you as he held his hand out. You took your bottle back.
“Thank you.” You said again, not even realising that you were repeating yourself. You just couldn’t relax around him. He was too big; his gaze was too intense. His aura was off, somehow. Different to anyone you’d ever met before. It was something that made him…dangerous? You weren’t sure. Not safe. That was more accurate.
“Got the book?” He asked gruffly.
Julia passed it to you, and you tried not to look flustered as you opened it. Simon wrote his name and the time in, left the pen on the desk, nodded at you, and then disappeared through the doors and down the hall. Simon Riley was enemy number one to lingering, apparently.
“He gives me the creeps.” Julia said, inciting a murmur of agreement from your surrounding colleagues.
You walked around the desk silently. You hung up your coat and put your bag down under your chair.
“Why does he cover his face?” Someone murmured.
“Probably dental, knowing this country.” A man replied.
“Or he’s on the run from the police.” A particularly salacious suggestion. “Can you imagine?”
“Why would he be on the run from the police?”
“Fucking size of him. Looks like he’d attack anyone who got too close.”
“He’s got cruel eyes. Only part of him you can see.”
“Should we even be leaving him alone with Mrs. Riley?”
You put your water bottle down on the desk far harder than necessary. Everyone stopped talking and stared at you. You were staring at the bottle, where the metal had scuffed where it had rolled across the concrete.
“Alright, love?” Julia asked kindly. “I was worried about you when you didn’t clock in.”
“Yeah.” You said blankly. “Sorry. Bus was late.”
…
The paramedics swarmed in down the corridor and you got yourself out of the way, watching a little helplessly as Nicole hurried past you and followed them.
You went back to the reception desk, still trying to look through the doors and down the corridor like it might give you any answers.
“What’s happened?” Julia asked, coming out of the back office.
“Mrs. Riley fell.” You explained. “She got out of bed to use the bathroom and tumbled.”
“Is she okay?” Julia looked concerned.
“I don’t know.” You admitted. “I hope so.”
It was a little over an hour later when Nicole came to the desk, the paramedics filing out behind her and leaving the care home.
“Is everything okay?” You asked.
Nicole nodded before she spoke.
“Yeah, she’s fine. Nothing is broken, thank god. The paramedics looked at her heart and her blood pressure, and they don’t think she needs to go to the hospital, we just have to monitor her for the next twelve hours to make sure.”
You nodded, relieved it wasn’t more serious. She was a tough girl, Mrs. Riley, it must have run in the family.
“We should call-“
“Already have.” Nicole interjected. “He’s on his way.”
“Right, good.”
“Listen, I’ve got to check on the other residents. Sally phoned in sick and Joe got called to another home last minute. I don’t suppose you could sit with her for a little bit? I know it’s not your job, but…”
“It’s fine.” You assured her immediately. “Go, I’ll sit in as long as I need to.”
She gave you a grateful smile before leaving the reception. You headed through the doors and to Mrs. Riley’s room, knocking gently.
“Mrs. Riley?” You called softly, opening the door and closing it gently behind you. “I heard you had a little fall.”
Mrs. Riley looked fine to you, if a little drawn out and tired. She was in her 70’s, her blonde hair greyed, and she smiled when she saw you.
“Oh, hello, my darling. Yes, it’s all a big fuss over nothing.”
“It wasn’t a fuss, they were keeping you safe.” You smiled as you perched on a chair beside her bed. Her skin crinkled around her brown eyes as she laughed.
“Don’t tell me they’ve asked you to babysit me, darling. You’ve got important work to do.”
“I certainly have.” You agreed. “I’ve got to spend time with you. I thought I could sneak in here and we could watch a few episodes of All Creatures Great and Small."
Mrs. Riley’s eyes lit up at the mention of her favourite show. You sat with her for the best part of an hour while Mrs. Riley ate strawberry jelly from her food tray and you were both discussing what good marriage material Siegfried would make when the door opened and Simon stormed in. He was wearing a black hoodie, but he looked soaked through. You weren’t surprised, with the rain lashing down on the windows.
His eyes looked wild, concerned, before narrowing into slits as he walked straight past you and knelt down by the bed.
“Oh, my sweet Simon.” Mrs. Riley cooed, taking his face in her hands and pulling his hood down. He had short, blond hair. You looked away immediately, feeling as though you weren’t allowed to see. “You didn’t need to come all the way here.”
“Of course I did.” Simon’s voice cracked and your head whipped to them both, surprised by it. He was holding his mother’s wrists where she was holding his cheeks. His eyes were wide and open when he looked at her. “You scared me.”
“Silly boy.” She wiped rainwater from his eyes with her thumbs. “Sweet boy. Everything is fine.”
His eyes fluttered closed and your expression softened. It was like watching an entirely different person. That strange feeling that you’d gotten before, of danger and apprehension, it all melted away when you saw him like this, knelt and seeking comfort, a boy with his mum.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” He sounded infinitely more relaxed, his eyes still closed. “I was…”
“It’s okay. I know you’re busy. Your work is important.” She said. “I’ve been looked after.”
Mrs. Riley smiled at you, and Simon opened his eyes and looked at you, too. You swallowed, shuffling from one foot to the other. Simon’s burning gaze was one thing, but this open expression made you feel uncomfortable. Not because you didn’t like it, but because you knew you were intruding on something intimate and private and not meant for you.
“I’ll leave you to it.” You said quickly. “I’ll just be at the desk if you need anything.”
Simon turned his attention back to his mother and you shut the door and went back to the reception desk. You could hear your colleagues murmuring and you had a pretty good idea what they were talking about.
“Don’t any of you have any work to do?” You snapped. You earned yourself a few glares, and a few more surprised looks, but they slunk off and left you alone regardless.
The rain got heavier and heavier as the evening went on, so did the wind, until it felt like the building was swaying from side to side. When you clocked out, it was a little after midnight, and you were exhausted. You hated this late shift, the only one you did a week, because it was a little bit too close to the last bus of the night for your liking.
You collected your stuff and grimaced at the lashing rain as you pulled your coat hood up and walked outside. You were soaked within minutes, and halfway across the car park when you pulled your phone out, shielded it from the rain with your hand and pulled up your travel app. You groaned loudly.
“What’s wrong?”
You whirled around in the middle of the carpark. Simon was stood there, half-illuminated by a streetlight casting an orange glow down on the vicinity. If you thought he looked intimidating normally, in the rain at midnight was a different story.
“I didn’t know you were still here.” You said. He’d crept up on you again.
“Mum finally went to sleep.” He said, spitting rainwater from his surgical mask with every movement of his lips. “She made me watch a show about a goat. Or a vicar. I couldn’t figure it out.”
You laughed, losing the fight with the wind and letting your coat hood blow down, soaking your hair to your scalp.
“Why are you standing in the rain?” He asked you.
“My last bus got cancelled.” You said. “Severe weather alert.”
He might have grunted; it might have been the wind. “I’ll give you a lift.”
You blinked in surprise. He didn’t seem to be joking. Maybe you should have been more apprehensive of such an offer, maybe you might have been before, but after seeing him with his mother, you knew you didn’t have anything to fear.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”
“It’s pissing down.” He grunted, fishing his car keys from his pocket. Lights flashed on something big and black a few spaces down from where you were standing. “Get in.”
You didn’t argue any further. You opened the passenger door and climbed in. It was dry inside the car and you shuddered from the chill of the rain as Simon got into the driver’s side. The screen on the dash came to life, connecting to his phone as he put his seatbelt on. You could have sworn the word Ghost flashed up on the screen before he reached across and thumbed a plastic button with his gloved finger. You made a little noise of surprise and appreciation as warm air started to fill the car. You were soaked to the bone, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to you. You peeled your coat off and stuck your hands out in front of the warm jets of air.
“Thank you.” You said.
“You say that a lot.” Simon made no move to remove his wet hoodie or wet mask. He did peel a sodden glove off of one hand with the other one and brought it up to the screen, calling up a sat nav with his bare fingertips. His hand was normal. A man’s hand. He had long fingers and scars on his knuckles from years of flesh splitting with every punch thrown.
“Where am I going?” He asked, inclining his head to you.
You rattled off your address without even thinking about it, forgetting for a moment that this man was a complete stranger, and not just a stranger, but a stranger you were fairly sure was a soldier, which meant he’d probably killed people before.
Simon drove out of the car park and you watched the little pulsing light on his sat nav as it pointed in the direction of your flat with more intensity than you’d meant to. You didn’t know what else to do with your face.
“I’m not kidnapping you.” He said gruffly, as if reading your mind. “There are easier ways to do it than this.”
“Like what?” You asked with a quirked eyebrow.
“Chloroform, plastic bag, good old-fashioned choking. No need to waste time on sweet talking.” He glanced over to you.
You shivered, and not because you were scared.
“This is sweet talking?” You laughed.
“It worked on you.” He quipped.
You shook your head with a resigned laugh, rubbing your forehead and scowling at how wet your face was. You must have looked a state.
“Should I be worried you know so much about kidnapping?”
He chuckled, eyes back on the road ahead. “You’ve got a good sense of humour for a drowned rat.” He flicked on the indicator and turned down another road. The headlights illuminated the roads in front of you. “I’ve met my match.”
“Crack a lot of jokes, do you?”
“Sometimes, when duty calls.”
You looked over at him. He was concentrating on the road, his one gloved hand and his one bare hand gliding over the steering wheel.
“You’re in the army?” You ventured.
His eyes snapped to you, and you looked at the road ahead, your cheeks burning.
“How’d you figure that out?” He asked.
You shrugged, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “Dad was. You seem the type.”
He was silent for a long moment, and then: “I’m a Lieutenant.”
You nodded at the road, pleased that your intuition had been correct.
The conversation lapsed into silence after that, with neither of you really knowing what to say.
“Thanks,” Simon said finally. “For looking after mum.”
“Oh.” You fiddled with your fingers. “No problem. She’s lovely.”
It went quiet again, and soon after, Simon busied himself with slowing down to a crawl on your street, looking for your flat number. You opened your mouth to say that anywhere here was fine, but it only took him a moment to identify the building and pull up on the side of the road, right next to the front door.
“Safe and sound.” He said, looking at you. As soon as the car stopped moving, the rain began lashing even louder against the metal frame. It served to offset the comparative silence inside.
You gathered your sopping wet coat in your hands and thought about apologising for getting his passenger seat wet, but just the thought of the derisive look he’d give you stopped you. “Thanks, Simon.”
“Hmm.” He made a low noise, like he wasn’t expecting to hear his name. “Phone.” He said.
“What?” You asked.
“Your phone, give it to me.”
You passed your phone over with a bemused look on your face, wondering briefly if he was going to check it for bugs or something, but instead he just tapped the screen a few times and passed it back to you.
“My number.” He explained. “In case you get stranded again.”
You felt like it was a bizarre thank you gesture for sitting in with his mother, like some mafia-esque loyalty, and you were so confused by it that you forgot to realise that Simon had just given you his number.
“T-“
“Don’t say it.”
You pursed your lips, fighting off a smile.
Simon was looking you up and down, and you thought he was going to tell you something, before he apparently decided against it, looking back at the dashboard instead.
“Go on, get inside before you catch a cold.”
You hoped he’d never heard the way the people at the nursing home spoke about him. You also had no idea why that thought popped into your head at this moment.
“Yes, sir.” You smirked at him, opening the car door and hoping out. “Getting inside, sir.”
Simon shook his head, and then he laughed. “You’re a fucking nightmare, girl.” He said, and it might have been the first time you’d heard such warmth in his voice.
You gave him a stupid smile before you shut the door. You watched him drive away before you let yourself into your flat. You wanted to grimace at the wet clothes clinging to you, or scowl at how tired you were, but you didn’t.
You just smiled.
…
The days passed, and you didn’t see Simon again.
He didn’t come into the care home at all and you briefly wondered if he was actively avoiding your shift schedule, maybe regretting giving you his number, until Nicole lamented that she hadn’t seen the hot army man in a few days.
You supposed it was a little odd, he didn’t usually leave it this long between his visits, but then you didn’t really know him at all and this could have been completely normal behaviour. You didn’t look up every time the entrance doors opened, you certainly didn’t scan the car park every time you walked across it, and you definitely didn’t check his contact in your phone to see if he’d messaged you and the notification hadn’t popped up. What you did admit to doing was appreciate that you were acting like a schoolgirl, and that it needed to stop.
Luckily, the perfect distraction was right on the horizon. It was your mother’s 60th birthday party at the weekend and she’d invited you and other family and friends to a garden party at your childhood home. The forecast was for sun.
You went to the shops after work, buying her an expensive perfume she favoured, and a box of her favourite chocolates. You picked a card that was purple, with a teddy bear on the front holding a love heart that said, ‘I love you, mum!’ on it in gold print. You thought about all of the older women at the care home that spoke incessantly of their children who you’d never seen visit, and your chest constricted a little. You loved your mum, she was the only parent you had left, and you were only just realising how much you were neglecting your precious time together.
Saturday came around quickly. It was indeed as sunny outside as the forecast had predicted and you put on a cute sundress with yellow flowers and a little bit of makeup before you made your way to your childhood home. It wasn’t far from where you lived now.
You said hello to your mum and gave her her gifts. She hugged you before you went into the garden. There was a gazebo up over a table full of ice buckets, prosecco and finger food. A fair few of your relatives were already ploughing through the prosecco, judging by the raucous laughter you could hear.
“Hey there, gorgeous.” Your stepdad flung his arm around your shoulder and pulled you against his side.
“Oh, hi Clive.” You said, trying to hide your uncomfortable wince as he stroked his thumb over your bare upper arm. Your mum had married Clive a few years ago. You were happy for her, that she wasn’t alone anymore and she had someone to look after her, but you’d never exactly gotten on. He’d always lingered around you, and you didn’t like it.
Finally, he released you and you side-stepped away, nearly jumping when your mum offered you a glass of chilled prosecco, which you took and sipped quickly.
It didn’t take long for a gaggle of aunts and cousins to surround you, asking you questions about work and probing questions about your personal life because, of course, being unmarried and childless at your age was the hot topic of discussion at any event.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Your auntie asked you, and everyone in the immediate vicinity stared at you like your answer would hold the secrets of the universe.
“No, no, not at the minute.”
“There must be someone you like. Are there any nice men at that care home you work at?”
You blushed. “None under the age of 70.”
The tirade of questions began again, about how you couldn’t wait around forever to get married and how the biological clock was ticking, and Clive putting his hand on your shoulder made you jump.
“Come on, why don’t you help me check on the chicken, sweetheart?” He gave you a toothy smile and a knowing wink.
“Yeah, okay.” Goosepimples erupted on your flesh but then he dropped your shoulder and the pair of you went into the kitchen. You sipped your drink as he opened the oven and checked on the chicken roasting inside. It smelt pretty good, actually.
“Thank you for saving me.” You rolled your eyes at the absurdity of it.
“It’s okay.” He grinned. “Those vultures should know better. You’ll find someone when the time is right, there’s no point rushing it.” He lent against the counter, crossing his arms, and looked you up and down. You suddenly regretted the yellow sundress you were wearing, wishing instead for trousers and a hoodie. “You’ve grown up into a beautiful young woman, you won’t have any trouble finding a man.”
“Thanks.” You forced a smile, trying to relax. You were sure he didn’t realise how creepy he actually came across, especially when he was married to your mother. Some people were just overly friendly, right?
“Just being honest, sweetheart. You’ll attract any man looking like that.” He smirked, toothy and wide. “And not for nothing, but your tits look great in that dress.”
It was either like the planet slowing down to a stop or having ice cold water thrown on top of you, you couldn’t quite tell. Your stepdad was still grinning that lechery grin at you, chuckling at his joke. You weren’t laughing.
“Come on, let’s go back outside before anyone wonders what we’re up to.” He waggled his eyebrows at you. You started to walk outside of the kitchen like an automaton, like your feet were made of lead. You felt him walking behind you, and then you felt his hand trailing down your back. You nearly snapped the neck of your prosecco glass.
He left you alone in the garden, finding a group of your uncles to talk to, and you just stood there for a moment, wondering what the fuck you were supposed to do. Did you tell your mum? Were you overreacting? Would she be mad at you for ruining her birthday?
Your heart was thumping in your chest. You felt like you were going to be sick. After an age, you made a decision. You had to get out of there or your prosecco was going to make a reappearance. You needed to go home and then find the biggest jumper you owned and cover up forever.
“Mum.” You said. Both your mum and Clive looked up at you. He was draped over her. His eyes tracked down your chest. You held your glass strategically.
“Yes, love?” She beamed at you. You felt like the world’s biggest arsehole. Why couldn’t you just let it go?
“Um, I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to go, my last bus leaves in half an hour.” A total lie, they were running every half hour until midnight, but you couldn’t think of any other way of leaving without inevitably having to explain why.
“Oh, love.” Your mum’s face dropped.
“It’s alright.” Clive said, hugging your mum closer to his side. “I’ll drop you back whenever you want, you can stay as long as you like.”
“Oh, that’s kind.” Your mum’s face brightened up. “Isn’t that kind, sweetheart? You can stay for food. I don’t see you enough as it is.”
“Yeah, sounds great.” You forced a smile. There was no way of getting out of this now, and now you had to sit in a car with him, to where you lived, to where you lived alone.
You hovered by the drinks table, necking prosecco’s and wondering what the hell you were meant to do.
You were sure Clive would never try anything, but you sure as hell didn’t want to put it to chance. How were you meant to escape? How were you meant to convince that prick to leave you alone? You weren’t scary or intimidating.
You got your phone out and blamed it entirely on the alcohol when you pulled up Simon’s number. You stared at it for a long time. Did you really want to do this? Would he even come? Why did you want him to? You hadn’t seen him in nearly two weeks, what if he’d forgotten all about you.
He’d given you this number in case you got stranded again. He wanted you to contact him if you needed help.
The image of Simon’s brown eyes flashed across your mind, that burning look he always gave you. You were sure he’d hurt people, but not you, he’d look after you.
You dialed before you could talk yourself out of it, knowing that he wouldn’t answer.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hello?” That coarse accent. The greeting was barked.
“Simon.” You whispered into the receiver. “It’s me.”
There was a beat of silence, just a beat.
“What’s happened?”
“Can you come and get me please?” You really blamed the alcohol, you knew you’d start crying if he said no.
“Where are you?”
You were surprised, relieved, excited. You rattled off your mum’s address quickly.
“I’m on the way. Are you safe?”
It struck you as an odd question, a prepared question.
“Yeah, yes, I’m fine.”
“Don’t move.”
The line went dead but you didn’t put your phone down for a moment. You knew Simon never lingered, but was his haste because of that, or because of how quickly he was grabbing his car keys and heading out? His only hesitancy was to make sure you weren’t in so much danger he had time to reach you. You bit your lip and tried not to cry in front of everyone.
You had no idea where Simon was coming from, nor any idea when he’d get to you, so you composed yourself in the bathroom, grabbed another glass of prosecco – your fifth? – and made conversation with one of your cousins. She’d just had a baby, so you didn’t have to do any of the talking.
The party, getting louder and louder with more alcohol consumed, suddenly hushed to whispers and you turned to look.
The crowd parted like the red sea as Simon walked across the garden purposefully. His gloved fists were clenched, he was wearing khaki cargo trousers, black boots polished to a gleam and a dark top hiked up over his wide forearms, showing off a hint of muscle and ink beneath. He wasn’t wearing a mask, or a cap or a hood, instead he had a balaclava pulled over his face, with a skeletal jaw printed over the front of his mouth. His eyes were the only part of his face that was visible, blackened with war paint, narrowed and furious. He’d never looked more menacing than he did in that moment.
Every member of your family fell silent and shrank back, but you didn’t, the relief you felt was almost palpable.
He stopped in front of you, his eyes raking over you, taking in your dress and your drink, and you imagined he had a few questions about why you’d dragged him here.
“Are you ready to go?” He asked, although his voice left no room for argument.
You nodded immediately, putting your drink down. “Yes, please.”
“Love, who is this?” Your mum asked, giving you a puzzled look, and then giving Simon a horrified one.
Simon didn’t react, he didn’t move, he didn’t stop glaring and he didn’t release his fists.
“A friend, mum.” You said, the prosecco helped the words come easier to your mouth. “He offered to pick me up.”
“Wait, hold on a minute,” Clive moved in front of you, between you and Simon, puffing his chest out. “You’re not going anywhere with this man. He looks dangerous.”
Everyone was staring at you, erupting into whispers, some of them were even pointing. Not exactly the sneaky exit you’d been planning.
Simon’s eyes moved from you to your stepdad, narrowing as they did, like he had a sixth sense for picking up on exactly what the danger was. A sense, or years of experience.
“Sorry to drag her away,” Simon turned to your mother, relaxing his voice a little. “It’s a work thing, I’m afraid, it’s important.”
“Yeah, sorry mum, I’ve got to run.”
Your mum nodded, even though she looked confused and concerned. Clive shook his head, prodding Simon right in the chest.
“Listen here, mate, you can’t come onto my property and accost my daughter. I’ll call…”
Simon looked down slowly, lowering his shoulders to really peer right into Clive’s face, emphasizing the height difference between them.
“Try me, old man.” He growled. “I’ve put better men in the ground for less.”
It wasn’t even his threat that twisted your stomach, it was the growl in his voice. He was speaking a language your pussy understood and responded to with a clench.
Clive’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Your mum looked startled. You gave her a hug.
“It’s fine, mum, I promise. He’s a friend. From work.”
Your mum nodded a little plainly, stroking your back as she hugged you. “Okay, my love, thank you for coming. I’ll see you soon?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you. Love you. Happy birthday.”
You gave Clive a blank look as you passed him, heading back into the house. You didn’t hear Simon follow you, but you knew he was, looming over you like a shadow.
When you got into his car, you watched in silence as he got into the driver’s side. He didn’t speak to you, he just peeled away from the house far quicker than you were expecting, throwing you around in the seat. The prosecco sloshed unhappily in your belly.
You peeked at him. He was glaring at the road ahead. He looked so furious that you half-expected him to throw you from the car while it was still moving.
“Thank you for coming.” You said, your voice small.
“What happened?” He barked, as if your remark had broken whatever was stopping him from talking.
You pursed your lips, suddenly embarrassed, and trying to find the words to explain yourself, to ask his forgiveness for dragging him there, for your overreaction and for wasting his time.
“It’s okay.” He assured you, his voice forcibly softer. It broke the tension like a hammer on granite. “You’re safe now.”
Your eyes welled up and he glanced over at you. His brown eyes weren’t angry, they were concerned. It knocked the air out of your lungs.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Here.” He clicked a button somewhere on the steering wheel and his dash screen started playing something quietly.
“I love Sleep Token.” You sniffed.
You heard him chuckle. You wanted to ask him so many questions, but you figured you owed him a few answers first.
“It was my stepdad.” You said quietly, chewing on your lip.
“The shrimp?”
A laugh erupted from you. Hearing that, and seeing how much bigger Simon was compared to him, made him look a lot less scary in your eyes. It relaxed you.
“You don’t have to explain arsehole dads to me.” He grunted, then ironically: “What did he do?”
“He, uh…”
Simon glanced at you again, noticing the way that you were hesitating. “Yeah?” He encouraged gently.
You didn’t know if he was actively choosing to be gentle with you, or if he wanted to be, but regardless, it made you feel safe with him.
You wiped your nose with the back of your hand. “He’s just a creep. He said something gross and…I don’t know, I didn’t feel safe.”
“What did he say?”
Your eyes hit the foot well. “He said my tits look good in this dress.”
Simon’s gloved hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“You shouldn’t have told me where he lives.” He said, his voice dangerously low.
“Why not?” You asked.
“Because I’ll kill him.”
It sent a shiver down your spine, because you knew he meant it. You weren’t even thinking about what an insane thing that was to say, you were thinking about someone going to those lengths to defend your honour. Your cheeks burned.
Simon pulled up on the side of the road outside of your flat – without putting your address in the sat nav, you noticed – and you didn’t know what to say.
It was silent, and awkward, for a few moments, until: “You look lovely.” Simon said, still looking extraordinarily pissed off. “Don’t let an arsehole make you feel bad for that.”
You blushed even harder, looking down at your dress. “Thank you.”
“Go on, get inside. Sleep that drink off.”
“You can come in, if you like.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Just for a bit.” You entreated. “He knows where I live and…” It wasn’t a complete lie. You were worried about Clive driving over in a fit of rage, but mostly you didn’t want to watch Simon drive away from you, not again, not yet.
“Fine, for a little bit.” He acquiesced, his tone suggesting he hated the idea.
You felt a little embarrassed opening the door to your flat, praying it was relatively clean and you didn’t have any errant pairs of underwear lying around. Simon trailed in behind you, standing in the hallway and looking very out of place, not sure what to do with his big body. It made you smile.
“Tea?” You offered.
“Yeah,” he relaxed a bit. “Thanks.”
“Sugar?” You asked, showing him to the kitchen.
“No,” he huffed, like it was funny. “I’m sweet enough.”
…
Simon rolled his balaclava under his nose to drink his tea, giving you your first view of his mouth. He was clean shaven, his lips looked soft, his teeth straight. You could see the beginnings of a scar on his top lip, denting it, pulling it up slightly, but the black fabric hid the rest of it from view.
You were curled up on the other end of the sofa, a pair of pj bottoms on under your sundress.
You focused on your own tea.
“Never seen the balaclava before.” You mused out loud.
There was a beat of silence.
“Wasn’t expecting to see civilians today.” He didn’t say anything else on the topic. Right. Army. Lieutenant. That explained his militant attire. You suddenly realised you might have pulled him from work.
“Oh my god, were you at a base or something? I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “It’s fine. I landed about an hour before you called. I was just doing paperwork before I went home myself.”
“Landed?” You asked, eyebrows raised. “Like a deployment?”
“Yeah, 10-day stretch.” He explained. He didn’t question your knowledge on the military; he remembered what you’d said about your father. “Fucking knackered to tell you the truth.” Your face betrayed that your brain was working overtime, and he chuckled and took pity on you. “I’m in the S.A.S.”
“Oh!” You suddenly understood so many things, and even less at the same time. So, Simon was scary – scary, then. “It might be pointless of me to ask where you’ve been, then.”
“Maybe a little.”
He hadn’t been avoiding you, then, he’d been god knows where doing god knows what. You wondered how many people he’d killed on his mission, how many people had tried to kill him, how many times he’d nearly died. You didn’t like the knot that thought created in your stomach.
“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” You said. “And don’t just say no. It’s the least I can do to thank you for today. You got me out of a tight spot.”
Simon actually looked a little relieved that he didn’t have to drive anymore today. “Thank you.” He said quietly. “Your mum didn’t look too happy to see me.”
You snorted. “You’re a single man with a working penis. I bet she was fucking thrilled.”
Simon’s head snapped to you and you froze.
“Oh, no. I just… before you came, they were saying about…me being single and…forget I said it. You might not be single. You might not have a…”
Simon smirked and you fell silent, not sure what to say.
“I’m single.” He assured you. “And it works just fine.”
You barely managed to stop blushing when you gave Simon blankets and closed your bedroom door. You put on a clean pj top and crawled into bed, but your heart was hammering as you stared up at the ceiling.
Simon was right on the other side of the wall, probably taking off his mask to sleep, maybe even slipping his cargo trousers off.
You rolled over and wrapped the duvet around yourself, trying to clear your mind and sleep.
Both were impossible.
…
You had about a thousand missed calls from your mum and from Clive, but you didn’t answer them, not yet. You were far too happy with your life at the moment, and you really had no idea why. Your relationship with your stepdad was irreparably damaged, at least from where you were standing, and your entire family had seen you walk off with a masked brute, after vehemently denying having a boyfriend. And the masked brute in question was a semi-acquaintance from your place of work who seemed to feel so sorry for you that he’d started basically babysitting you.
You didn’t care about any of that. Simon had come and saved you, perhaps in a very loose sense of the word, but he still had. He’d spent ten days abroad doing classified and almost certainly highly dangerous work and instead of going home and resting, he’d come to your aid with no questions asked. Well, one question. Are you safe?
Simon had left before you’d woken up the next morning, leaving your blankets and pillows folded up on the sofa far neater than you’d ever managed. Those military corners. You didn’t mind that he'd left. He’d just gotten back from deployment. The idea that you’d given him a place to rest, just for a few hours, made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.
The truth was that you liked him, more than you should have done. He might have been closed off and mysterious, but he made you feel warm and safe whenever you were around him, like no one could hurt you, like no one would ever hurt you again.
You found yourself daydreaming about him wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you tight, how warm and safe he’d feel, how you’d burrow in him and never come out again.
The excitement in your gut was nearly overwhelming when you clocked in. You put all your stuff away and stared at the entrance doors. You could have vibrated to the moon with how anxious and excited you were to see him again.
Nicole lent on the desk with her elbows and smirked at you. “Your boyfriend is here.”
“He isn’t my…” You lowered your voice, trying not to gather the attention of anyone around you. You imagined Simon hearing her say that, and the look he would give you. He wouldn’t be embarrassed or pleased, he’d probably be pissed off, or at best, crack some sort of dry joke about it. The cold, closed off soldier was a flirt, even if he did try to hide it. “Is he?”
“Yeah, he’s in with his mum. He brought someone along, this time.”
“Really?” You wondered who someone like Simon would bring to visit his ailing mother. Your brain immediately went to a wife, but then you remembered him saying that he was single the other night. You chewed your lip. Ex-wife, perhaps? Your stomach churned with jealousy.
In any case, you didn’t bother him in his visiting time. Instead you focused on getting your own work done: signing people in, filing paperwork, getting various requisitions signed and sent off, all that thrilling stuff, while keeping half an eye on the clock for the end of visiting time, which was dragging ever nearer.
You wondered exactly what you’d say to him when you saw him. Would you talk about the other night? Would he want to acknowledge that he’d spent the night on your couch, would he want to know what happened with your family?
You turned a corner in the corridor, heading to the kitchen for some much needed coffee, but stopped immediately by the corner when you saw Simon’s back, broad and covered with his hoodie, his hood pulled up, and talking gruffly to a man lent against the opposite wall. This must have been the friend he’d brought along. He looked older than Simon did, with dark, slightly shaggy hair, stubble on his jaw, dressed in jeans and a jacket and slumping against the wall. The two of them had similar features and similar builds, and yet looked like two entirely contrasting individuals.
“It’s a good place.” Simon was saying defensively, keeping his voice intentionally low. “The people are nice. She likes it here.”
“You put our mother in a fucking home, you wanker.”
You saw Simon’s gloved fists clench.
“What choice did I have? I could get called out at any minute and be gone for days. I might not come back.”
“She could have lived with me, arsehole.”
“No, she couldn’t.” Simon growled.
“Why not?” His brother’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“You’re a drunk, sorry, piece of shit.” Simon stalked forward, towering over his brother. You could only see the back of his hoodie, but you could imagine how terrifying his usually so lovely brown eyes must have looked. “You’d be in prison if your ex-wife wasn’t too fucking scared to talk to the police.”
“I can visit my own mum whenever I like.”
“Once a month, under my supervision, that’s the deal, and that’s only because I don’t want her to know anything. She’s been through enough without knowing you’re just like him.”
Simon’s brother looked away from him, and saw you stood there, half hidden around the corner.
“Hi.” He called out. “Sorry, love, didn’t see you there. Ignore us.”
Simon’s back straightened and he turned. The minute he saw you, his eyes hardened to flint. You were half-expecting to see the skull balaclava again, but the surgical mask was back. The narrowed, furious glare he was giving you made you feel like the other day at the party and on your couch hadn’t even happened.
“Sorry,” you fiddled with your jumper sleeve. You’d heard a lot of things that you weren’t supposed to have heard, and Simon knew you’d heard them. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I was just heading to, uh…”
The shaggy haired man stepped aside, clearing a path for you in the corridor.
“Tommy Riley.” He introduced himself, holding out his hand. “This scary arsehole is my brother, Simon.”
You walked forward uneasily, you could feel Simon’s eyes still boring into you, and shook Tommy’s hand. Simon glared at the contact, like it was offensive for him to see it. His fists were tightly clenched.
“We already know each other.” He barked possessively.
“Oh, you do?” Tommy raised his eyebrows and then he grinned. It was toothy and cruel; it reminded you of Clive. “You sure mum is the only reason you’re hanging around here so much?”
The situation was so uncomfortable you didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh nervously or run away. Tommy was looking at you like you were a piece of meat, what did Simon just say about his ex-wife? Simon was giving you goosebumps, and not in a good way. You felt like he was going to lash out and knock his brother out any second. He hadn’t seemed so angry up until not, not until you’d showed up.
“I didn’t mean…” You tried.
“You should go.” Simon wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Tommy, as if daring him to move or speak, but he was talking to you. His order was barked, like a lieutenant to his soldiers.
“Yeah, of course.” You squeaked. Your wavering eyes looked at him, waiting for him to tell you he’d come and find you later, or even just give you a nod goodbye as he was custom to do, but he didn’t look at you, he didn’t say anything, and you just turned around and left.
You didn’t go to the kitchen, because that would mean you would have had to walk back down this corridor again and coffee was now the last thing on your mind. You went back to the desk, sat down in your seat and stared blankly at your paperwork, trying to process everything you’d just heard.
It was hard to think of anything except the way that Simon had dismissed you, like you’d never exchanged more than two words with each other.
He wasn’t meant to hurt you.
You weren’t very productive for the rest of your shift, but you did do as much as you possibly could do in the back office, so you didn’t have to see Tommy again when he eventually left, and so you didn’t have to see Simon dismiss you again like you didn’t even exist.
…
Your mum looked like she’d been crying.
You looked at her worriedly as she wrapped her hands around her coffee and took a sip. The coffee shop you were in was relatively quiet, but you wished for some privacy. You didn’t think you could go to her house at the moment though, not after the garden party on her birthday. You still hadn’t spoken to either of them about it, and honestly, you didn’t plan to, either.
“What’s happened?” You asked softly.
“Clive moved out.” She sniffed. “We had a row after the party. He got drunk after you left and kept hitting on your aunts and your cousins, he made a lot of people very uncomfortable.”
“Oh.” You felt guilty for not saying anything at the time. Maybe if you had, you might have saved your young cousins some pain, but then you could never know if you’d have even been believed or not. “I’m sorry, mum.”
“It’s okay.” She gave you an unconvincing smile. “I told him to. I said I needed some time to think. Things haven’t been great between us for a while.”
“You never told me.” You frowned.
She shrugged and you didn’t press her. You knew she felt weird about dating other men when your dad never came back from Afghanistan, like you’d be upset with her for moving on, or something. You weren’t at all, you just wished she hadn’t picked such a creep to move on with.
“I support you,” you reached over and took her hand. “You’re strong, and beautiful, and you can do so much better.”
“Thank you,” she sniffed again, but she smiled this time.
“I’m so sorry,” you repeated, lost in your own thoughts for a moment. “I’ve been so caught up with myself lately, I…I’ll make more time for you.”
“You don’t have to do that, love. I know you’re busy.”
“I want to. All I do all day is see people cherish the time they’ve got with their family. Why don’t we go out for dinner on Saturday night, just us? Might be a bit too early to go on the pull but it might cheer you up.”
Your mum chuckled and then her eyes lit up like you’d just reminded her of something.
“So, who was that man?”
“Oh, god.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands.
“He was the biggest man I’ve ever seen! Clive was going on and on about what a weirdo he was and I was like, you’ve clearly never seen a soldier before…”
You put your hands down and saw your mum babbling on. “He’s from work.” You finally explained. “Seriously. His mum is one of the residents. He’s been visiting her.”
“Ah.”
You didn’t want to talk about this, but it was distracting your mum from her pain so you bit your tongue.
“Are you seeing each other?”
You remembered the day in the corridor. Simon’s argument with his brother, the way he’d gotten so angry when he’d seen you standing there, the way he’d told you to go away, and how you hadn’t seen him since. Your stomach tightened painfully.
“No. It’s not like that.”
“He was so hot.” Your mum whispered across the table to you. “Did you see his biceps?” She mimicked the size of them with her hands, and you went bright red, hiding in your hands again.
“Mum!” You groaned.
…
You left the care home at the end of your shift. The sun was low in the sky, it was dusk, the air was chilly and autumnal.
He was just standing there, beside the cluster of trees next to the car park, looking like a statue and watching you.
You walked over to him, unsure what to expect, cuddling yourself from the cold as you stopped in front of him. You half-expected him to tell you to get in his car, but he didn’t, he didn’t say anything. His arms were crossed, his hood was up, and he was watching you with critical eyes. He was wearing his skull-print balaclava today, which you knew meant that he hadn’t planned on coming.
“Hi.” You said lamely.
“I shouldn’t have come.” Simon responded immediately, confirming your thoughts.
“Why did you?” You asked.
“I wanted to see you.”
You didn’t know what to say, not after the day in the corridor, which he didn’t look like he was planning on talking about.
“Why?” You asked again, a little guardedly.
His eyes wavered, like he was doubting his decision.
“I leave tonight.” He said instead, sounding robotic. “Could be weeks.”
You could only imagine what deployment in the S.A.S entailed, which meant you knew what he was really saying. I might never come back. I might never see you again.
“Oh.” You felt your eyes collecting moisture. You didn’t know why. Maybe something about your dad, maybe because you liked Simon more than you should. Maybe because, even if he didn’t feel anything for you, which he most probably didn’t, you still didn’t want him to go.
“Don’t miss me.” His eyes hardened in their usual defiant, cold stare. “We can’t be anything.”
“I know that.” Still, your chest tightened. Still, you had to wipe your eyes to stop them from betraying you.
A gentle patter hit the concrete under you both, drizzle soaking your clothes to your body. The rain became a wall between you.
“I have to go.” He said, his coarse voice carrying over to you.
“Okay.” You said stupidly. The rain dripping down your face probably disguised your tears.
Simon stepped forward, closing the space between you and reaching up, swiping a gloved finger across your cheek.
“None of that.” He said softly.
You were too close to each other. Your hands found his chest and just rested there, pressing your face against his sternum.
You felt fingers under your chin, and then you were looking up at his slackened brown eyes. You kissed eachother through the fabric of his mask. It was coarse, and wet, and your hand left his chest and pushed under the black fabric until you felt his carotid artery pulsing under your fingertips.
Simon growled quietly and yanked the mask the rest of the way up, resting the bunched up black fabric on the bridge of his nose, just as he’d done the other night sitting on your couch.
Your hand touched his jaw, and the skin-on-skin contact felt electric. His brows furrowed in need and he pushed his head against your hand, like a big cat, and then his lips were on yours.
Simon made a noise low in his throat while you whimpered, his hands gripped your hips and pulled you against his front as his lips moved against yours insistently. It was raining harder now, but neither of you seemed to care.
He pulled back far too soon, his mouth parted slightly, his wavering eyes watching you.
You trembled against him, your head fogged, your body sluggish and unresponsive.
“I don’t…” You murmured pathetically. You couldn’t even finish your sentence. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to die. I don’t want you to leave me. “I can’t…”
Simon looked worried, and careful, but not regretful. Neither were you, even though you were still crying, and even if it would make everything hurt that much worse in the end.
He pulled you closer to him, until you could feel the fabric of his mask and the softness of his skin again.
“Close your eyes.” He breathed against your cheek.
Your eyes slid shut. You felt his hands move from your hips. You felt the cool air against your front when he moved back.
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Leon's obsession with you pushes him to new extremes...and you like it?
Word Count: 2.4k
Tags: stalking, obsessive behavior, voyeurism, somnophilia vibes, yandere Leon
taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie@venus-in-roses
based on this request
Leon
It was serendipitous, really, how the two of you met. A coffee shop of all places, where your knuckles brushed up against his when you both reached for your drinks at the same time. Like some god forsaken rom-com.
You wrapped those pretty pink lips around the mouth of the cup’s lid, and it only took one sip to realize that the bitter dark roast scalding your tongue was not the vanilla latte, extra sweet, you had ordered at the register.
The baristas had switched up your drinks, scribbling your name on his black coffee and his on your sugary delight. He gave you the drink–your drink–in his hand, untouched and unsipped, and you apologized to him in that honeyed voice of yours, offering to walk up to the counter and ameliorate the mishap with a fresh cup on you.
He didn’t let you pay for another cup of coffee, however, coming up with the age-old excuse of running late for work, which he was, to hide the fact that he was perfectly content to drink from the same lid your luscious mouth had touched. A smudge of glittery lipgloss he couldn’t wait to kiss.
You giggled as you accepted his counter-offer of giving him your number, and you scribbled the digits on a napkin, signing it with your name and a dainty heart beside it.
He swore he could still smell your perfume, lingering in his nostrils for days after the encounter. And every time he shut his lids, for a split second or for the five hours he attempted what he once knew as sleep, he saw your face. That angelic glow of your skin. The way your smile was so wide it made lines appear by your eyes. And your eyes…
So he took you out on a proper date. Dinner under candlelight. A nightcap at a gelato shop your friend or coworker–he can’t remember who–recommended. It wasn’t until your third rendez-vous, a walk around the park during his lunch break because he couldn’t wait for the word day to be over to see you again, when he noticed it. The stares. Leon was a handsome man, and he had experienced his fair share of ogling glances from men and women alike. But this time? These onlookers weren’t staring at him. They were staring at you.
You’re stunning, so of course you would draw attention. A few women muttered twinkling comments in passing. An elderly woman told Leon he was a lucky man to have such a gorgeous woman on his arm. It was all fine and dandy, and in fact, Leon liked it. It filled him with the bubbling warmth of pride. You were his, though he hadn’t explicitly told you yet, and you were beautiful–so beautiful that you made people stop what they were doing to comment on it.
Keep it coming, he thought.
But then a man walking his dog (that you reached down to pet, silly girl), wearing a band on his ring finger, which he tried to hide when he approached–bastard– and complimented you on your “out of this world” good looks.
A predator. A person like that–a man who would walk up to a woman who was so obviously involved with someone, that someone holding her hand–was dangerous. He was bold. And Leon wasn’t going to risk bumping into him on another lap around the pond.
“Let me walk you back to your office,” he suggested with a smile.
He fell hard. Like Alice down the rabbit hole. Bruised and battered. Dumb, drunk, and loopy in love.
Leon would trip every time the two of you stayed up till the witching hour, laughing and talking, exchanging stories of your respective upbringings, the heroic tales of his scars, how you hate your boss and your job and your coworkers, except for one who you get along with very well. You’d tell him about your college days and how you don’t know why you ended up with a dead-end job with no time for the hobbies you oh-so adore as someone with a degree and a steady head on her shoulders. And he’d tell you about how he ended up working for the government, the two of you bonding over broken plans and dreams that never came to fruition.
He’d tumble when you’d scream his name as his tongue lapped at your pussy, sopping wet and dripping just for him. Or when you’d ride him until he was seizing and crying beneath you.
And he just kept falling.
A sick little puppy he was, with all that love and no idea how to express it in a healthy way, or so his therapist said. The watching came first. He’d follow you home from work to make sure you arrived at your apartment safely, and around the grocery store just in case some pervert got the wrong idea and tried to talk you up in the canned goods aisle.
When he actually had to work and didn’t have enough time to properly devote to your guard, he installed the cameras. One in your living room, another in your bedroom, two covering every inch of the hallway between them–one of those facing the front door. They were miniscule, cutting-edge scions of technology. Undetectable.
He’d watch you from the device they came with, having it on-hand throughout the day, only turning it off when you were changing. Leon respected your boundaries, of course. He wasn’t a freak.
He just wanted to make sure you were safe and his.
You were a bit of a loner, just like he was, and he preferred it that way. No risk of any man swooping in to bump him out of the competition. He did have to worry about predators, however, because you were…naive. Too trusting. You’d smile at strangers, divulge personal information to people you’d only known for a day, and as charming as that was, Leon knew the dangers it could bring.
One afternoon, a handyman came by to fix your cable–something about wireless interference that made your television spaz. Leon was watching through the cameras, the device they were connected to propped up on his desk as he tapped away at his computer. Hunnigan had interrupted, knocking on his door to chat about some upcoming assignment he was sure to be put on, he wasn’t really paying attention toward the end of her spiel. Not when there was a strange man in your apartment, and especially not when the cameras had cut to static mid-conversation, and Leon had to muster all the strength in his body not to storm out of the office right then and there.
As soon as the clock struck five, he went straight from work to your place, where you opened the door with a cheshire grin on your lips, extra syrupy sweet when you locked eyes with him, and it washed away all his worries. Just seeing you, in your comfy clothes, completely at peace. It calmed his anxious heart.
Still, anything could have happened to you. Some old, most likely perverted man in your home, with you looking practically edible in those yoga pants…
He couldn’t stand you being so far away, so vulnerable. He had to do something about that. Now.
“Good day at work?” You asked from the kitchen as you prepared dinner for two.
“This place is kind of dingy, don’t you think?” He retorted, changing the subject. You chuckle and mutter something to yourself.
“I make you dinner and you insult my home? Not very nice manners you have there, mister.”
So cheeky. It makes his stomach flutter. He rises from the sofa, huffing a laugh as he steps toward the kitchen, settling on the other side of the counter so he can watch you gracefully chop a bell pepper.
“Oh, you know, I was just thinking. Maybe you’d wanna quit this place and move in with me?”
You swallow hard, your body tensing, and you set the knife down on the cutting board, your eyes falling with the blade.
“Oh,” is all you give him, the tone of your voice undistinguishable. “Wow, that’s…wow.”
“You were telling me how awful your landlord is, raising your rent without warning like that,” he reminds subtly. “What do you say?”
The unreadable expression on your face suddenly contorts into a smile, and you remove your hands from the counter to rest them on your hips. “When can I move in?”
Your job came next. It wasn’t hard for Leon to convince you to finally leave, especially when you were living with him, using the groceries he bought you, wearing the new clothes he surprised you with, not needing to worry about contributing a cent. So you put in your two-weeks notice, and every time you mentioned something about finding another job so you could pull your weight, he would quickly change the subject, or reassure you that he can take care of you both and more if need be.
No rush.
Take your time.
You deserve a break from working anyway.
Think of it like a vacation.
Really…no rush.
“I like coming home to you,” he said, joining you at the dining table, sitting down to a hot meal under the tall taper candles you had bought. And the candle holders. And the tablecloth.
Leon also liked the way you made his cold, bachelor apartment more like a home. It happened almost instantly, when the two of you merged lives and the last box was unpacked and taken down to the recycling bin. Then, bit by bit, you’d buy pillows for the sofa that matched the rug he definitely didn’t pick out himself, and the curtains he helped you hang. A plant or two to breathe life into the stuffy air of his industrial loft. A photo of you and Leon captured in a gilded frame, sitting on the bookshelf among a bunch of the cute trinkets you collect.
“And you cook like a dream,” he mumbled, mouth full of half-chewed food. “I could get used to this.”
You giggle, the twinkling sound bouncing against the sky-high ceilings, the white walls now broken up with framed artwork and photos of the two of you. “Just let me know if you ever get tired of it, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
He stalls, mid-bite, cinching his coarse, dark brows. You lean back in your chair, watching as he swallows hard. “I would never.”
“Get tired of me? Or tell me if you did?”
Leon shakes his head, incredulous. “Baby, no.” His brows release. “You’re not going anywhere, not if I have anything to do with it.”
And he meant it. He tried to not be controlling, like some gargantuan storm cloud hovering over your every move, but he couldn’t help how much he worried every time you left the apartment without him, every time you spoke to someone that wasn’t him.
And for some crazy reason, you didn’t seem to mind.
In fact, it seemed to turn you on every time he let one of his dark thoughts slip through the cracks in his cool exterior. You sank to your knees and sucked the soul out of his dick when he said he’d chop off the hands (and other precious limbs) of any man that so much as touched you. You sat on his face and rode his mouth till you came down his throat when he mentioned that he followed you home in his car after your fourth date, just to make sure you were safe on the road.
What he couldn’t divulge, however, was that he would sometimes sneak into your apartment in the middle of the night, picking the janky lock at the front door until he finally convinced you to get it changed and he could snag a copy of the new key.
He would watch you as you slept, memorizing the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed soundly, the little quiver of your lips as you dreamed. Other times, when his resolve was worn thin and maybe he got hit too hard on a mission and needed soft skin to touch, he’d get into bed with you and hold you tight against him, or sit on the edge of your mattress, and caress the locks of your hair splayed out across your pillowcase. Nothing more, of course. Again, he’s not a monster.
He just…loved…intensely.
Obviously, the next step was marriage, because in order for him to own you, body and soul, he had to put an obnoxiously large ring on your finger. The only thing better would be a fat baby on your hip, half-him, half-you, but for now, the diamond would have to suffice.
You were going to be his forever.
You
It was the building’s handyman that noticed the cameras, and it was an accident at that. Something about the interference with your television’s signal that led him to be suspicious of any other wireless technology in your apartment. He found the first one, tucked into one of the shelves of the bookcase in the corner of your bedroom, angled to give the watcher a perfect view of your bed.
He asked if you knew it was there, which you didn’t, but you said you did.
Because you knew who put it there.
The same man that followed you around the grocery store, on your commute to and from work, the man who shot daggers at anyone who looked at you the wrong way.
You were creeped out at first, sure, but the line between obsessive stalker and protective lover quickly blurred, and you began to find Leon’s little quirks rather charming. All they proved was that the man would do anything for you, to keep you safe, to take care of you, and you weren’t about to push that away.
Not when you had the opportunity to quit your lousy, dead-end job and move into a luxurious penthouse loft in the middle of the city. To be doted on and adored by the most attractive man you ever met. To be taken care of for the rest of your earthly life, never having to so much as lift a finger. So. you’ll keep this information close to your chest and let him continue to obsess.
Plus, Leon ate your pussy like his life depended on it. Ain’t no way you’re lettin’ that go.
amandla
pixelskylines
2087
stormborns
