Summary: However this ends, he’s a fool if he does nothing or a fool if he gives into the sweetness of temptation.
Author’s Note: I’m glad I’m finally done with this story. I had debated on a while on how far to take this. But I’m glad that I decided to push the envelope and go all the way with the smut. Enjoy!
Nights like this were always innocent.
They would curl up under the covers of her bed and watch movies until they both fell asleep. Suspicions never rose when they spent hours together behind her bedroom door; often times it wouldn’t open until the early hours of the morning and it was time for Isaac to leave so he could head home to get ready for school. It was entirely innocent…until it wasn’t. Her parents should have expected that it would turn out that way eventually.
The night starts out like every other one. They had watched two movies and thirty minutes into the third (some French film remake with an obscenely long title), she was sound asleep. The movie was a thriller; it was on the subtler side but the heroine was hot and that kept his attention mostly.
Then there was a sex scene. Of course there was a sex scene. Not that he was complaining too much. The guy okay looking, but seeing the actress naked, enjoying being eaten out, being thrust into from behind—the whole scene made his cock twinge with desire.
Isaac feels a shift beside him. Looking down, he sees [Name] burrowing herself further into the covers of her bed. Lying on her side with one arm tucked under the pillow and her legs pulled towards her stomach, she looked like an angel. She looked so peaceful (and not his girl) and there was a desire in his blood to touch her. It should never have been a thought that entered his mind. It was wrong. She was his friend and asleep, and he was turned on by a movie. He should have just gone to bathroom to jack off. Isaac licks his lips as his eyes travel across her sleeping form.
This just came to me watching the rain right now. Hope you enjoy it :)
| Read Strangers in the Night Series | Tumblr | AO3
It was on a cold, snowy night that she saw him for the first time.
The world was wrapped in white all around their small townhouse and the little snowflakes were continuing to fall. For a few hours, she’d been out with her dad, tasting the snowflakes on her little pink tongue, making small balls with her hands and wetting her thick mittens. But the chill had gotten too bad so she’d come inside to her warm, delicious-smelling house, had cleaned up and sat her tush on her chair beside the dining table.
It was then, while drinking from her hot cup of chocolate with the marshmallows as night fell outside, while her parents sat before her with their backs to the large windows, that she saw him.
Gaunt. Thin. Pale.
He looked so cold. His teeth visibly chattered in the wind she could see blowing outside, the paleness of his skin matching the falling snow. And in that pale, thin face of overlong, messy blond hair, she saw those sad blue eyes, blue like the beautiful sky on a clear day. He was looking into the house, his eyes roaming all over the place, taking in everything with such longing on that tired face that her eyes filled.
He caught her looking at him.
Fear flashed across his face.
And then, he was gone.
Before she could utter a word.
She went to her warm bed that night, thinking of the cold boy with the sad blue eyes.
She went to her soft bed, an eight-year-old who didn’t know her life had changed.
She caught him outside her window the next night.
Her little heart beat faster when she found him, leaning against the glass, peeking inside her small bedroom. Before she could stop herself, she climbed down from the bed and without turning on the lights, went to the window.
She leaned her head back at looked slightly up at him, seeing his blue eyes widen for a second upon seeing her awake. Tilting her head to the side, she took in the thin, ugly sweater he wore with a small hole near his shoulder, the jeans that had faded to an almost light color, and the scuffed shoes. Then, she peeked down at her own thick red socks, her tummy hurting for him.
But she couldn’t invite him inside. She couldn’t talk to him either. He was a stranger and talking to strangers was bad.
Biting her lip, she looked back up into his sad eyes, and slowly placed her tiny hands on the glass opposite his.
His hands, just slightly bigger than hers, shook.
Before she could question herself, Felicity ran back to her bed, plucked out her favorite blue blanket - with the big brown wolf looking up at the big yellow moon that her mom had made for her - and dragged it to the window, almost falling down twice under the weight of the thing.
The boy watched her quietly, stepping back when she opened the window, thrust the blanket into his arms and slammed the glass down again before he could snatch her away.
She saw the boy look down at her favorite blanket in his arms, saw his fingers curl around it, and saw him look up.
And she grinned.
His eyes weren’t so sad anymore.
She woke up extra early the next morning, just to see if he was there.
Quelling the disappointment down, Felicity jumped to the kitchen, a new mission on her mind.
He came that night, wordlessly, soundlessly, wrapped in her blanket, and pressed those hands upon the glass.
She got down from the bed on her tippy toes, wordlessly, soundlessly, and pressed her hands against his.
Then she snatched the Tupperware of pie she’d been saving for him the whole day, opened the window a peek and thrust it into his arms before slamming the window down again.
He looked down at the box for a long time, his lips trembling, before looking up at her.