Still a Slow Writer

Earlier today Matt, Foggy, and Karen had finally won their case in court, a case that you knew they'd been endlessly toiling away on for over a month. You'd barely just gotten back to your apartment after work when Matt had called and told you the good news, urging you to meet them down at Josie’s. Having been excited to celebrate with everyone–especially since you'd barely seen Matt in weeks–you'd hurried straight there. You hadn't even bothered to change out of your work clothes before you’d left because you’d been so eager to finally have a chance to see Matt again, which left you still wearing one of the dresses you occasionally wore to work on incredibly hot summer days like today. 

You knew Matt loved your dresses, he'd told you that plenty of times by now. And while you were very aware of the fact that the pair of you had barely spent time together since their firm had initially taken this case many weeks ago, you hadn't anticipated the reaction he'd be having to you tonight. 

At first you hadn't noticed much out of the ordinary when you’d arrived at the bar. Matt had wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in close to the side of him as he ordered your drink. Though you had noticed how he held onto you tighter tonight than he usually did whenever the pair of you were out together, as if he needed to have part of you constantly touching him this evening. Not long after you'd gotten your beer, Matt's hand had begun to dip lower and lower on your waist, the tips of his fingers teasingly grazing the top of your ass. You had almost choked on the sip of your drink you'd just taken when his fingers began toying with the waistband of your panties through the thin fabric of your dress. Struggling to remain focused on the conversation at the time, all you could think about was Matt's damn hands peeling them off of you later. Every slight snap of the material from his teasing fingers had your breath catching in your throat and your cheeks beginning to flush.

But if his wandering hands hadn't already been enough, he'd also been taking moments to lean over and whisper things into your ear whenever Karen and Foggy were talking. You'd slowly lost the ability to pay attention at all to what those two were saying as the things Matt's deep voice kept purring into your ear gradually became filthier and filthier.

At first the comments had been sweet; mainly Matt telling you that he'd missed you and how he was looking forward to finally having time to spend with you now that he wouldn't be working on that case anymore. But then he'd begun to tell you how good you smelled this evening. Which eventually led to him telling you how much he had missed you in his bed over the past few weeks and what he was looking forward to doing once the pair of you left Josie’s tonight–in explicit detail. 

That's when he began to tell you that he knew how aroused you were becoming; that he couldn't just smell the dampness forming between your legs, but that he could hear the slickness with every shift of your body beside him. It wasn't as if you could help it though because his voice alone always had an undeniable effect on you–which he damn well knew. And him catching the scent of your growing arousal only seemed to amplify the obscene things he kept whispering into your ear while he still wore that innocent smile on his face for Karen and Foggy. But there was one comment in particular that had been rolling around in your head over and over for the past hour now. You couldn't stop hearing it repeat in your mind in that same sultry growl in which he'd first said it in.

Before we even leave this bar tonight, sweetheart, I’m going to soak that dress and those panties more than they already are. I can promise you that.

You remembered the fresh bit of wet heat that formed between your thighs the moment those words had left his mouth, his hot breath dancing along your neck. You'd shuddered, becoming incredibly aware of every inch of your side he had pressed up against his. With the way he kept whispering in your ear all night, you figured that was his plan for the evening. To turn you on solely with his voice and the dirty things he was saying before leaving the bar tonight. But the moment everyone had sat down at the booth Karen had pointed out, you'd realized he might've had something else in mind.

Which is when you knew that you were in far more trouble tonight than you could have ever realized. 

For the past twenty minutes Matt's left hand kept touching you underneath the table, oscillating between one exhilarating touch after another. A firm squeeze to your knee, his palm just beneath the hem of your dress. His hand resting on your thigh, the warmth of it seeping through your dress and growing the heat already building inside of you. And, a few times, he'd actually slipped his hand up beneath the fabric itself, languidly sliding it deliciously slow until you felt a gentle graze of fingertips along the inside of your thigh, just below your already wet underwear.

You were without a doubt already a flustered mess in the booth. Yet Matt didn't seem remotely satisfied, his hand still relentlessly teasing you under the table while he continued on conversering with his friends like nothing more was occurring. He was drinking back his beer and actively participating in the conversation while occasionally flashing you knowing, devilish smiles. Meanwhile, you could still barely focus on the conversation long enough to add much to it. 

It was the sound of Foggy’s phone a little later alerting him to a text that finally caught your attention, tearing it away from the way Matt's index finger was currently drawing circles over your right knee. Both of your hands were fidgeting with your beer bottle above the table, your face feeling hot as you watched him pull the phone out of his pocket.

“It's Marci,” Foggy announced, still reading the text. “She's back from work and wondering when I'll be home.” He glanced up from his phone screen, a slight frown on his lips. “I should probably get going, I don't want to make her wait up for me.”

Beside him, Karen glanced down at her own phone on the table, unlocking the screen and checking the time. “Maybe I should head out too,” she said. “It is starting to get kind of late.”

A flood of relief instantly washed over you as you perked up across the table. If both of them were calling it a night, that meant you and Matt could leave, too. Which also meant you could head back to either of your apartments and do something about all the growing sexual tension and Matt's incessant teasing, because by now you were becoming desperate for some sort of relief. But just as you shifted in your seat, about to open your mouth and eagerly agree with the idea of leaving, Matt's hand tightened around your knee. Your brief hesitation gave him a chance to respond first.

“You both head on out,” he began, tone far too casual as he spoke. “I think we might actually stay a bit. It's been awhile since we've really gotten to spend time together with everything going on these past few weeks.”

“Just don't stay up too late tonight, kids,” Foggy joked, already sliding out of the seat across from you and Matt. “We've got a meeting bright and early tomorrow morning!”

Matt chuckled good-naturedly, his hand inching up under the hem of your dress as he did. You straightened in your seat at the touch, spine pressing against the back of the booth as you wondered why in the hell he wanted to stay.

“You don't have to worry about me, buddy,” he assured him. “I'll be ready for tomorrow morning.”

Karen slid out of the booth behind Foggy, one hand brushing some loose blonde hair out of her face as she sent you and Matt a warm smile. You returned the smile as best as you could, hoping neither of them had noticed how unusually quiet you'd been tonight. 

“I know how much we've been hogging Matt the past few weeks,” Karen told you, readjusting her purse strap as she rose to her feet beside the booth. “So I hope you two enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Thanks, I'm–I'm sure we will,” you replied, trying to fight back the quiver in your voice as Matt's thumb slid across the inside of your thigh. 

“Oh, we most certainly will,” he told her with a smile, his hand giving your thigh a slight squeeze.

Hips shifting along the booth's bench, you tried to ignore the growing ache between your legs, finding it hard to remain casual with how Matt was making you feel. You weren't sure what his reasoning was for not getting up and leaving right now with them, but you sure hoped you could convince him to get out of here fast once they'd left.

“It was good seeing you both again tonight,” you told the pair of them. “And congratulations again on winning that case.”

“We'll see you at the next big celebratory win!” Foggy said, shooting you a wave.

You sent them both a wave in return before they turned and headed towards the exit to Josie’s, the pair of them walking side by side. Matt's hand remained on your thigh as you watched them go, his other hand picking up his half-finished beer from the table. Your attention shifted to him beside you, watching as he drew the bottle up to his lips, taking a deep pull before he set the beer back down. Your gaze remained on his mouth, watching as the tip of his tongue slipped out and ran along his lips. The thought of that skilled tongue being put to use had your cunt pathetically clenching around nothing.

“You're so damn wet I can barely taste my own beer,” Matt said, voice just loud enough for you to hear. “All I have been able to taste for the past hour is you and your dripping cunt.”

Fighting a shudder threatening to roll down your spine, your own hands tightened around the neck of your beer bottle on the table. “That's your own doing, Matt,” you pointed out, sounding more breathless than you'd have liked. “You're the one who won't stop teasing me tonight.”

“And you're the one showing up in a dress,” he countered, his covered gaze finally landing on you. “You know I can't resist when you wear them.”

“I didn't feel like changing before I left,” you replied, heart pounding a little faster as you felt his hand begin to glide further up beneath your dress. “I was excited to see you and I hadn't thought–” you paused, eyelids fluttering momentarily when one of his fingers finally swiped ever so gently just over your soaked underwear.

“Hadn't thought what, sweetheart?” he asked cheekily. 

You could feel your pulse pounding in your own aching cunt by now, your body tense as it desperately begged for more stimulation than that light touch. Breath coming in a bit sharper, you tried to focus your thoughts to answer him.

“Hadn't thought you'd react like this,” you whispered. 

“Mmm,” Matt hummed out, turning more towards you in the booth, his hand still lingering on the inside of your thigh, fingers dangerously close to where you wanted them. “Well it has been awhile since I've had the opportunity to properly take care of my girl because of that damn case. I suppose I just couldn't resist you tonight.”

“So then let's get out of here,” you urged. “My place or yours tonight, I don't care, Matt. Just stop teasing me because I can't take it any longer. I miss you.”

You heard the sharp intake of breath that came from him at the sound of your plea. Behind his dark lenses you saw the way his eyes had closed, his jaw tightening.

“Please, Matt,” you begged, hoping the distress in your voice would help convince him. “Let's just go.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, his nostrils flaring sharply as his eyes opened once more behind the red lenses. “I do love how you sound when you get like this,” he murmured. “But if you're that needy for a release already, why wait, sweetheart?”

Brows drawing together on your forehead, you eyed him in confusion. “What?” you asked.

The corner of his lip tugged up into a sinful smirk. “Why not let me get you off right here, right now? Right in this booth,” he suggested, tone darkening. 

Your eyes darted around the bar, the thought of Matt’s fingers on you right here raising goosebumps along your arms. While there were a handful of patrons scattered around Josie’s tonight, some were playing pool while others were at the bar, drinking down their drinks. There was no one even remotely near your booth. A nervous laugh slipped out of you as you focused back on Matt.

“You're not actually serious, are you?” you asked. “We're in the middle of a bar , Matt. And we aren't exactly here alone.”

He shrugged a single shoulder in response. “So?” he asked. “I can be discreet if you can be quiet.”

Lips parting in surprise, you sat there in stunned silence. The devilish smirk only grew on his lips as his right hand once again lifted his beer bottle from the table, bringing it slowly up to his mouth for another drink that he took so irritatingly calm and casual.

“Though it's entirely up to you, of course,” he continued after he'd swallowed, lowering the bottle back to the table. “You know I'd certainly never want to make you uncomfortable. So if you'd rather us wait until we've walked all the way back to my place–the closest option–then we most certainly can. Or,” he purred, his finger once again lightly gliding along your cunt over your wet underwear, your eyes nearly rolling back at the touch, “I can take care of you here. With my fingers. And then fuck you far more thoroughly back at my place after.” 

He shot you a charming smile that had you feeling weak already. He damn well knew what he had been doing to you all night, especially with those senses of his. Had this been his goal all along? To work you up so much that you'd actually want to do this? Because truthfully, it had worked. You were considering it.

“The choice is yours, sweetheart,” he told you. 

Once again your eyes darted around the bar, unable to believe that you were actually contemplating his offer. But this was Matt and you'd often found he had a way of making you comfortable and willing to try new things–like letting him get you off in the middle of a dive bar that the pair of you often frequented. But no one here was even remotely paying the pair of you any attention where you were sitting in the corner of the bar. If you kept quiet, no one would be able to see anything that was happening beneath the table. And did you really want to wait the ten minute walk back to Matt's apartment building? And then another few minutes on top of that while you both made it up to his apartment before getting any sort of release? 

No, no you really didn't. 

“Okay, you win,” you whispered.

Matt rested his right elbow up on the tabletop, his stubbled chin coming to land in his palm as he focused on you. That damn smile was still on his mouth.

“You're going to have to tell me what you want,” he replied. “I'm not a mind reader.”

You rolled your eyes at him and the way he was purposely drawing this out. He could be such a goddamn tease when he wanted to be.

“I want you to touch me,” you said. “Get me off here and then take me home after, Matthew. I can’t wait any longer.”

His head tilted to the side in his palm, his dark brows rising playfully up above his glasses. “You sure you can manage to keep quiet enough?” he asked.

With an irritated huff, you rolled your eyes at him again. “Yes, now can you stop toying with me and– fuck .”

A satisfied smile spread across his mouth as one of his fingers landed directly on your swollen clit over the fabric of your damp underwear. He'd only applied a faint bit of pressure with the pad of his finger, but already it had felt so damn good in comparison to the burning ache you'd been dealing with most of the night. 

“I told you we'd have to save that for when we got back to my place,” he teased, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Don't think we'd quite manage to get away unnoticed in the booth doing that .”

“You're such an asshole, Matthew,” you breathed out. 

He chuckled in response, his finger making a circle along the sensitive bud beneath it. “You sure now is the time for insults, sweetheart?” he asked. “Because I can stop.”

Your eyelids closed as you weakly shook your head, every part of you focused on the delicious pressure of his finger. “No,” you nearly whimpered. “Please don't stop, Matt.”

He hummed out a pleased noise in response, his finger continuing to circle your clit over the top of your underwear. Your breath was coming in sharp, short gasps as you fought to reopen your eyes and keep them open, remembering that you were both still in public and that you needed to keep your composure. Though keeping your expression neutral was difficult with Matt's smirking face directly in your line of sight. He looked so smug as his finger continued to gently rub against you. 

But he wasn’t doing nearly enough to ease the growing desire between your legs and get you off. And it was becoming obvious that it was purposeful.

“Come on, Matt,” you whined. “Haven't you teased me enough tonight? Can you please stop already?”

“Alright, sweetheart,” he replied. “If you insist.”

His fingers hooked around your underwear, pulling it to the side and out of his way. Two of his thick digits soon slid between your soaked folds, running back and forth along the length of them as he gathered your slick. A rumbling growl vibrated in Matt's chest as the expression on his face abruptly darkened, that teasing smirk quickly vanishing.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he snarled between gritted teeth.

Your mouth went dry instantly at the sound of the Devil’s voice. You hadn’t expected that.

“Need me that bad, do you?” he growled low. “Already soaked your panties because you're so eager? And all it took was my voice?” 

The tip of one of his fingers lightly brushed over your clit in a series of quick, gentle strokes. Your body gave a jolt in the booth, your breath hitching in your throat at the feather-light assault. 

“Maybe I should make you soak my fingers along with that dress, hmm?” he purred. “Right here in this bar. You'd like that, wouldn't you, sweetheart?”

Hands releasing the bottle of your beer, they immediately clamped down onto the edge of the table. You had a feeling you were going to need to hold on to something if the Devil was about to play with you in the middle of Josie’s.

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, spreading your legs a little wider beneath the table in open invitation. “Please.”

The corner of Matt’s lip pulled up into something feral as you felt his finger leave the little swollen nub, instead lining it up with your dripping entrance. You’d barely had a chance to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come before he plunged that lone digit straight inside of you. Teeth clamping down on your bottom lip, you fought back the noise that nearly flew out of your mouth, managing to trap it in the back of your throat instead as your hands gripped the table.

“That's right, keep quiet, sweetheart,” the Devil rumbled out. “Don't want anyone here to know that I'm touching you, do we?”

“No,” you breathed out, shaking your head.

His finger began to pump into your cunt painfully slow as he slid even closer next to you in the booth. His thigh pressed up right against yours and a whine managed to faintly slip out of your lips. The moment you felt his lips brush along the shell of your ear though, a lightheadedness washed over you.

“You're doing so good being quiet for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear with each word as his finger continued its unhurried rhythm. “Should we see just how quiet you can be?”

Your eyes clamped shut, your body feeling like it was burning up beside Matt's. A shuddering exhale left you as your hands clung tighter to the table as if that would somehow help you keep from making a single sound. 

Before you knew what was happening, Matt plunged a second finger inside of you. A surprised gasp flew out of your mouth, your eyes flying back open. His fingers increased their pace, the soft, obscene squelch of your wet cunt meeting your ears over the faint chatter of the bar and the quiet classic rock that was playing. Matt moaned quietly beside your ear, his hot breath cascading down the side of your neck only making you feel even more dizzy. 

“Good girl,” the Devil praised beside your ear. “Keeping so quiet for me while I fuck you with my fingers.”

A moan once again started in the back of your throat at his words, one you were desperately trying to hold back. But it was becoming difficult to stay aware of your surroundings and the need to not make a noise when his fingers started to curl inside of you, hitting that sweet spot that had white beginning to dance at the corner of your eyes. Matt's own ragged breaths in your ear wasn't helping your situation. You could tell he was becoming increasingly worked up beside you, too, at the sound of each of his own sharp growls.

“Should I let you cum already?” he whispered into your ear. “Would you like that?”

You nodded frantically in response, eager for the promise of a release from all the tension that had been building up inside of you tonight. 

“Yes,” you begged. “Please, Matt, please.”

Another rumbling growl from him met your ears and your cunt clenched around Matt's fingers. He groaned low beside you in response, the sound deep within his throat. 

“I love it when you beg, sweetheart,” he whispered. “And you have been so good for me tonight. So I want you to cum. I want you to drench my fingers here in the middle of Josie’s. But,” he continued, the Devil’s tone turning to that of a warning as you felt the pad of his thumb land on your clit, “you better not make a fucking sound when you do.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded obediently as you attempted to mutter out an affirmative response. Though it was hard to form much of a thought with the way his two fingers kept diligently fucking you now combined with the tantalizing movements of his thumb on your throbbing clit. His voice in your ear and the feel of his hard body against the side of yours was already pushing you over the edge now. 

Your climax was within reach, you could feel that familiar pressure building to its peak deep inside of you, begging to be let loose with each thrust of his fingers and brush of his thumb pad. Your hands had grown clammy as you fought to hold onto the table, your back arching in the booth as you struggled to keep your eyes from rolling back in ecstasy. 

But the closer and closer you inched to your release, the harder and harder it was becoming to keep silent. Whimpers and whines were falling out between your quivering lips, the sounds mingling with each wet thrust of his fingers inside of you and his own labored breaths in your ear.

“I know, I know,” he cooed. “You're so close, sweetheart. I can feel it. Just let go for me.”

Your body was beginning to shake under the strain of remaining composed in the booth. The pleased, encouraging noises coming from Matt weren't helping your efforts either, especially as that moan inside of you began to build just as your climax unexpectedly slammed into you like a brick wall. 

You'd barely opened your mouth before Matt lunged at you, his own lips practically crashing onto you and smothering yours. The moan you'd been about to loose throughout the bar was quickly muffled by his own mouth as he swallowed the sound of it down his throat. With his mouth feverishly attacking yours in a mix of tongue and teeth, his hand continued to work you through your climax beneath the table, dragging it out and drawing you through it. One of your hands released the death grip you had on the table, landing on Matt's thick thigh just beside yours. You dug your nails into his muscle through his dress pants as your body trembled along the bench, a low moan once more barreling out of you and straight into his mouth one last time as you came hard on his fingers. 

Gradually Matt's fingers slowed to a stop, your body sinking back into the booth as if it suddenly weighed far too much. His mouth broke away from yours, his own chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, still trying to recover from the body-shaking orgasm he’d just given you in public. His face was flushed, his cheeks slightly reddened. It almost looked like there was even the slightest sheen of sweat above his brow.

“That was not exactly quiet, sweetheart,” he lightly chastised, carefully withdrawing his fingers from inside of you. “You’re lucky I noticed before everyone else here did.”

You shot him a blissful, tired smile, your head resting against the back of the booth as you gazed back at him. “Thank God for your senses, then,” you joked, still a little breathless.

The corner of Matt’s mouth quirked up into a smirk as he continued to focus on you, the lenses of his glasses glinting under the red neon sign on the wall beside your booth. His left hand appeared from underneath the table moments later, coated and obviously glistening with your slick under the red light. He raised both fingers up to his lips before slipping them inside his mouth, sucking your arousal off of them with a satisfied moan that sounded low in the back of his throat. A shiver ran up your spine as you watched him slowly slide his two fingers back out from between his plush lips, his focus never leaving you.

“I don’t think it’s God that you should be thanking right now,” he murmured, the Devil once more grinning back at you. 

Your cunt immediately twitched back awake at that voice, bottom lip rolling between your teeth. Matt's tongue slid out between his lips, sensually running along the length of them before an impatient growl rumbled out of him.

“Now what’s going to happen next,” the Devil began, his voice raising the hair on the back of your neck, “is you’re going to get out of this booth like nothing happened,” he told you. “And then I’m going to take you and that deliciously drenched pussy back to my place where I’m going to have my fill of you. And this time, sweetheart?” he continued, the red of the neon light washing over his face as he leaned in towards you. “I want to hear every goddamn sound you make. You got that?”

In a small, rural town where everyone knew each other, you knew Lars Lindstrom. Had you shared a conversation? No. Had you ever even introduced yourself to him? No. But you were familiar with him all the same.

He was a popular topic of conversation around town—one you were constantly included in because you just had to meet Lars. You tried. You really did try to introduce yourself.

You were fairly new to town, of course, you would want to meet everyone. It was kind of a priority for you, something your grandmother instilled in you since you were little. 'First impressions are everything, make the effort to get to know them,' she'd said before presenting you to one of her many friends. She was the kind of person to greet you with a homemade casserole and a friendly conversation if you were a new arrival.

But now roles were reversed, and you were the new arrival. You had moved in with her in a cottage beside a long, winding creek at the beginning of Fall. Now, it was Winter—the time of year when a thin layer of frost covered car windshields and snow was scattered on the sidewalks, the powdery snow softly crunching beneath your worn boots.

The grocery store was the first time you had seen Lars in person. Your grandmother asked you to run uptown to pick up milk, a carton of eggs, and two boxes of cream cheese. Easy enough.

However, as you were pacing up and down the cramped aisles, you spotted an unfamiliar face at the far end, towards the canned fruits. Or he spotted you, and you just noticed, since his eyes were locked on you, scanning you like you were the nutrition label on a cereal box. As if your features and frame were ingredients he was having difficulty sounding out in his head, and he had to read you all over again.

Feeling slightly vulnerable under his intense scrutiny, you offered him a tight-lipped smile—one that he did not return. Instead, he froze, limbs locking and eyes widening. He tried to duck behind the corner, peeking through the gap between the cans.

Amused by his embarrassment, you softly snorted. You took a hesitant step forward, closing the distance. You raised your hand to give him a small wave, and he only blinked rapidly in surprise.

"Hi," you greeted, giving your full name in case he connected it to your grandmother’s. "I moved here a couple of months ago, and I don’t think we’ve met before."

As if you hadn’t said a word, he kept staring blankly at you. Still, you reached out your hand, letting it hang in the space between you for what felt like forever until his eyes finally dropped to it. Even then, he didn’t move to take it. He seemed frozen. Suspended in time. Like a photograph of a man with a piercing gaze and gloved hands at his sides—only the frame that once held him had fallen away, and no one had thought to tell him.

Being this close to him, you registered how…handsome he was. He had soft features where it mattered, and sharp lines where it made sense. His blue eyes were kind, gentle, even if they were intense. You could almost sense the emotion beneath his unwavering gaze—an unexplainable grief that you clocked right away. Perhaps it was because it was the same one you buried deep within yourself. The one you hid behind forced smiles and the bright, distracting colors of scarves wrapped snugly around your neck, not unlike the one you were wearing now.

His mustache was neatly trimmed along his upper lip, and his hair was slicked back as though he’d run a comb through the dirty blonde strands several times before heading out. The navy blue and cream coat he wore was zipped to his chest, revealing just a sliver of the white dress shirt collar beneath.

Two hard blinks, and then he was moving. He was speed-walking in the other direction before he disappeared from your view completely.

You stood there with your hand still outstretched for three full seconds before you dropped it back to your side. You should've been insulted by the way he fled, but it was quite the opposite. You found the action…endearing in a strange way. Gently shaking your head, you huffed a laugh, going right back to your task.

You saw him four more times after that. Around town. In passing at the mall, or in the church parking lot. And every time you waved or grinned at him from afar, he'd get that same look in his eyes. A deer in the headlights until a loud horn would go off in his head, and he'd sprint away.

It wasn't until you started working at the local bookstore that you finally addressed the oddity. You were scanning one of the romance novels that Karin had placed on the counter, along with a book titled Terrible Twos: All the Ways to Deal with a Misbehaving Child. You had been well acquainted with Karin, knew she was married with a kid, and, more importantly, knew her relation to Lars.

You lifted the second book, a too-big smile stretched on your lips. "It's already that time, huh?"

"Yeah," she sighed in defeat. "It honestly snuck up on us. I didn't even have time to catch my breath. I swear that little rascal only behaves for her uncle."

You froze for a second too long before moving the scanned book into a brown paper bag. Karin noticed the subtle slip in your demeanor and tilted her head.

"You know Lars, right?" she asked as she unzipped her burgundy purse and dug for her wallet.

"Yeah," you answered too quickly. "Yeah, no, I know Lars. I mean, not really, but y'know…"

"The two of you have never talked?" she prodded, handing you her credit card.

You swiped it before you replied, busying your mind with the purchase instead of making her worry about your internal problems with her brother-in-law. But you couldn't hold it in any longer, so you spilled.

"I don't think he likes me."

She scoffed. "Don't be silly. Lars likes everyone."

"Yeah, well, does he sprint the other direction with everyone else?" Your confession came out as a whisper, not really ready to admit that it was affecting you. That maybe it hurt you that he hadn't even spoken to you, yet he'd already made up his mind about you.

"Oh," she breathed, then it tumbled into a giggle. Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion at her amusement. She pressed a palm to her parted lips, muffling the sound. "I'm sorry…it's just…" she paused, retrieving her card and shoving it back into one of the empty slots in her wallet.

Sighing, she restarted. "I think someone has a little crush, is all."

Your cheeks heated as you felt somewhat flustered by her revelation. Regardless of it being his secret, it still bothered you that it was exposed in such a way.

"He was so quiet at dinner the other night, and he's been asking for dating tips. I guess I never put two and two together that he might be interested in someone," Karin trailed off, her eyes locking back on yours.

You had gone quiet, fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater. Your mind had gone into a downward spiral as you listened to her ramble on about a crush you had no inkling of.

The realization crept in slowly. Honestly, it wasn’t something you noticed until someone outright spelled it out for you. A giant neon sign flashing 'they like you' in bold letters wouldn’t have made it click. But after Karin pointed it out, it all made logical sense. The nerves that made it difficult for him to speak to you. The stopping in the middle of something just to look at you.

"Ope, I shouldn't have said anything," she inhaled sharply. "I only wanted to assure you that he doesn't hold any ill feelings towards you."

"Well…good," you said, voice slightly wobbly.

"I'll have a talk with him."

You offered her a thumbs-up, lips pressed into a tight line, then instantly regretted it, and pretended you were only trying to slide her purchases closer to her instead. Eventually, she slid her wallet back into her purse, slung the bag over her shoulder, and picked up the paper bag of books. The smile she gave you before exiting the shop was beaming, as if she had been gifted the juiciest secret.

And that juicy little secret occupied your thoughts constantly.

About a week later, there was a shift. And it wasn't subtle either.

You started seeing Lars more often. And it wasn't the 'oh gosh, we just so happened to bump into each other' kind of way. It was more intentional. It seemed like he had learned your routine.

He started showing up at the same café that you'd swing by before work. Sometimes, he'd be at the corner table, sipping from a mug. Other times, he'd be right behind you in line, humming some tune that sounded way too familiar. You always wanted to ask about it, but somehow talked yourself out of it every time; you didn't want to scare him off again. But for the rest of the day, that same melody would play in the back of your head like he was lingering in the ridges of your brain.

The park became your go-to place for a bit of peace during your lunch break or after work. The cold persisted in the last days of winter, but it was warm enough to stay outside without freezing your ass off. You’d settle on the bench nearest to the river, unwrapping whatever your gran had packed, and there he’d be—almost always by the tree line, holding a slice of bread, tearing it into pieces to toss to the birds. He’d meet your gaze for a moment before shying away first, leaving you with a silly grin at the sight of his flushed cheeks and trembling fingers.

Slowly, he grew bolder with the eye contact, holding your gaze a little longer each time. Then came the shorter distances between you. And finally, the moment that surprised you most—a wave paired with a full smile that reached his eyes and rounded his cheeks.

The first time he did it, your breath caught.

Lars was leaving the corner music store as you were strolling down the opposite sidewalk on your way to your morning shift. It stopped you mid-step, almost tripping over your own feet. Yeah, you'd seen it in passing. You'd seen him smile in conversations with Mrs. Gruner after Sunday service, or around his work friends. But for some reason, it seemed forced then, or at least fairly strained. But this one—this one—was real. It lit up his entire face, creasing the corners of his eyes and dimpling his cheeks.

After your initial shock wore off, you mirrored his grin, waving back. His expression faltered for half a second, smile dipping at the corners before lifting again. As if your world hadn't just tilted onto its axis, he kept moving toward his car, a plastic bag swaying in his grip. You continued on your walk, and maybe you had an imperceptible pep in your step that you didn't have before.

Your co-worker, Holly, noticed the boost in your attitude. She pointed it out whenever she got the chance. The smile that stayed plastered on your face for the next couple of days was persistently questioned. You blamed it on the change in the weather. The sun wasn't hidden behind the clouds anymore. The snow was beginning to melt, and you could see more of the grass being revealed as spring closed in.

But after you kept your cool with a particularly rude customer, Holly sensed something deeper than a mere shift in temperature.

"Who is he?" she asked, hoisting herself onto the edge of the counter.

You had your nose buried in a novel you had snatched from the 'new arrivals' shelf. It was a sci-fi novel that had instantly captured your attention from the introduction alone. Technically, you weren't supposed to read potential purchases, but your boss wasn't around. So, what was the harm in a little light reading?

"Who's who?" you chirped back, half pulled into the discussion.

"The guy who’s made you so…happy."

Lowering the book a hair, you arched a brow. "A guy? There's no guy," you lied, tone rising an octave.

"There's totally a guy. I can see it all over your face."

"Why is it that every time a woman is happy, it immediately has to be connected to a man?" you muttered, rather annoyed.

A flat look washed over her face, not buying it. "Just give me a name, or how you met, or something."

"No," you said, like it was final, turning back to your book.

She laughed, wiggling on the counter. "So, you admit it. There is someone."

You only rolled your eyes in return, blocking your entire face with the novel.

When spring rolled in, you spent more time at the park. Kids and their parents crowded the playground, but you didn't mind the background noise. Unwrapping your sandwich, you took a bite, and you let your gaze drift to the river. You watched as the water rippled from the light breeze in the air. Ducks floated past, a mother and her babies following close behind.

You were halfway through your lunch when you felt it—that familiar tingle on the back of your neck from being watched. When you turned to find where he was hidden, you hadn't expected to be met with the sight of Lars pushing his niece on the swing.

She was facing towards him, tiny hands wrapped around the chains, attempting to pump her legs, but instead it looked more like she was clumsily kicking the air. He gently pushed the center of the bucket seat that held her, patient and cautious. The little one giggled with delight each time she was forced backward, and an easy grin stayed on his lips.

You’d never seen him so relaxed, so at ease. It made something loosen in your chest unexpectedly.

But when he registered that you were observing him, his posture straightened, swallowing thickly. He pushed his niece with a little more effort than he intended, and she came back quicker with a kick straight to his gut. Letting out a small huff, he took a step back. He seemed momentarily stunned, which only made his niece giggle harder. As her laughter bloomed, her little feet kicked wildly. He shook his head in disbelief that she found this humorous, but his smile betrayed him.

A snort of your own slipped out before you could catch it, and his head whipped your way. You focused back on the river in front of you, pretending you hadn't seen anything.

A few seconds passed before you peeked back over your shoulder. Karin was standing beside Lars now, one hand propped on her hip as the other shielded her eyes from the blinding sun. You couldn't hear their conversation, but she nudged him with her elbow and then nodded her head in your direction. That could only mean one thing, which made your heart do a strange flip.

You shifted on the bench awkwardly, crossing and uncrossing your legs as you tried to turn your attention to anything other than the exchange at the swingset.

Before you knew it, you could hear a set of heavy boots shuffling in the grass before he appeared in your periphery. You blinked up at him; he stood there for a beat too long, hands buried in his pockets, and the toes of his boots kicking at the dirt. He cleared his throat, as if you weren't staring directly at him.

"Can I sit?" he rasped, not quite meeting your eyes.

"Sure," you answered, tone light.

He settled in beside you, leaving enough space between you for another person to fit. He leaned back, then sat up before finally scooting to the edge of the bench, his knees a shoulder width apart.

Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, he eventually made eye contact with you. "That was…uh—"

You raised your hands in surrender. "I didn't see anything."

Lars made an amused sound in the back of his throat, dipping his chin in acknowledgment. Silence stretched; chirping birds and squealing kids were the only ones to fill it. He drew a line in the dirt with his boot, rolling his shoulders like his skin didn't feel quite right on his body. Eyes bouncing around the playground, he checked on his niece one more time. She was kicking her feet dramatically, begging for Karin to push her higher. Her mother reluctantly obliged with an exaggerated groan.

A smile tugged at Lars' lips. "She's, uh…kinda bossy."

You bit back a smile. "I respect a girl who knows what she wants."

He hummed, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you once more. This time, he held your gaze, eyes wandering over your features—the same way he did in the grocery store all that time ago. His knee started bouncing, a wave of nerves running through him. Pressing his palms into his thighs, he rubbed them down his pants, as if he'd suddenly gone sweaty.

"Are you getting settled into town okay?" he asked, voice somewhat strained.

"Yeah," you answered cheerfully. "Everyone's really welcoming. I already feel right at home."

"Good…that's good," he mumbled, gaze drifting down to your half-eaten sandwich beside you. "Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt your lunch."

"Don't worry about it," you waved him off. "You didn't."

Folding his hands in his lap, he drew in a sharp breath. "I saw you here the other day."

"Yeah?" you inquired softly, like this was news to you, but you noticed. You always noticed him. "Why didn't you say 'hi'?"

He nudged a loose pebble with his boot. "Didn't wanna bother you. You looked…relaxed…didn't wanna ruin that."

"You wouldn't have," you blurted too quickly, then your tone softened. "I would've enjoyed the company."

A pink bloomed across his cheeks, causing your heart to thump against your ribcage erratically. His jaw clenched once, twice, before he finally opened his mouth, a burning question scorching his lips.

"Does your…boyfriend ever join you?"

You huffed a laugh, eyes glinting. "I don't have one."

"Oh," he murmured, then, even softer, "Good."

You felt it, an unmistakable hum of something settling right beneath the surface. Something you couldn't quite place, or weren't ready to name. For now, you'd label it a blossoming friendship.

Before you could fill the quiet with whatever awkward comment you had rattling in your skull, his niece's voice carried clear across the park. "Uncle Lars, push me!" she demanded with a squeak.

He flinched, not only at the volume, but at the timing. Blinking hard twice, he stood slowly, as if the last thing he wanted to do was leave. He brushed nonexistent dirt from his pants before straightening.

"I should—" he sighed, not finishing his thought.

"Of course, go," you chirped in understanding. "Hurry before she sends in the cavalry."

Lars let out a laugh, one that made his eyes crinkle and the edges of his mustache curl in glee. When his laughter faded, he turned to you with more to say, but the words stayed trapped in his throat. Staring at you for a fleeting moment longer, he nodded, and the way he did felt like a gesture one does after memorizing something important. Then, he rejoined his family at the swing set.

After that small conversation, the two of you had settled into a rhythm. An ungraceful rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless. He'd show up at the bookstore every other day, making a habit of seeing you without it being obvious. Except everyone noticed.

It wasn't like he was hiding his feelings for you—not well, anyway. He'd skim the shelves for a book he had no intention of buying, risking a glance in your spot by the register. Or ask you for a fairly specific novel, obscure enough that it'd take you longer to locate. You'd hand it to him with a victorious glimmer in your eyes, and he'd thank you. After you wandered back behind the counter, he'd tuck it back where it belonged. An absurd dance that you didn't mind learning the steps to.

Conversations began to flow more smoothly, too. Lars found it easier to open the discussion if it didn't directly involve him, so he often led with something humorous about his niece.

"She’s been askin' for a cat, but Gus isn’t keen on havin' an animal in the house while she’s still young," he'd muttered one day, toying with the display of bookmarks near the register. "Well, she's stubborn and normally doesn't take no for an answer. So, yesterday, after she finished playing in the yard, she came in carrying a gray cat she 'found' outside. More like, dragged it in 'cause it clearly didn't wanna be held. Anyway, turns out, it was the neighbor's cat, and she had to return it with tears in her eyes."

You snorted, leaning forward with your elbows pressed to the wooden surface, and your head propped in your hands. "Oh, that's adorable," you cooed. "If she just so happens to get in trouble, tell your brother that I'm her lawyer, and I expect her to be acquitted of all charges."

"I'll be sure to let him know," he teased back.

"Oh, and if she ever wants to stop by the shop, Goose is always in need of extra attention." You pointed to the space where the brown tabby cat was perched between the books.

Goose was Janet’s cat, your boss’s pride and joy. She lived above the store in a cozy little apartment shared only with the kitty. The fluffy troublemaker was famous for slipping out during the day when Janet opened the shop, eager to roam the bookstore as if he owned the place. Eventually, your boss grew tired of constantly herding her pet back upstairs, so Goose became the community cat. Some customers even stopped by just to see him, which didn’t bother Jan in the slightest.

"Alright," he said, nodding. "I'll bring her by."

And finally, when the days were warmer, the trees were in full bloom, and the grass was particularly green, Lars stepped into the shop as if on a mission. With perfect posture and an unmistakable confidence, he approached you as you were stacking the latest batch of new releases.

Your gaze lifted as you slid the next book onto the shelf, and there he was, leaning into the end of the bookstand, arm extended and palm pressed flat against the wood. You couldn't force the smile off your lips once it unfurled. He looked especially handsome in his nice beige sweater, and his hair slicked back. The jasmine laced with the deeper scent of oakmoss swirled around you, drawing you closer. And almost on cue, your stomach did that stupid little flip it did when he was in your proximity.

Clearing his throat, he tilted his head. "Karin wanted me to…no…I—" he paused, gathering his composure. "I was wonderin' if you had any plans for dinner tonight."

He winced, as if bracing for rejection, then adjusted his stance, crossing his arms over his chest in a poor attempt to appear casual. "Karin was going to make extra…and she wanted to invite you…Actually, I wanted to invite you."

Your grin only grew, pulse fluttering wildly. "Dinner," you repeated, testing the word.

"Yeah," he confirmed as his anxious fingers played with the sleeve of his sweater. "It's okay if you—"

"I'd like that," you cut in gently.

"Okay," he managed, eyebrows twitching in surprise. "Okay. Good. That's great."

And as if standing still while looking at you—with that radiant smile and bright eyes—was physically unbearable, he spun on his heels. He made his way to the door with a stiffened posture and the stride of a man running from his own emotions. You bit your lip, stifling a giggle. Before he reached his exit, he shook his head, whirling around once more.

"Oh," he blurted out. "'m supposed to ask if you have any food allergies."

"Nope. Not that I know of, at least."

He dipped his chin in understanding. "Let's hope we don't find out tonight." He made an attempt at a joke, even if his voice did wobble faintly.

Before you could potentially change your mind (you wouldn't), he vanished behind the closing door, the tiny bell above it announcing his departure. The town swallowed him once again, and you were left with a sea of muddled thoughts and the very wrong sensation of your heart galloping like a racehorse. You placed a palm over it, willing it to slow. But it persisted, knocking even harder into your ribcage.

Maybe you should see a doctor?

No.

You had more important things to worry about. Like, what the hell were you going to wear? Was it a fancy or casual situation? You should've asked, but it was kind of hard to when he was asking you to dinner, and the way his voice cracked with nerves, and—

The brush of fur against your ankles broke your train of thought as you noticed Goose weaving between your ankles. It was almost like he knew you were internally freaking out and needed someone to help anchor you.

The rest of your shift passed by in a blur, a dazed smile on your face, and a tingling feeling dancing across your skin that refused to leave. It was all thanks to Lars.

And deep down, you knew that feeling was here to stay.

"OMG, that's soooo me!!" i say as i look at a 45 year old man who's just a baby girl, pookie bear :3

Spike’s crypt is the last place you ever thought you’d spend the night—and yet, here you are.

Your apartment’s off-limits for the time being, thanks to some soul-eating monstrosity which you had literally no business meeting on your way home from Buffy’s place.

Giles insisted you stay somewhere “secure,” and despite your many (loud) protests, here you are—safe, sound, and surrounded by cobwebs.

You’re perched awkwardly on a beat-up couch that looks like it’s been rescued from a junkyard sale. It creaks ominously every time you shift, and you're convinced Spike dragged it here from someone’s abandoned apartment.

You hug your knees to your chest and glance around the crypt, debating whether it’s morally wrong to snoop in a vampire’s things when he’s not looking.

Let’s be honest—Spike’s a mystery wrapped in leather and attitude, and you’re half-convinced that deep down beneath the bravado, there’s a big softie waiting to be uncovered.

Before you can move an inch toward the oak bookshelf, Spike saunters out from behind his makeshift bathroom setup.

“Bathroom” is a generous term—it’s really just a dingy corner with a chipped tub, a sink older than yourself, and a room divider he probably lifted from a Chinese restaurant.

He emerges barefoot, a towel slung low on his hips, damp curls clinging to his forehead. He tosses you a lazy glance, cigarette already dangling from his fingers, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

“Lookin’ a bit stiff there, luv,” he drawls, lighting up like he owns the damn moon.

You roll your eyes, already over it. “Oh, shut up, vamp boy.”

He just chuckles, that low amused sound that always makes you feel like you’re the punchline. He sinks onto the bed with the grace of a cat, towel somehow managing to cling on for dear life. He takes a drag like he’s got all the time in the world—which, technically, he does.

“C’mon over, darlin’. I don’t bite—unless you ask real nice.” He winks, and you shoot him a look so deadpan it could stop his undead heart.

“No, thanks. I prefer distance.”

Spike only grins wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t be such a prude, sweetheart. That couch’ll do ya’ no good. You’ll sleep better over here.”

His tone dips slightly, not quite teasing, not quite soft either. Something in it makes your shoulders ease just a little.

You huff out a sigh and drag yourself off the couch with theatrical reluctance. He pats the spot next to him like he’s inviting you into the most luxurious five-star suite.

“Lifted this mattress straight from a showroom,” he says proudly. “No one’s broken it in but yours truly.”

“Oh, of course you did,” you mutter, sitting beside him with a frown you don’t fully mean.

He laces his hands behind his head, watching you with that amused glint in his eye. You keep your gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling, trying to ignore how the crypt suddenly feels... less oppressive.

“I won’t touch ya. Promise,” he murmurs, and for once, there’s no smirk—just something almost gentle in his voice.

You turn away, curling under the thin blanket, mumbling, “Shut up,” but your tone’s lost its bite.

Morning doesn’t arrive so much as drift in slowly—filtered weakly through a grimy window near the heavy crypt door. There’s no birds singing, no breeze from the morning air. Just cold stone and colder silence in this tomb.

And something holding you.

The first thing you register is the chill—an arm slung around your waist, cool fingers resting against your stomach. Cold breath tickles the back of your neck in slow, even puffs.