Principal tags: Obsessive/jealous/possessive/simp/creepy and stalking lars. OC and Lars are neighbours and also coworkers.
A/N: I was initially writing this story just for me, but then I started to have a little more self-esteem (Im still on it) for posting fanfics, and also, I had a little hyper fixation for the Goose movies, so I end up in this wonderful place (I dont wanna ever leave!). And as the avid and rabid consumer I am for anything related to Lars, I think I might wanna pay back a little into this wonderful fandom (maybe not a fair pay back, my work is absolutely trash compared to anyone in here xd, but I would love to try). I wish I can be as good as many in here are, but please shout out to the holy trinity: @ken-dom, @prudejudee, @astrophxge, they are literally the back and bone of this community! I absolutetly admire their brilliance. So, I would like to dedicate this fanfic for the ones who are a little ‘different’ or ‘the ones who would put the spice in neuro’ for the alternative big girls with big girl jobs still making a huge difference in everybody's lives with their posts in here; because we all saw in ourselves in that chubby sweet man who could feel himself loved and embraced by everyone around him, even when he was suffering.
Thank you so much <3333
TW: OOC Lars (I’m so sorry, I know most people in here love his fluffiness, I do too, but I need more freaky shit!), MDNI, 18+, OC is an AFAB (I will write GN reader soon, I promise, please don’t hate me!), this is going to be a slow burn love, the more we advance the darker this will get (and not in a gore or violent way, just a little more freaky, iywim), OC is going to be a famous and successful novel writer (because… who doesn’t want that? please raise your hand...), don’t worry fam! Oc is also a perv and a creep (she just knows how to hides it better), OC is an alternative pookie (she can be read as chubby, curvy, goth, tall, POC, etc. I just know with my ENTIRE soul that Lars is into girls who are way different of what he has ever seen around him, that man is made out of pure love), this is post-Bianca, Karin already birthed her baby (it’s a boy, YIPEEE :D), male masturbation, only Lars POV (next chaper would be OC POV).
Also, English is not my first language, I’m so sorry…
Lars has never seen anyone like you; only on TV and in some of the porn videos that Kurt likes to show him.
Sometimes wild animals stop to stare into the void, driven by curiosity.
Sometimes that curiosity kills them.
You look like you could kill him — literally.
But watching you has become his favourite hobby.
Karin and Gus, greeted you very quick, he hasn't, not yet. He just can't! He can't even say hi when you step into your garden to throw away the trash and he gets back from work. He still hasn’t figured out a way to avoid you, but deep down he knows it's because he doesn't want to.
Sometimes it's just that simple, no matter how much he overthinks it.
Everyone knows the newbie is a famous novelist.
Why would you move out here anyway?
God only knows.
But the question eats away at him, twirling inside his belly all the time as if he could get all his answers by burning you with his demanding eyes.
Out of all the places in town, you bought a home next to his, and now you two share the same alleyway from his part of the garage to your house.
They share something: a tiny, dark alleyway!
He sometimes likes to stand there, where he can look inside your cozy kitchen through your window. He lurks before going to sleep, pretending he is shoving snow or literally anything else; he noticed that you redesigned the entire old house, you moved so fast.
It was a living nightmare that first week with all those workers and moving trucks.
Lars was ready to loathe the new neighbour after a week of poor sleep. He had even considered sleeping in the forest, but Karin begged him not to. She always wins. - she bought him with sad symphathy using his baby nephew, how can he say no, with that chubby little face? - But when he saw you for the first time, he had a headache from how much he blinked afterwards.
It all began when you spotted him getting on his car; he froze like a deer on the road, none of us said a word.
He would let you run him over.
He was stunned by how perfect you were, there wasn't a single angle in your life and maybe in your soul that didn't made him sparkle inside. Could someone really be that perfect? Is it fair?
It didn't make things any better – oh God, not easier at all! When you started working in the same place as him, it didn't get any humanly manageable for him and his tiny little normal life.
"Hey, aren't you a super-rich writer or somethin'? What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be buying curtains online or what ever?" asked Kurt, trying to be nonchalant, but Lars knows him like the back of his hand and can see he's nervous. Kurt shields himself with his cup, which he's holding tightly, and he and everyone in the building and the rest of the office kitchen observers like him are asking themselves the same question.
Nobody wants to guess how much you earn, but... Your books are in every library in town and people buy them, no matter how discreetly they try to hide it.
Karin bought a copy, and Gus took it when she had finished reading it.
'It's mid,' said Gus one morning at breakfast, Lars knows he was lying. He had seen him devouring that book at 3 a.m. Just by looking at the living room lights still on.
You obviously don't need this job!
You just looked at Kurt and, with a calm smile and without putting down your coffee, answered, "I have nothing better to do."
'I have nothing better to do,' she said! He deeply admired her, no matter how much discomfort her comment provoked in others.
Kurt turned cherry red for the rest of the afternoon.
"Do you think that if I sent them a picture of her, the real doll makers would make it?" asked Kurt, looking away from his computer towards him.
He likes Kurt a lot — he might even consider him to be his best friend — but some days he wants to choke him.
That day, he could easily have given in.
But God gave him patience.
For weeks, he had memorised the sound of your footsteps around the office. He perked up when he heard you walk past his desk. Sometimes, when he's having his lunch, he leans in his chair just to catch a whiff of your sweet scent.
That was the best part of his job.
Every day, he couldn't stop himself from going further.
How could he? How can you make yourself stop staring directly at the sun? How can a deer step outside their fate when they are already on the road? How could he deny you the right to devour him through the bone?
One day, it just happened.
It was a dark night at the first snows of winter.
The snow brushed against his car and fell to the sides. He saw you on the side of the road, smoking, with a gloomy look in yourr eyes.
He stopped immediately.
He loved how your long hair framed your face, he blinked immediately.
"W-what happened?" he mumbled as he was out of his car, twitching towards the floor and barely having enough air to form words.
“The car decided it doesn’t work anymore,” he smiled giddy.
He could feel a volcanic, squishy tickle inside his guts as he finally took in the fact that she was talking to him.
Anxiety was getting the better of him as he grabbed the fabric of his trousers, but he had to be brave!
“Did you call someone to pick you up?” Three more fast blinks almost brought tears to his eyes, but his heart nearly dropped to the floor when he saw you smiling.
With those large canines of yours.
‘Please eat me…’ he begged silently.
"I don’t know anybody. Also, nobody would pick me up at this hour." True, he knows the mechanic and the two guys who run the cabs; they go to church too. Even if she tried to call them, they wouldn’t respond now.
"Would you like a ride? Back home? I mean, we live together...” He could feel his face burning; he could melt all the snow with his face like a pan. Why did he say that? He hid his face in his hands so quickly that it stung.
She chuckled. It wasn’t rude; it was a kind laugh? He guessed.
He couldn’t move; he was literally a deer in the headlights, the truck is just getting closer and closer.
She got into his car and was actually there when she closed the door and reached her right hand towards him. He didn’t know if she had kept her gloves on by design, but he appreciated the gesture, accidental or not.
“My name is Sirvat. I don't think we've ever had the pleasure of properly meeting,” you said, still tasting your name like honey on a spoon: sticky and sweet; enough to make your tongue hurt from leaving it in your mouth for so long.
Lars cleared his throat. He had seen Gus do that with other women before Karin. He touched you hand, embracing your fingers with a slow thrill.
He immediately shifts towards the car wheel; his insides feel mushy and hot. You smell like strong vanilla, not like those sweet vanilla candles you get in the shops. It's a strong smell, but not an aggressive one. There's a danger of letting temptation take hold and doing things that are wrong! He can't let those thoughts slide and let them grow inside his trousers.
He peeks at you for a hot second while and your eyes catch him immediately.
He grips the steering wheel tighter as they finally approach home. How can he run away from you when you are in the same car?
Dear God!
He parks in his usual spot without thinking much about it, for a moment he just went autopilot. Are you angry? Are you upset that he didn't drop you off at your front door?
He looked at his lap and smiled sadly.
'I had one chance and I messed it up...'
"People are right about you. You are actually the sweetest guy ever" your voice didn't feel real. There was a sense of white surprise on his chest. "Thank you so much. I'll repay you later, OK? See you tomorrow.”
There was a part of him that he would always give to Bianca: the love he had never felt for anyone before. It was hers, he owns her that.
But he could start to feel it sprout all over again.
He watches you walk into your house and disappear inside. Lars is going to walk home and give himself the coldest shower of his life until he sees your scarf on the passenger seat.
It's a blue scarf with yellow stars, crocheted with great skill. He can't crochet himself, but he can admire his mother's old hobby. He holds the scarf to his nose, forgetting that he is still outside. You live right before him; you could actually stare at him from your window and find out.
Lars fills his lungs with your scent in a slow reverend sniff.
Oh!
He ran so fast to his car towards his apartment that he almost slipped on his porch. His legs were shaking and his fingers were numb; he had a hard time finding the right key to open the door.
He sits on the edge of his bed and tries to rip off his trousers as quickly as possible, but he slips and struggles.
"Fuck!" he mutters, pulling his trousers and boxers towards his feet. His favourite boots are on their way, fuck it they stay!
He can't wait; he physically can't.
A bolt travelled down his back as he gripped his hard cock. He didn't want to cum so quickly, but her smell was making him dizzy.
Without letting go of his cock, he trailed his hand up and down. The precum lubricated his sensitive girth. He had too many layers of clothing on; actually, his jacket was bothering him so much, he is sweating so much.
His mind started to conjure up images of you: with your sharp smile and the hypnotic curves of your body. Once the jacket was off, his hips started to thrust against his hand. A little cry escaped him as he continued to fantasise about you biting him and leaving marks all over his body, some of which could be started turning blue by now...
He whined louder as he fucked himself faster. Shit! He knows he's pathetic, and he wishes someone as cool as you would touch him and take him.
He wanted to dry hump you like a dog, and cum just from using your scent. He shut his eyes and gazed at the sky, gasping.
Then he remembered that he actually had a little piece of you with him. He buried his face in the wool and cried, fat tears rolling across his flustered face, as he continued to thrust his hand against the soft skin on the bottom of his belly, making a meaty sound that filled his lonely apartment.
A delicate layer of sweat coated his pale skin as he finally orgasmed, splashing hot cum all over his fat thighs.
He had slept with your scarf under his cheek all night.
The rest of the next morning Lars had been debating whether he would be strong enough to give you back your scarf or not; you forget it in his car, he knows it's rude but... until he found you leaning on his car after work, smoking, just like yesturday.
What a lovely deja vu.
"I'm sorry I didn't give you these sooner, but I hope you like them," you said, wearing a different scarf — a purple one with silver moons on it.
You gave him a bouquet of baby's breath and a brown gift bag containing what he thought were fancy chocolates, although he didn't know jackshit about fancy sweets, he could see as well as a few other things he couldn't identify.
He wants to cry and beg you not to gave him anything, he doens't know what you want!
"Did- you fix your car?" he asked too quickly, rather than bawl his eyes out in the parking lot.
'Please say no...' he begged.
“In a few days. I'll actually be using cabs in the while. Thank you for asking.” He wanted to kiss the soft blush on your cheeks.
'Don't use them, use me!' he wanted to shout. He just froze, smiling softly and blinking to hide the pain crushing his ribs.
"That's good," he said, lying to himself.
"I hope you like them, Lars. See ya!," you said, walking towards the cab.
If he were different, he would have pulled you out of the cab and made you sit in his car instead. Is it a horrible thing to do if he prayed to God that made your car never gets fixed? that if suddenly catches on fire? that he has to be your driver forever?
If he were different, he would have returned your scarf.
but actually, you never mentioned it, or ask for it.
He could still pretend he had never seen it.
Later that night, he buried his face in the scarf and thrust a pillow against it. The pillow would never give him the slightest idea of what it would feel like to have your ass rising up on his bed, all ready under him. He didn't need clothes; he was a living radiator. He only needed the comfort of his socks and your scent. He was a bundle of cries and whimpers. He started to moan more after moving to the garage.
His thrusts were slow and deliberate. To his torturous pacing, he imagined himself making love to you for the first time. His breathing became hurried as he got closer, whispering your name over and over. Was it wrong to want you to touch him at work? It was a ridiculous idea, but what if you touched him on the drive back home? Would you taste as good as you smelled?
He buried his orgasm under the mattress as his warm semen pooled on the pillow.
Lars wants more than just a scarf.
I actually need to introduce this man into motherhood, statement...
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING, PLEASE HARASSME AND TELL ME EVERY THOUGHT AND COMPLAINT, I LOVE YAAA AHHH!!
Anyway, shoutout to @saradika-graphics for the amazing banners, WOOOOW WOOW WOOOOOW!!!
