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notmyneighbor · 2 months

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Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 7

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ minor mention of blood and gore, sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You are walking the yard surrounding your home in early August.

Francis Mosses’ doppelgänger is beside you, his fingers laced with yours as the pair of you leisurely stroll. You love mornings like this. Lazy weekends when you shut the rest of the world out. There is just this, this safe haven you’ve created, away from the city where the invaders seek to gain entry and conquer, where the humans continue to try to see past the lies standing right before them, the deceivers and pretenders like the one whose hand you’re clutching now so tenderly. Except he isn’t like the others; nothing like any of them. He is yours, and you are his. There is nothing else like this phenomenon, what you have with him.

The blackberry bushes lining the picket fence are heavy with fruit, the plump, deep black specimens dull skinned, ripe and ready to be plucked.

“So many of them,” the copycat murmurs, halting beside you as your pace slows and pauses, contemplating the sight of those heavily laden shrubs.

You nod. “My grandparents used to make jam from them. I can remember spreading it on pancakes on Sunday mornings.”

“Do you still recall how to make the jam?”

“Yes. It’s not difficult. Just a bit time consuming. A lot of prep work.”

“We have the whole day. Want to try?”

“Really? You want to?”

“It sounds pleasant.” He tugs you gently towards him. “Everything with you is.” His lips meet yours, warm as the summer sun heating you through the button front dress you’re wearing.

“We need something to gather them in.”

“Will this do?” He reaches for the fabric of your dress about halfway down the skirt portion, lifting the loose material until it forms a kind of scooped makeshift basket.

“That’s what my grandmother did with her apron. Yes, this will do.” You reach for the handfuls he’s gathered, keeping the improvised bowl in place. “Only pick the ones that are black. No purple or red, they’re not ripe. Nothing shiny. Only the dull ones. They should come off fairly easily. If you have to pull too much, they’re not ready.”

The imposter milkman follows your directions and the dip in the fabric you’re clutching is soon full. It is a little awkward walking up the porch steps, balancing the unfamiliar weight at your front. There are stains on his fingers, on your dress as you dump the gathered berries into the colander he grabs from the cupboard for you, followed by a mixing bowl, anything he can find to relieve you of your burden. Overzealous in the picking, perhaps, but you don’t mind. The excessive berries would just have gone to waste otherwise, more than even your wildlife neighbors could indulge in.

“You should get used to having extra weight around your middle,” he murmurs against your ear. Still persisting in the notion of having a baby with you. The previous month had ended with your menses. You’ve no idea if it’s even possible to create a new life with the doppelgänger. You’re still conflicted about it. Afraid for its life, for yours and Francis’. But you can imagine the face. As a toddler. Convinced somehow it would be a boy. Identical in every way to his father. A father as devoted to him as he is to you. The child clinging to your side, standing in those same fields near the house in summer, looking at the world around him with those dark eyes that are unshadowed, not yet tired like his parent’s. Soft brown hair. Human, because you won’t let yourself imagine anything else; refuse to concede that it would be part doppel as well. “I can’t wait,” he says, his arms enfolding you from behind, your hands settling on his, the quartet all resting over your abdomen.

You smile, leaning your weight against his chest for a few moments before reaching for the faucet. It was time to rinse the harvest, removing the stray leaf or stem here and there. You fill a pan with water to boil to sterilize the lids of the mason jars. There are a set of them under the sink. The glass portion needs to be similarly treated. It will be hot in the kitchen with the stovetop working so hard. You lean and lift the window behind the sink a little higher, hoping for any sign of a breeze.

“Go pick out a record to play.” A new tradition. You let your lover choose the music, discovering what he likes best. Perhaps some of Francis’ favorites. Some for the invader alone. You cherish both selections equally.

The man and the doppel themselves; that is something your conscience has struggled with for many weeks now. You think you will always love Francis. But you love the new creature inhabiting his form, too. More and more with each passing day.

The music begins and you smile to yourself. Al Bowlly. Something from two decades ago, but a timeless classic. One of the records your mother had left behind when she’d moved to the city, inherited from your grandparents. You were long overdue for a visit to your mother and father. You’d received a letter not that long ago. Still safe. It was a worry that gnawed at you. One of the reasons you’d joined the DDD in the first place. Wanting to protect your family, the people you love.

The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

You spread a tea towel on the counter. The jars will air dry there after you’ve finished preparing them.

I'm living in a kind of daydream and I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem, why to me that's everything

“How am I meant to not want to dance with you when this is playing?” Your partner’s lips graze the nape of your neck softly, his hands on your waist.

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

You smile again. A gesture that comes so easily when the imposter is around you. “After. You wanted to make jam, remember?”

“I want to make a lot of things,” he murmurs beside your cheek, his nose nudging aside a stray piece of hair that’s come free from where you’d pinned it up, mouth now on the patch of skin he’s cleared.

“Francis!” You giggle, playfully squirming in his arms. You aren’t really trying to get away. “I need your help. Use those muscles of yours and pulverize the berries. The potato masher is in the second drawer there.”

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

He rolls up his sleeves, beginning to crush the fruit while you gather the measuring cups and sugar.

“I know it’s equal parts berries and sugar. Three minutes to boil? And then another three after the sugar’s been added. Oh, I need the whisk, too. And one of the larger spoons to stir. Yes, that one, thank you.” Francis’ copy hands you the culinary tools you’re searching for, retrieved from the same drawer the masher had been in.

Speaking of which, he’s done a great job with the blackberries, making short work of them. For a brief second your mind teases an imagining of something far less pleasant being ground down like that, pulped human flesh, the gore that is left behind when a doppel feasts on a human. Your grip on the spoon tightens until it’s white knuckled and you force yourself to relax. You’re with him, the one that you love, that adores you. Your home. With the beautiful crooned words of longing issuing from the turntable in the background. Those horrors do not exist here. “Those look perfect. I think that’s maybe around six cups’ worth. But we’ll measure.”

Your estimate of the mixture volume proves fairly accurate. You begin stirring the berries in the stainless steel cook pot, watching the seeded dark red mixture begin to bubble, keeping an eye on the clock on the wall. The doppel is at the sink, already washing the used bowls and tools.

It’s time to add the sugar. You stir it in, once again timing your task, finally deeming the developing jam ready to be removed from the heat of the burner, switching the knob for the pilot light off as you move the pot to an unused burner.

You can feel the perspiration beading on your forehead as you whisk the heated fledgling fruit spread. Nearly there. Your strokes with the thin wired tool were releasing the natural pectin in the berries now. After that it was just a matter of filling and sealing the jars.

“What’s next? What can I do to help?” The doppelgänger asks, resting a hand on your lower back, where the heat lingers, making the dress cling damply to your skin.

“I think this is actually just about ready to start pouring.”

He turns over the mason jars that had been resting upside down over the tea towel to air dry, lining them up on the counter. You transfer small batches of the jam to a batter bowl, making it easier to fill each jar without spilling. A lot of dishes being used for this. Funny how you didn’t remember that part from childhood. Just the fun of making it with your grandmother.

The replicant screws the last of the lids on. The jam looks so inviting. You can’t wait to spread it on some toast with some butter after it’s had a day or two to set. Maybe just one day. You were really craving it now.

“It’s hot,” the imposter says, dragging a hand across his forehead. “I’m ready to head back into the tub after that.”

You like the idea of that yourself. “You should.”

“Coming with me?”

“I was hoping for an invitation.”

He kisses you and you taste the salt of his perspiration. “You look a little flushed. We definitely need to go cool down. And then heat up again.”

“Francis, you’re impossible. Go get the water running. I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

“It’ll be faster with both of us working together.”

You won’t argue with that, allowing him to assist you. Munching on some leftover blackberries as you work side by side. The last of the dishes done. Everything put away. Shutting off the record player on your way to the stairs. His hands work on the buttons of your dress after you’ve turned on the faucet to fill the tub. You loosen his belt. Shove the hem of his undershirt upward after he’s removed the outer layer. He reaches between his shoulders and pulls it free. You kiss the dip between his pectoral muscles lightly covered with dark hair. Suddenly finding yourself hungry for him.

“Should we wait on the bath for after?” he suggests.

“Yes. Definitely.” You switch the faucet off hurriedly, turning your attention back to him. He’s already entering the bedroom. The temperature in this room is hotter than it had been in the kitchen. No fresh breeze coming in through either of the windows. Just that stifling humidity. It needed to rain.

Undergarments removed. He kisses your bare shoulder, humming the song that had been playing the previous evening, when he’d met you at your front door, the start of your weekend together.

Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You sit down on the edge of the bed. A hand rests on your thigh as he kneels down. Fingers stained from some of the berry juice, garnet and magenta smudges along cuticles and nail beds. Your hand sinks into the hair you’d trimmed recently, finding it’s already growing long again. You bend to kiss his mouth and he tastes like the fruit, like summer itself, warm and fresh and sweet.

He leans to kiss the breasts that will one day bear the nutrition to feed your child, if it was ever meant to be, sucking gently, each nipple responding to that sensation, rising and hardening, the melody of that love song still emerging all the while.

Blue Moon, you knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

Then he is between your thighs, every kiss still languid, drowsy, a leisurely summer afternoon gifted in each touch of his lips on your skin. Caressing your legs, the limbs that part to receive him. Gentle kisses on those nether lips, still humming, sending little vibrations into your body.

And then there suddenly appeared before me

The only one my arms will ever hold

I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me"

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

His tongue strokes your clit and you lean back slightly, hands sinking into the mattress, arms braced to either side. His hands curl around your thighs and he sups at your sex, the pace still unhurried, easing you along into pleasure. Delving into your entrance, rolling the taste of you on his tongue before sweeping through the petals back to your bud, massaging it from side to side, up and down, pausing every now and again to plant a kiss on your mound or thigh, suckling the bundle of nerve endings and then dipping back into your canal in short, gentle little thrusts, the tune nearing its end, reaching the final verses, but yours have just started, that thrumming he sends through you, deep inside, an echoing response in your core.

Blue Moon, now I'm no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You let your weight rest on one hand so you can touch his hair again, meet the gaze of those dark eyes watching you, those depthless pools of desire you get lost in, drowning, a tide that washes you away into your release against his mouth.

You're sweating profusely now, damp inside and out as you scoot yourself back to the center of the bed, making room for your companion to join you.

There is always the little surprised sounding moan when he first enters you, as if he’s forgotten that feeling, rediscovering it each time his cock pierces your pussy. His hips roll against you in slow, lazy thrusts. He combs your damp hair back from your face, hair that has completely fallen loose, natural. He kisses your forehead and cheeks and lips, your jaw and throat and ear lobes.

“I love you,” he breathes against your neck. His voice sounds raw, full of emotion.

“I love you, Francis.” You grind up against his damp body.

His face hovers above yours. “Marry me.” You gasp as he grabs one of your thighs and rocks forward, pushing deep inside of you. “Marry me, be my wife. Stay with me always.”

Your heart pounds. To be joined with him like that. The mark on your arm only a faint pink line now. The traces of the bite completely disappeared. He wanted to put a ring on your finger. Everyone would know, then. There would be no concealing it.

“Be the mother of my children. Be mine forever.”

“Francis…”

“Please.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you,” you add softly.

A heavy sigh as his body moves against yours, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. “My love, my only, mine.” His pelvis knocks against yours faster now. Your knees tightly embrace his ribs. Every part of skin your lips touch taste of salt. His hair is darker, saturated with sweat, the tendrils clinging damply to his forehead. A drop slides from his nose and pools between your lips. The arms bracing his weight near your face are trembling. So close to the edge of bliss.

“Love,” he gasps.

“Yes,” you answer, and he spills into you, filling your womb with his seed.

***

You sit inside the bathtub between the doppel’s legs, resting back against his chest.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, and you obey, hearing something being lifted from that basin of water. The wash cloth, you realize, feeling the cool liquid dripping onto you hair, sliding down over your heated face. Repeating until your hair is thoroughly drenched in the bath water, his fingers slicking back those wet tresses, smoothing over your eyes, your cheeks, curling beneath your chin and lifting your face so that he can kiss you. Your eyes open and you see him smiling. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Good.” A rumble of thunder in the distance. Finally, the rain was coming. “Will we lose the power again, do you think?”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t be so terrible, though, would it? Just being here in the dark together.”

“Not at all. I have fond memories of doing that very thing.” He kisses you again and your stroke the damp cloth over his forearms. “I am going to get you a ring, you know. Propose properly.”

“I know.” You lift his left hand and kiss it. “We should tell my parents. Visit.”

“You want me to meet them?”

“Why not? They’ll be your in laws. The grandparents of your children.”

“Hmmm,” he hums. “We will need someone to watch the little ones. When it’s time to make more…”

“How many are you planning on?”

“I don’t know. There’s no specific number. I just want it. Badly.”

“I know you do. I do, too.”

“You’re still scared.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t let anyone harm you. You, or the children. However many there are.”

“I know you’ll be a good father. A good husband.”

His arms tighten around you. “You are my perfect everything.”

***

You do not lose the power that evening.

There is light for your repast at the kitchen table. Still too soon to indulge in the fruits of your earlier labors—pun intended—and neither of you want to heat up the house again using the stove, so you have a simple meal of bread, cheese, grapes, and iced tea, listening to the storm outside, this one much calmer than the last, starting to write a letter back to your parents, beginning with the exciting news of your engagement.

“Do you think your parents will like me?”

You pop a few grapes into your mouth. “Yes. My mom is very similar in personality to me. My dad maybe a little gruffer, but he’ll soften with time. Especially when he sees how well you treat me. He’d probably like it if you asked his permission first. Just as a courtesy. A formality.”

Francis’ copy slices another piece of cheddar free from the block, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “What are you going to tell them about us, exactly?”

“Just that we met while I was working. You’re a resident in the building. The truth, you know.”

“But that’s not the whole story.”

You set your pen down. “I can’t tell them what you are. You know that.”

“Of course not. I’m just…wondering what to say. Or what not to say. How to behave.”

You lift the writing utensil again but don’t use it, merely holding it between your fingers. “Just be you.”

He looks over the top of his glass as you resume writing, neat cursive script filling the page. “Don’t forget to mention how handsome I am.”

“Hush, you.” You smirk, tossing one of the crumpled rough drafts at him and he easily catches it, returning your smile.

“And that I’m a good dancer.”

“You are a great dancer,” you concede, pausing again to tear off another piece of bread.

“We didn’t get to dance earlier.”

“We sort of did.”

His eyebrows lift. “I’ve corrupted you. That’s the sort of innuendo I’d deliver.”

“Speaking of which. No talking about wanting kids when we visit with my parents, at least not yet. They’re against premarital sex. Society doesn’t favor unwed women and it certainly doesn’t favor women who are unwed and pregnant. It’s because of the war. The need to repopulate, our purpose to create more soldiers.”

“We’re engaged, though.”

“Yes. But still not married.”

“I don’t want our children fighting in a war,” he says solemnly.

“Neither do I.” You pause, hesitating midway through writing again. “We are at war already. They’ll be born into it, just by the very nature of who they are. What they are.” You sigh, setting down the pen. The letter could wait for now. You don’t like the dark look on the features of the replicant sitting across from you.

“Come on. I owe you a dance.” You rise, reaching for the doppel’s hands and he allows himself to be tugged to his feet. “Go choose a record for us, my love.”

You clear the table while he rummages through the sleeved recordings. You leave the letter where it is. You’ll finish it in the morning, drop it off on your way to work Monday. At least there was one more day of this relaxed comfort, before you had to go back to the reality of the DDD.

You join your fiancé in the living room, positioning yourself with your dance partner, smiling as you recognize the song that starts to play.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak

And I seem to find the happiness I seek

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“Fred Astaire, singing to Ginger Rogers. Another classic. This song was from the musical Top Hat. A big hit on the music charts.”

The doppel is silent, his hand warm against your waist, the other clasping your hand as you step and sway in a small circle.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And the cares that hung around me through the week

Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“My mom loves that movie. You’ll curry some favor if you mention it. We’ll have to watch it together. The movie house downtown plays classics on Sunday nights. I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Two more verses of the song have already passed by.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. We should go. I’ll take you.”

“A real date.”

“Yes, a real date.”

You grin, nuzzling his jaw. “I look forward to it.”

Dance with me. I want my arms about you

The charms about you

Will carry me through to

“I like making you happy.” He draws back to look at your features. “I want your parents to like me. I know it’s important to you. It’s important to me, too.”

“They’ll love you,” you say softly. “How could they possibly not?”

“Because…”

“No.” You release his shoulder, resting a finger against his lips. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s all that matters. I love you. You, inside of this man.” Your hand cups his cheek. “I’ve been calling you Francis all along. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s…not something you could ever pronounce. The differences in language…”

“I’ll do my best to learn.”

“Sweetheart. Call me Francis. That’s who I am now. Your Francis. Yours.” He kisses you, and you become lost in the feel of it, in the sound of the needle of the record player tapping restlessly now that the song has finished, in the lullaby of the soft patter of the rain outside.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor #doppelganger #the milkman

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attapullman · 3 months

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Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head.

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action.

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?"

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester.

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed.

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg.

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse.

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily.

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester.

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!”

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch.

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house.

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare?

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face.

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats.

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest.

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe.

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?”

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them.

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself.

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher.

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder.

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.”

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you.

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent.

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good.

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind.

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right.

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands.

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses.

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out.

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light.

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 27 days

Note

Spencer Reid x reader, Rossi is readers father, she is not part of the BAU, Curvy and much younger than Spencer at 26, loves how smart he is and likes to learn about facts she’s just not as smart, loves baking. Smut?? Maybe?? Thank you!

comfortable (spencer reid x fem!plussize!reader)

in which you & spencer discuss telling your dad, David Rossi, about your relationship

warnings: NSFW!!! MDNI!!! smut, smol age gap, fingering, praise kink, soft!dom Spencer, pet names

word count: 3658

A/N: thanks for this request 🥹 it was really fun and I think maybe a pt 2 where they actually tell Rossi could be a lot of fun, can you imagine the way Rossi’s eyes would bug out of his head 💀

He was standing in the doorway of your off-campus apartment with this goofy grin on his face. He was older than you - only by a few years, but still in an entirely different stage of life - and he worked with your dad, but you’d never felt butterflies like these before.

It felt like movie love. Like romance novel love, and not those cheesy paperbacks with the Fabio-type model on the front. But like the more modern ones, the ones with the cartoon people on the covers and the big, colorful block letters. You had about a hundred of them on your bookcase. You could go reference them right now if you really wanted to.

Spencer Reid blinked those big, brown eyes at you and your mouth flickered uncontrollably into a soft smile. “Your doorbell doesn’t work,” Spencer pointed out by way of greeting. He still had that goofy grin on his face as you stepped aside so he could come in. You locked the door behind him.

“Didn’t I tell you that?” You mused, turning around to face him. He’d been to your apartment before, but usually trailing after you. Never meeting you here. He shook his head.

Then he lifted the bouquet of flowers in his hands and your smile grew into a full-blown grin. “What’re these for?” You squealed, taking the bouquet and immediately raising them to your nose. Baby pink carnations. He remembered your favorite flower.

He remembered everything, you reminded yourself.

“They’re your favorites. You said they reminded you of your mom’s house,” Spencer said, then took one of those sharp breaths that told you he was about to bequeath upon you a boatload of information. You barely had time to swoon over the fact that he remembered why carnations were your favorite.

“Did you know that carnations were actually mentioned in literature as far back as Ancient Greece? The name is believed to come from the Latin corona - meaning crown or wreath, as it was one of the more common flowers used to make laurels and crowns,” Spencer rattled off.

“We should make flower crowns out of them,” you proposed with an excited giggle, walking past Spencer and into the small kitchen of your apartment. He chuckled and followed you, standing behind you as you took the plastic sleeve off the bouquet, holding the flowers over the sink so water wouldn’t get on the floor. “Oh,” you murmured, not realizing how thick the stalks of the flowers were. “We can’t tie these together,” you pouted.

Spencer’s hands found your hips as he stood behind you, his palms contouring to match your curves. His lips met the side of your head, between your temple and your hairline. “You could put them on your table?” He suggested.

You felt stuck with the dripping flowers in your hand and the overwhelming desire to turn around and kiss your boyfriend silly. “Vase,” you blurted out instead of speaking like a normal human being. Spencer made your brain turn into mush.

“Where?”

“Shelf by the fridge.”

Spencer’s hands left your hips, but not before he gave them a gentle squeeze, as if to say I’ll be back soon. You turned your head to the side and watched as Spencer grabbed the vase off the shelf, returning to your side in moments to help you set the flowers in it.

This relationship was still very new. It had been about three months since you went out to lunch with your dad on some random Thursday, and he brought you back to work with him to introduce you to his team. It had been eight weeks since Spencer took you out for the first time - dinner and a walk around the nearest park, where Spencer had grabbed your hand for the first time, where he’d rambled off some fact about willow trees you couldn’t be bothered to remember because shortly after, he’d pressed his lips to yours and you’d made out underneath one.

He was away a lot, which was to be expected, given the nature of the BAU’s work. But he called you when he could, and he made every effort to see you when they weren’t on assignment. You couldn’t really talk with him about work - “it’s classified,” he’d always say with a thin-lipped smile, as if to say he’d really like to tell you, but he just couldn’t.

“What’re you thinking about?” Spencer asked as you floated from the sink to set the vase of flowers on the kitchen table. His voice always pulled you out of your own head.

“Nothing in particular, really,” you told him, turning to face him. Spencer reached a hand out and took yours, tugging you to him. “You, mostly,” you teased as his palms lay against your hips. “I think it might be time.”

“Time?” Spencer asked as he craned his neck down to kiss you, briefly, on the lips. So, his mind was obviously elsewhere.

“Time,” you confirmed. “To tell my dad. About us.”

Spencer pulled his head back so he could look at you properly, his fingers dug into the soft, sensitive flab above your hip bones, and you scrunched your nose up because it tickled, resisting the urge to giggle. “You do, do you?” He asked, a playful smile crossing his lips. “And here I thought you enjoyed the secrecy.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I hate it,” you laughed breathily. “I hate lying to my dad.”

“For the record, we haven’t lied about anything,” Spencer pointed out. “We’ve just withheld information. It’s entirely different.”

That was true, you supposed. When your dad asked you last week at your monthly dinner at his house if you were seeing anyone, you just nodded and told him you weren’t ready to tell him about it yet, and he respected that. You didn’t not tell him it was his coworker.

“I guess so,” you replied, your lips pursing into the corner of your mouth.

To Spencer’s credit, the whole keeping-it-from-your-dad thing was your idea. You’d done it for a multitude of reasons - mostly so you could figure out if this thing with Spencer was going to go anywhere before your dad was in the loop, so you could go with Spencer at your own pace, get to know him without any third-party interventions.

“We’ve talked about this, Y/N. It’s not anything to feel guilty about. Yeah?” Spencer reminded you, lifting one of his hands from your hips to curl his index finger and tuck it under your chin. He guided your gaze to meet his. “You’re an adult, and you can see whoever you want to see. When and if you tell Rossi is entirely up to you.”

“I know,” you nodded, sighing softly, your arms lifting and reaching up to wind around his neck. Spencer’s lips broke out in a soft smile at the action. “Isn’t it weird for you at work, though?”

“Not really?” Spencer phrased it as a question, shrugging his shoulders a little bit. “There’s never really time for personal conversation when we’re on a case, and if there is, I usually just deflect to someone else. Although, there was a close call while we were on our way back this last time,” he began, the hand under your chin dropping and moving back to your hip, guiding you back so you were flush against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, god, what happened?” You asked as you hopped up so your rear splayed out atop the counter, and Spencer moved to stand between your legs. Despite the lack of gap between your thighs, Spencer’s lanky frame fit comfortably between them. His fingers spread palm-side down against the tops of your thighs. You were biting your lip as your boyfriend continued with his story.

“I guess I was grinning down at a text you’d sent me, the one about your Short Fiction Analysis exam,” he explained, referring to one of the classes you were taking this term. “You’d said you thought Shirley Jackson was underrated, that The Lottery was one of your favorite short stories ever and you would stone anyone who disagreed,” you snickered at this, and Spencer’s hands slid just slightly further up your thighs. “That was the same reaction I had,” Spencer pointed out with a small laugh. “And Rossi’d been the one to catch it. He said that my expression was one that could only be caused by a beautiful woman.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. That sounded like your dad, all right. “And what did you say?” You asked, willing the blush in your cheeks to go away. Spencer knew already that he made you feel like you were on fire with just a simple touch, but still. Your lack of experience and the fact that you were younger than him, still in college… it always made you feel even more flustered.

“I said I could neither confirm nor deny,” Spencer laughed self-deprecatingly, rolling his eyes at himself. “And then I changed the subject. I pulled Derek in the conversation and asked him about his girlfriend.”

“Very strategic,” you commented with a bob of your throat.

“But if you want to tell him, and you think you’re ready, then I think we should,” Spencer added, and you smiled just slightly at this.

“Okay,” you smiled hazily, just as Spencer bent down to kiss you. His hands traveled to the waistband of your sweatpants and your breath hitched in your throat.

“This okay?” Spencer asked just as his long fingers curled around the waistband on either side of your hips.

You’d pulled the sweatpants all the way up over your belly button, and your tummy was incredibly ticklish. So your voice was breathy and shaky when you responded. “Mmhm.”

“If it’s not, you need to tell me,” Spencer reminded you in a low whisper, his lips planting along kissing your neck, each one tacky like a postage stamp.

“It’s okay,” you reiterated, forcing your voice to sound more full. Your hands had moved to lay flat against his chest, but now your fingers curled around the crinkly fabric of his blue dress shirt. You’d never dated anyone who dressed so grown up before. “I’m good.”

“Good,” Spencer murmured as his lips traveled up to your chin. He was mapping out your entire jawline with his lips, until finally your mouths met. He was slow and intentional at first, like he was savoring it, probably making observatory notes in his head. When his tongue teased your lips apart, you allowed him in, a small whimper escaping you.

You had scooted forward on the countertop, squeezing Spencer’s body between your thighs. Your toes curled as one of Spencer’s hands lifted to cradle the back of your head, holding your face to his like an oxygen mask. And he kept breathing you in, his tongue expertly dancing with yours, kissing you so that when he finally pulled back, you couldn’t breathe.

You were panting, your whole face red as Spencer’s hand moved from the back of your head to one of your full cheeks. His thumb swiped across your cheek and the corners of his mouth just flickered upward. “I really missed you,” he whispered, his hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear. His other hand still rested on the waistband of your pants, fingers dipping beneath it and padding around your stretch marks.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured back, and Spencer just smiled at this lazily. “Do you… do you want to…”

Spencer’s smile slowly turned into a patient smirk. “Do I want to what?” He asked all-knowingly, his eyes meeting yours. Your cheeks flushed again, bashful and embarrassed to even ask him.

“Do you want to go to my bed?” You exhaled, and Spencer’s head dipped to press a brief kiss to your lips.

“What makes you think I can’t take care of you right here?” He smirked, and the hand on your cheek floated back down to your waistband. “Can I please take your sweatpants off, pretty girl?”

Your breath stopped and you nodded. “Yeah, but… Spence?” You pressed the pads of your fingers into his chest. His gorgeous brown eyes met yours.

“What is it?”

“If you’re going to, like, you know, right here,” you began, your chest rising and falling slowly. “I just don’t think I can, like, spread my legs apart enough for you to…”

“Would you be more comfortable lying down, Y/N?” Spencer asked. What you loved was that he wasn’t impatient about it, he wasn’t annoyed. He could just tell you were having trouble articulating your concerns and he wanted to help. He was reading your mind - well, scientifically speaking, he was probably reading your behavior and your body language - but he just got it so quick.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sighing softly in relief that he understood.

“Then let’s lie you down,” Spencer agreed. He kissed you once more, briefly, stepped back, holding his hands out to help you off the counter. Your knees were weak for multiple reasons as you wobbled towards your bedroom, letting Spencer guide you so you were flat on your back, looking up at him. “Is that better?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled as Spencer hovered over you. One knee outside your leg, the other very much in between them, his hands gripping your shoulders. Spencer craned down to kiss you again, as if a car had been jump started, and you were once again lost in it, unable to think about anything else but the man on top of you and how much you loved the way he touched you.

He wasn’t afraid of your body or how you’d react - rather, he seemed to find arousal in you being comfortable. His hands moved down to your waistband once again, obviously his fixation for the day, and he asked you again if it was okay that he remove your pants. You just nodded and told him, “yes.”

Even though the word had come out softly and raspy, in the back of your mind, you were screaming for the love of god, yes. If you stop touching me, I might commit heinous crimes.

Soon your pants were off, with some strategic shimmying over your hips and thighs, and you watched with a slightly amused expression as Spencer tossed them aside carelessly. He never did anything carelessly, so the action was a nice ego boost, knowing you could cause his system to glitch just as much as he could yours.

Spencer’s hands went back to your hips, sliding under the bottom hem of your t-shirt, inching closer to your breasts as your pelvis lifted, searching desperately for any kind of friction, your center making contact with Spencer’s knee between your legs. He dug his knee in a little further, your underpants acting as a thin divider.

“Can I take your shirt off, beautiful?” Spencer asked, and all the nerve endings in your face went numb.

“When are you gonna lose some clothes, pal?” You asked breathlessly, taken aback by your own sassiness. Spencer was too, but he laughed, a brimful sound that would have knocked you over if you weren’t already lying down.

Spencer’s laugh still lined his voice as he looked down at you. “I guess it’s only fair,” he chuckled. “Which would you-“

“Shirt,” you tugged at his collar pathetically, your fingers shaking as you tried to undo the buttons.

That stupid smirk rose on his face and Spencer kissed your nose teasingly before he took his hands in yours. “Need me to get those for you?” He asked, and you nodded. Deftly, his fingers worked the buttons until the shirt was shrugging off his shoulders. You watched with your mouth hung ajar like a garden gate.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Spencer bent down at his waist again to continue his cartographic exploration of your neck and jaw, his kisses feather light and so, so frustrating. His hands slid up your shirt again, gliding smoothly over your supple skin, his fingertips tracing your stretch marks. “Now that we’re on a level playing field,” Spencer said between kisses. “Can I please take off your shirt?”

A sound escaped you, a combination of breathy laughter and a desperate whine. “Yeah,” you murmured. Your hands moved to run through his perfect hair. It was so soft, so clean. How did he have time to keep it so clean? Your fingertips dug at his scalp as Spencer’s knee dug once again into the space between your legs. You groaned as Spencer guided you to lift your torso so your t-shirt could be tugged off over your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he commented, and you felt your cheeks redden. He kissed your lips, his swollen and plump against yours as his hands traveled down. He swung the knee that was in between your legs over so that he fully straddled you now. He seemed to want to be everywhere - your breasts, your stomach, your lips, between your legs. It was like he couldn’t decide.

“What do you want, Spence?” You asked him, and Spencer’s eyes snapped to yours. Your tongue jutted out to moisten your lips.

“What do I want?” Spencer repeated, looking at you with an incredulous expression. “I want to make you feel good, angel. Do you want me to do that for you? Do you want me to make you feel good?”

“God. Yes.” You huffed. Spencer’s mouth was on yours in an instant, kissing you repeatedly as his hand traveled down. Hovering over your underwear, Spencer’s thumb pressed against your fabric-covered center and you felt him groan, the sound reverberating through your mouth.

“You’re so wet, Y/N,” he observed and your back arched instinctively, needing him.

“Spence,” you rasped.

“Say it again,” Spencer’s eyes met yours and his brow arched just as you felt him dip his index and middle fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“Please, Spencer,” you managed to get out.

“That’s it,” he smirked, kissing your lips once as a reward before sliding your underpants down your thighs. You lifted your legs and he helped you out of them, tossing them aside like they were just collateral damage. His index finger was quick to tease at your folds, and you wondered if he had been thinking about this all day. “Open your legs a little bit more for me, angel,” he instructed.

You succumbed to his request almost instantly, and when Spencer’s finger rubbed against your clit, you had to bite back a moan. “What have I told you about holding back?” Spencer chastised you, and your eyes locked onto his. “I told you, don’t ever muffle yourself, baby. I want to hear every noise.”

“Spencer…”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. Don’t you dare.”

“That’s my girl,” Spencer smirked, and began to pump his two fingers into you. Your legs began to close on instinct, but Spencer’s other hand pushed your hair out of your eyes. “Keep ‘em open, beautiful,” he said patiently, his fingers increasing exponentially in speed. “You hear how wet you are?”

“Mmm,” was all you could say as the filthy, wet sounds emitted from your middle.

“And that’s all for me, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you choked out as your hips bucked towards his fingers.

Spencer’s fingers were relentless as he fucked you with them. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your vision going white and hazy from the pleasure, from your walls tightening around Spencer’s incredibly deft digits.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Just hang on a little longer, yeah?” Spencer cooed, his voice genuinely, tooth-achingly sweet, and you felt his lips beneath your ear. He kissed the skin there, and you felt him move his lips up to your earlobe, taking it briefly between his teeth. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he reiterated in a low whisper.

Your hands clawed desperately against his bare back for some iota of purchase, moving from his back to his hair, to his neck as he fucked you senseless. You were getting so close, whiny, needy little whimpers escaping you as Spencer continued to pump into you. And finally - finally - you reached your peak. Spencer didn’t let up, letting you ride your orgasm for as long as you could. Stars blurred your vision, and all you could see were those dark brown eyes looking so lovingly down at you.

And when you finally started to come down, Spencer’s movements slowed. He was never the type to immediately pull out. No, he merely turned down the intensity as you caught your breath, rubbing your clit gently as his fingers - soaked with you - slowly came out of you.

“How do you feel?” he asked as you panted, your eyes meeting his.

You opened your mouth to say something - anything, but no words came out. “Baby, use your words,” Spencer encouraged, and you huffed, frustrated with yourself, that you couldn’t say much of anything right now.

“G-good,” you whispered with a hoarse voice. Spencer used his clean hand to brush your hair out of your face. “Very good,” you added.

“Very descriptive,” Spencer teased with a smirk, and you were too ravished to play back.

You managed to prop yourself up on to your elbows just as Spencer moved off of you, laying down on his side so he could kiss your neck soothingly. “Y/N?” He asked.

“Yeah?” you breathed, turning so you were on your side, so you could face him.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, and your eyes widened. You thought for a second he might be playing some sick joke, but then you looked in his eyes and saw how clear, how serious they were. Your lips flickered into a small, tired yet ridiculously happy smile. “You don’t have to say it back if you-“

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your lips meeting his in a long, slow, lazy kiss, feeling deliriously, stupidly happy.

——

A/N 2: I’ve never actually written smut before (I’ve read plenty lmfao) so if something is weird OR if you have any suggestions plzzzzz tell me I can take constructive criticism on this front xD

#spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #asks

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 3 months

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It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 15 ] || [ Chapter 17 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.3K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: I'm all for vigilante justice.

Chapter 16: Teeth

“Address.” Simon demanded as he crouched in front of you, a hand cusping your cheek.

“Simon… please…” You tried arguing.

“Address.” He insisted a bit more forcefully.

It was bizarre to see him in full gear. Black on black on black… And it was even more bizarre to be looking into the eyes of the nice, honest, respectful man you’ve been seeing but having his features hidden behind a skull. An actual, real life skull sewn to a black balaclava…

You can see the fire burning in his eyes through the skull’s eye sockets… You were severely wrong when you made fun of him for wearing a skull mask in public. It’s not silly… it’s downright terrifying…

It strikes you then that the person looking at you right now is the ‘Ghost’ and not Simon.

“He’s not going to be home… He helps Fridays and Saturdays at a friend’s pub…” You explained. “It’s called The Railway.” You said sheepishly.

Ghost caressed your face one last time with his hand, the rough material of his glove scratching your cheek lightly, the same way Simon.

Then, he pushed up on his knees to stand back up and turned. “Kyle, you stay with them.”

“Roger that.” Gaz replied as he took a seat next to you on the couch.

“Johnny, on me.” Ghost said as he beelined for the front door of your apartment.

“Aye.” Soap bounced up from his eat on one of your kitchen chairs and gave you a friendly tap on the shoulder before he took off after Ghost.

You watched them go until the door closed and then turned to look at Gaz. “They’re not going to kill Ethan, right…?”

“No. But he might need dentures once they’re done.”

You’re awoken by Kyle stirring next to you. You’ve fallen asleep on the couch, basically draped across Kyle’s body, his arms wrapped around your body protectively, as you laid between his legs, your head against his shoulder.

“Sorry, lovie.” He told you as he ran his lips over your forehead in a wisp of a kiss.

“Wha-” You murmured as you rubbed your eyes before pulling back to look at him.

“Johnny just texted… They’re downstairs, lovie.” He told you, causing you to slowly slip out of his embrace.

You pulled back to the other side of the couch and yawned, feeling the blanket he draped over you both falling off you and exposing your back to the cold air.

Rising up to your feet, you approached the intercom and buzzed them in. Kyle followed after you, bringing the blanket along, making you giggle a bit when you felt him wrap the blanket and his arms, around you.

Johnny and Simon came jogging up the stairs as you and Kyle waited by the open door. “Hi…” You greeted them both.

“Hi, sweetheart. Wait a moment, we’re dirty.” Simon told you, his voice a lot more gentle than it had been as him and Johnny came up the steps.

They stepped inside and before either of them touched you, they took off their gear at the door and dumped them in a pile on the floor next to Kyle’s. Gaz and Ghost had rushed over upon getting Soap’s call… and good thing they came all kitted up. They needed it, as it turns out.

Only after removing their gear and washing their hands in the bathroom, did they come over to you and Kyle who were sitting on the couch again.

Simon came to sit across from you, atop the coffee table and gently held your hands. “How are you feeling?” He asked you, his voice kind, caring, soft… His brown eyes looking at you like he expected you to flinch away from him at any moment.

There was a deep-seated fear of being Simon (and only Simon) in him. It made him need some type of cover on his face… One he could justify to you under the guise of his scarring and deformities…

But there was also a need in him to keep ‘the ghost’ as far from you as possible… Having come into your flat as Ghost before departing to go find Ethan had ruined those chances… So he knew that he had no choice but to fully shed Ghost and his mask at the door to your flat and bear himself to be just Simon to you. And never risk bringing him in again. And so he did.

For the first time, Simon had no face covering at all, having tugged off his skull mask and balaclava and chucked it at the pile of gear by the front door.

And you were still looking at him like he was the most beautiful thing you’ve seen, your eyes softened and fond as you regarded him.

“I’m okay.” You assured him after a beat of silence.

Simon nodded and his left hand cupped your face again, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip.

“Oh, by the way.” Simon remarked and dug around in his pockets before handing you a keyring with a couple of keys and a singular metal heart keychain attached to it. “Believe this is yours.”

Taking the keys in your hand, you huffed, recognizing the keys to your flat and the keychain engraved with your anniversary date that you had gotten for you and Ethan once you had moved in together a year and a half into your relationship.

“I can’t believe he still had a copy… I could’ve sworn he gave it back…” You said as you looked down at the stupid heart. You had gotten rid of yours once the relationship ended, throwing it into the bin and having long since taken out the bag with it to the rubbish collection.

“He did.” Johnny said. “He fessed up he got a copy made.” He added bluntly.

“Piece of shit.” You insullted him and immediately set the key down next to Simon on the coffee table before shaking your head and leaning back on the couch, arms crossed.

“Now I wish I went with.” Kyle remarked next to you.

“Kyle!” You scolded him and he shrugged.

“What? He deserved what he got…” He said, causing the other men to nod in agreement.

“But I doubt he’s going to bother you again.” Simon added.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” You quipped, which caused him to chuckle, his lips morphing into a smirk.

His smile… God, is he beautiful.

“No… Just broke a couple bones.” He assured you, making you sigh and nod in relief.

“Thanks, by the way...” You told them. “I don’t- I don’t think I should be thanking you for beating up my ex but…” You trailed off.

The three men around you chuckled at your words and shook their heads.

“Aye… Don’t worry. We needed to get some boxing in either way… only turned him into a bit of a punching bag.” Johnny quipped from the side, making you look toward him for the first time since they came in.

“Thank you.” You told Johnny directly. “You didn’t need to help… in any of this really.” You explained.

Johnny clicked his tongue and gestured vaguely with his hand, as if deflecting your gratefulness.

“No need.” He said with a light smile and crouched by your side, rubbing your forearm with his hand. “I wouldn’t have let you deal with that mess at the shop by yourself… Especially not when you’re with my mates.” He added.

Smiling softly you nodded at him agreement. Johnny seemed like a good sort. No wonder Kyle had so many stories of times spent with him while on leave… He had regaled you with plenty of them while Simon and him were gone taking care of Ethan…

And as you sat surrounded by the three of them, you felt quite alright.

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taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader

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sarcasticbeanie · 1 year

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it’s time for a life-changing roadtrip i guess

[ID: A full body drawing of Jason Todd and Roy Harper from DC Comics. They are sitting on the top of a red van, talking to each other. Jason has dark hair with white stripes at the front, and is wearing a grey T-shirt saying “I’m a Jersey Girl. 1. Dirty mind, 2. Caring friend, 3. Potty mouth, 4. Good heart, 5. Smart ass, 6. Kind soul, 7. Sinner, 8. Thick thighs. I never said I was perfect”. He’s also wearing black pants, and brown combat boots. He has scars on his face, neck and arms. He’s wearing black nail polish and simple black bracelets. He has a hearing aid in his right ear. He is gesturing at Roy with one hand, and holding a Sprite can in the other. There’s an open book on his lap. He looks like he’s complaining. Roy has ginger hair, and is wearing a green trucker hat backwards on his head. He’s wearing a white tank top with a yellow arrow pointing up on it, blue jeans, and black and white sneakers. He has brown archer gloves on both hands, and has a grey prosthetic right arm. He's holding a coke can in one hand, and pointing a finger gun at Jason with his left. He's sitting on a green pillow. He’s smiling. The van they’re on has blue curtains at it’s windows, and has its door open. In the van there’s a table with a map, an arrow, some tools and a few screws on it. Under the table, there’s a box with soft drinks and snacks. There’s a sofa on each side of the table. The red hood helmet is on the left sofa, and there’s a purple blanket with the spoiler symbol and a yellow pillow with the signal symbol on the right sofa. On the wall of the van, a brown jacket and a black trucker hat is hanging on the left side. There are pictures hanging on the right side, depicting Roy’s daughter Lian, and members of the batfamily in a simplistic style. A sunset over the sea can be seen through the side window of the van. End ID.]

#beanie art #dc #jason todd #roy harper #royjay #jayroy #r they romantic? besties? qpr? i literally don’t know.#the id makes the drawing seem a lot more detailed than it is. screams #Jason is demi and/or aroace. to me.#I hope the ID is sufficient!!!!!! i don’t quite know how to do one so thank all of y’all who taught me #also I want to see a red-arse roadtrip so so bad. it would be fun I think.#red hood #arsenal #lian harper #batfamily

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a-lilypad · 2 months

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@jegulus-microfic | march 31: body hair | 876 words

regulus calls the fire station when a strange burn mark appears in his house and fireman james comes to investigate (cw: mentions of sex and someone nearly gets set on fire but doesn't get hurt)

Barty is laughing. Regulus is in the middle of a crisis and Barty has the nerve to laugh at him. He knows he must look ridiculous, pulling at his plaid pyjama bottoms, zipping and unzipping his ratty hoodie, and adjusting his hair using every reflective surface in his house, but how was he meant to know the local firemen had become hot?

He’d called the fire station earlier in the day after finding a mysterious hole burned into his downstairs carpet. Stumbling downstairs in a desperate search for coffee at 7 am he’d spotted it from the corner of his eye. It was quite small and in an odd place, just in front of a cupboard he barely used, and it looked almost as if some acid had corroded his floor.

Regulus had hounded Barty, his best friend and current roommate, but Barty swore it wasn’t him. Though he didn’t quite believe him, it was too big to be a cigarette burn which did, annoyingly, put the blame on something else.

However, what that something is he still has no clue, and it’s been driving him a bit insane. He had sat in front of the hole cradling his massive mug of coffee with his chin resting on his knees just..glaring at it. For hours, until he’d been dragged away from it and forced onto the sofa instead.

The fire brigade had taken forever to get there, he’d thought they’d forgotten him and was about to phone them again (third time’s a charm) when the doorbell echoed and he jumped up, tripping over his feet in the rush to get to the door while flipping Barty off for laughing at his urgency.

He’d yanked the door open, flushed and breathing heavier than normal and proceeded to immediately choke on his words because the man standing in his doorway was the fittest person he had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Messy brown hair, big hazel eyes framed by gold wire, and soft rosy lips. His brain short-circuited and all he could think of was what those lips would look like wrapped around him. He was screwed.

Now the hot fireman (James, he’d learned), is on his hands and knees inspecting the floor, and Regulus is lost for words. He’s pretty sure he’s drooling actually. His arse….dear lord. You could end world hunger with it. Regulus wants nothing more than to dig his teeth into it. Maybe take a chunk out of it and bring it with him wherever he goes as a reminder that the world is a beautiful and wonderful place.

James chooses that exact moment to sit up and take off his jacket, revealing the sluttiest shirt he’s ever seen. This uniform should be fucking illegal. It’s so tight that Regulus can see every single curve, every dimple, every line of the man’s body, it barely fits him, he is bursting out of it, the material squeezing the top of his arms. He wonders how the seams haven't burst yet.

His arms. Wow.

They’re huge and covered in black ink, two full sleeves of intricate patterns and whenever he moves they flex, golden brown skin glinting in the light. He’s definitely drooling now. Barty has to lean over and shut his mouth for him.

“So, James is it?” Barty says, smirking, and Regulus has never turned his head so fast, glaring at his soon-to-be ex-best friend, right eye twitching. He wouldn’t fucking dare…oh who was he kidding of course he would, he lives to make Regulus’ life a living hell. He should have kicked Barty out the minute James got here.

James hums in affirmation as he goes back to probing the hole in the carpet. Regulus wishes that was him.

He can see Barty’s smug smile and his eyes twinkling and starts slowly approaching, moving into hitting distance. “You got a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend of course, there’s just no way a hot guy like you is singl-ow fuck!” he breaks off as Regulus elbows him sharply in the side while hissing at him to shut up.

James turns around with a cocked eyebrow, smiling, and lets out a chuckle, “Nope, no girlfriend,” then looks straight at Regulus, gazing deep into his soul as if he’s searching for something, “or boyfriend,” and he winks. HE WINKS. Regulus cannot handle this man he feels a bit faint.

As he flops down on the sofa he sees James stretching, his arms reaching above his head looking like some form of God, his shirt lifting and revealing a strip of soft skin and a line of thick black hair leading down and down and down…his eyes follow it, he’s unable to look away. Regulus loves a guy with body hair, but happy trails have always sent him crazy.

He picks up a pillow and holds it over his crotch hoping he’s being subtle, but by Barty’s sudden cackle, he guesses not so much. Although he doesn’t have to worry about it for long as James goes back to poking around, chuckling a bit under his breath until a huge fucking white spark bursts from his floor effectively stopping the laughter but also setting his carpet on fire.

Huh. That’s probably not a good sign.

#i wrote most of this in the middle of a church service #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #marauders #marauders era #jegulus microfic #jegulus fanfiction #fireman james potter #james x regulus #dead gay wizards #sunseeker

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lowkeychenle · 8 months

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Within the Piano Keys [ZCL] (M)

Description: For as long as you could remember, Chenle has been your neighbor and childhood best friend. That is, until one day he disappears without a word...or so you thought, since your mother hid all the letters he sent you.

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut triple threat ygm

Content Warnings: This fic contains letters from Chenle (purely fictional duh) but does mention things about the graduation system/the Dreamies going through a rough time just FYI! Just a brief mention. And also, smut. this has smut, but it's soft and cute smut because why not.......so literally that's it I think? Who I am these are some light content warnings

Word Count: 7,707

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader (feat (briefly) Jeno & Jaemin, mentions of Mark and Jisung)

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests

Author's Note: This gif actually kills me someone send 911 emergency services sos zhong chenle is killing me AGAIN

The ghost of the past will always find you.

There’s no outrunning destiny. Who and what you were made to be. And you sure as hell love to try—pushing yourself to change as much as possible to keep Fate on her toes. Sometimes, it’s inevitable. Sometimes, people are placed on the Earth with a specific purpose, and you were sure yours was him. At a mere seven years old, your life changed forever—in a way you never saw coming. When you think about it, you don’t think Fate saw it, either.

Because you met him then.

You remember the day in vivid detail. The soft, sweet melody of the piano drifting through the house, up the stairs, and beneath your bedroom door where you stand, looking for your butterfly hair clip you adore oh so much.

When your frustration reaches its peak and you sit down with a huff on the edge of your bed, you hear it. Your heart seems to beat along with the music, every key pressed making you wonder just who is playing downstairs.

It’s from Phantom of the Opera, a song titled “All I Ask of You.” The melody is full, transcending your body into peace the moment you realize what it is.

After taking a deep breath, you hesitantly make your way down the winding, spiral staircase, fingers tracing along the railings as if they’re too delicate to actually hold on to. Your steps echo downward, but as the young boy comes into view, you stop.

Not even your noisy intrusion breaks him from his music-induced trance. His entire body moves along with the sound, his eyes closed as he presses each note with perfection. His black hair is a bit longer than it probably should be, with a middle part to expose his forehead. His defined brows are furrowed, and even at his age, you’ve never seen someone look wiser than this boy does right at this moment.

You feel the song in your bones, deep within your soul in such an existential way, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever feel anything like it again. A silly, juvenile thought. You don’t know it right now, but you’d feel like that every time you were around him.

As the song comes to a close, he holds out the last note, inhaling deeply as if he hasn’t been breathing the entire time.

His eyes flutter open, warm brown irises immediately meeting yours. You hadn’t expected such depth, but you’d learn eventually never to expect anything with him—in the end, you would only build yourself up to fall…over and over and over again.

Here you stand, locked in a metaphorical embrace with a kid who can’t be any older than you, yet he seems…different. Like he’s seen enough in his lifetime to age him beyond physicality.

That was the day you started to believe in fate. The day he left was when you stopped.

Hours turned into weeks, and before you know it, the boy next door became your friend. Most times, you’d sit on the bench while he plays piano and watch incredulously. His musical talent always astounds you—he can sing, play instruments, write songs and compose them.

Sometimes, he’d ask you to sing the songs he played, and even though you felt nowhere near as talented as him, you did what he wanted. He’d join in with you occasionally, your voices blending together seemingly effortlessly.

Those weeks turned into years—two kids learning more and more about each other. He’d become more than a friend. You were twelve years old when you realized the connection you had with Chenle. When everything pieced together, and you understood that some hearts, some souls, are much older than you could ever fathom. Your heart, you were sure, stretched beyond your years, and your soul was kindred with Chenle’s in a way that could only mean you’d known each other in a past life. Slowly, slowly, slowly…he was everything, all at once.

“You’ve almost got it,” he whispered to you, adjusting your ring finger on the keys. “Just gotta move over a little bit more.”

You pouted. “My hands aren’t big enough, Lele.”

“Stop that.” He chuckled, shaking his head and nudging your shoulder. “That mindset is gonna keep you from learning.”

“Well, if my mindset doesn’t do it, the arthritis at a young age will,” you snipped.

His eyes sparkled with humor, crinkling at the edges as his smile widened. “You’ll get it eventually. Keep trying.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll tell you that you suck and you should never play again.”

You snorted. “Promise?”

He held up his pinky. “I’d never lie to you.”

You looped yours with his.

“You’ll get it.”

Chenle never gave up on you. He kept pushing you to be the best you could be, and you gladly followed his direction. You never quite got as good as he was with the piano, but you’d gotten decent at least. The two of you would hang out every day, spending every waking, free moment together until your mom told him it was time to go home.

You’d never thought about love and what it meant. For you, loving Chenle was as natural as breathing, and as time went on, it only got easier.

You turned fourteen before Chenle. If you had known this was the beginning of your last year with him, you would’ve appreciated it more. You would’ve told him all of the things lingering on your mind—how you loved him, so purely and genuinely.

Just days before your life blew up in your face, you almost told him.

He sat next to you on your bed, arm wrapped around you as you rested your head on his shoulder. The soft golden light of the lamp illuminated him gently, and the movie playing in the background edges you closer and closer to sleep.

“Do you ever think about…life?” he asked.

“Hm?” You scrunched your nose, your half-asleep state not registering what he meant.

“Like…what your plans are. What you want to do and who you want to be with.” His thumb brushed your skin soothingly. “We have to figure it out soon, don’t we? We’re almost adults.”

“You’re not tired?” You sat up and rubbed your forehead.

“Nope.”

“Well.” You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. “The only thing I’m certain about when it comes to the future is that you’ll be there. So, it doesn’t matter what else happens.”

He smiled softly, the slightest shade of red tinting his cheeks. “Even if the world ended?”

“Even if the world ended.” You confirmed.

A few months later, the world did end. At least, yours did.

He was gone.

His mom left shortly after him, but she told you what he was doing—how he was going to pursue his music career in South Korea. He was going to be an idol, and he was leaving you behind to do it.

Your world ended, but his got to go on without you.

At twenty-one years old, you’re still not sure where you went wrong. Chenle left, but his memory plagues the very walls you live within. You keep up with him, with his group and all of the things they’re doing. Even though you’re not with him, you watch him grow and grow into a more confident version of the young boy you knew.

Seven years without him should have been impossible, yet here you are: alive, well, and watching any and all Chenle related content. You haven’t heard from him, not once. Assumingly, he’s incredibly busy. Even then, you wonder occasionally if you ever cross his mind, if he ever thinks of the love he left behind.

Ever since, you’ve been sensitive over the summer months. A part of you is missing, and until you see him again, you’re unsure if you’ll ever find it. Has he changed? Is he still the boy you loved?

On days where thoughts of him overwhelms you, you like to walk the trail behind your house. It takes you through a wooded area, and the other end brings you to the end of your street. On your walk back, you see an unfamiliar car outside of Chenle’s family’s home. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you stand there to watch.

The door slides open, and you hear an unfamiliar laugh. Frowning, you cross your arms over your chest. Who the hell would be at Chenle’s house?

When the first person gets out of the car, your heart stops in your chest. You’re about eighty percent sure that’s Lee Jeno, light hair reflecting the bright sunlight above. If that’s Jeno, then—

You feel a sudden urge to run into your house, slam the door, and lock it behind you. Several other people are in that car, and if they’re here…one of them is Chenle. Your Chenle, who isn’t really yours. Not anymore.

Jaemin gets out next. His roots are dark, nearly overshadowing the pink hue on top of his head. He swats at someone behind him, laughing, and as that person comes into view, your heart stops. It shreds itself to pieces.

Jeno notices you first, a slight frown gracing his face before Chenle’s gaze follows his line of sight. When he sees you, you instantly see the recognition on his face.

Seven years is a long time. Hell, even though you’ve seen all of Dream’s content, you’re still shocked to see how different he looks. His face is more defined. He’s grown a bit taller, too.

He sees you. He’s looking at you for the first time in years, and all you want to do is forget all this time of no contact, all the ways the two of you hadn’t reached out to each other. A lump forms in your throat, and before you do something stupid, you let out a shaky breath, turn away from him, and make your way into your house.

You shut the door behind you, your back thudding against it. Glancing over to your right, the grand piano—old and loved—is blurred by your tears, and for the briefest of moments, you swear you see your younger self sitting there, endlessly playing the songs Chenle taught you before he left.

A knock sounds, and each one echoes throughout your house, feeling like a hole-puncher on your heart. You’re barely able to breathe as you prepare yourself to be face-to-face with Chenle for the first time in almost a decade—for the first time since he up and disappeared on you without a word.

“(Y/N)?” His voice. So familiar but so distant, all the same as it was.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

You brace yourself against the solid wood of the piano, doing your best to calm yourself. The last thing you need is to make a fool of yourself in front of him.

A hesitant creak fills your ears, and the tap of his shoes on the hardwood flooring has your eyes clenching shut.

“Why’d you run off like that?” he asks, voice so soft that it’s barely audible.

“I didn’t.”

“You still sound the same,” he says it quietly, as if he’s the only one meant to hear it. He raises his voice so you can hear him. “It’s been a long time.”

You scoff, whipping around to face him. “It’s been a long time? That’s all you have to say to me?” Anger bubbles in your gut, quickly replacing the hurt lingering.

You have to stop yourself from admiring him at a time like this. His oversized T-shirt somehow compliments him in the best ways, his hair is a tinted shade of purple, and when his fingers run through it, you have to look away. Sure, you should’ve expected to see him again at some point, but you never imagined you’d feel the same. It’s a bit different now that you’re older. You’re able to see him in a different light.

His eyes widen and he recoils. “I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say. It’s not like there’s a textbook on how to do this.”

“What are you doing here? Why now?” You cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to avoid his eyes.

“We’re here on a schedule.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I told them about you, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, right.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “I suppose that makes it all okay, right? You tell your friends I exist and that’s supposed to change how you up and left me without a word?”

He frowns. “Without a word?”

“Yeah, Chenle. Without a single fucking word.”

“That’s not true.” His tone sharpens to match yours. “I wrote to you. A lot. And if you didn’t want to read them, that’s on you. That doesn’t mean I left without a word. There were a lot of words, actually.”

“Why didn’t I get them?” Your voice drops into a whisper, moving one of your hands to touch your forehead.

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t know your address so I sent them to my mom, and she told me every time she gave one to your mom—”

A jolt of electricity rages up your spine, and you immediately turn away from him and run up the staircase. Your mother’s out of town for the week. If she’s been hiding letters from you, they’d be in her room somewhere—and you’d tear that place apart if it meant you had all those words.

“Where are you—hey!”

You’re already in your mom’s closet when Chenle follows you in.

“You shouldn’t be in here—”

“Says you,” you interrupt him, mindlessly shuffling through anything that looks like it could hold letters. “How many?”

“What?”

“How many did you send, Chenle?”

“Um.” He pauses, shifting on his feet. “I don’t know. A few? I stopped after a while because I didn’t hear anything. Figured you didn’t want anything else.”

“My God,” you mutter, blinking rapidly to fight off the tears. “And you swear your mom gave them to mine?”

“I—yeah, she didn’t have a reason not to.”

“And my mom had a reason not to give them to—shit. When did you send the first one?”

“(Y/N), it was seven years ago.”

“Was it right when you left or afterward?” You haphazardly dig through the closet, searching high and low.

“I left it here. I told my mom about it after a week or so. What the hell is going on?” Chenle runs his fingers through his hair again, gulping. “We really shouldn’t be in here.”

Your heart sinks. There’s nothing in here. You’ll never find Chenle’s letters, and the mystery will always be just that.

“I…I’m so sorry.” You drop your head into your hands. “I’m acting like an idiot right now.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just confused. This whole time, I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me…that’s why I haven’t been back in a while.” Chenle takes a step closer to you, reaching out to touch your arm. “I would never leave you.”

You finally look at him. Really look at him. The worried furrow to his brow, the slight downturn of his lips, concern clouding those beautiful irises of his. Standing in front of you is the reason you are who you are today.

“You just…Okay, I need a while to figure all of this out.” You glance up to the ceiling, closing your eyes and taking a shuddering breath. “Can you go? I don’t really want to see you right now.”

Hurt plays out on his face, but after he blinks a few times, he nods slowly. “Yeah. Sure. Um, I’ll see you later. If it helps any, I probably could’ve tried to call or something.”

“We were kids.” You sigh. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

You say that, but it would have. The entire trajectory of your life may have changed if Chenle was still in it back then. As much as you want to be pissed at your mother for hiding things from you, maybe she was right.

Chenle takes his bottom lip between his teeth, looking you over one more time as he nods. “Right. I…I’ll see you around.”

Before you respond, he’s turning away from you and disappearing down the hall. You feel a lot of things—overwhelmed, confused, sad. But you also almost feel naive for listening to him—for believing that your mother hid things from you. Your brain stops being logical when Chenle’s around, and you know it’s a mistake to bring him back into your life. The hurt has passed, but that doesn’t mean it won’t rear its ugly head if you’re in such close proximity to him.

You go back downstairs to grab your phone, and the first thing you do is dial your mom’s number. She picks up after the first ring.

“Hi, honey! I was about to text you. New York is fascinating! You’d love it—”

“Did Chenle write me letters?”

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “Where is this coming from?”

“He’s here,” you mutter. “He told me he sent me letters, mom.”

“(Y/N), you have to understand where I was coming from.”

“Where are they?” You slap your hand to your forehead. “Where?”

“He still left, you know. I understand he’s important to you, but he still chose a career over you. And you would’ve thrown everything away for him without a second thought.” Your mom takes a deep breath. “You needed to live your life for you.”

“Where are they?” you repeat. “If you threw them away, I will never forgive you.”

“Of course, I didn’t throw them away. They’re in my closet in a little gold box on the floor. When you read those…don’t get any ideas. He lives far away and he’s even less available for you now than he was before.”

You hang up without saying another word and run back up the stairs. It takes you only a few seconds to find the box she told you about. When you open it, your breath shudders at the stack of letters in there. Some are aged and crinkly, but the ones toward the top are newer. Your hands shake as you grab them, mouth dry as you see the dates listed across the front of the envelope.

You start with the one on the bottom, the oldest, and ever so carefully opening it. Blinking back tears, you take in the painfully familiar handwriting that belonged to your Chenle.

(Y/N)

This is probably the worst way to do this, I know. I’m leaving to follow my dreams, and while I wish I could take you with me, it doesn’t make sense. Your mom would never agree to let you come. Thinking of going through all of this without you scares me more than I care to admit.

I don’t have a phone yet, but as soon as I get one, I’ll send you a letter with the number! It’ll be nice to hear your voice again. I’m writing this early, so I actually spoke with you earlier today, but it’s funny how quickly I miss you.

You’re probably going to be really mad at me, and that’s okay. I deserve it. The reason I didn’t tell you isn’t very simple, but I hope you understand it. Saying goodbye to you would feel so permanent. Goodbye itself is too permanent for my liking, so I’ve never liked them.

If I looked into your eyes and told you I was leaving, I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to go. Or that I’d sneak you with me in my carry-on. I didn’t want to hurt you. You mean so much to me, (Y/N). I don’t ever want to make you upset, and I know you’ll eventually understand why I had to do it this way.

Just know I’ll be thinking about you every day. You’re the reason I’ll have the strength to get through this training period.

Talk to you soon,

Your Chenle

You trace your finger along the bottom of the page. Face wet, you clear your throat as you delicately set it aside to grab the next one. According to the date on the envelope, it’s from a few months after the first one.

(Y/N),

These past few months have been so hectic. I think I almost died a couple times, but here I am. I debuted last week! I’m in a group called NCT, but I debuted in the sub-unit NCT DREAM. It seems surreal, and it happened so much faster than I thought.

I think you’d like the other guys. They’re nice and loud and friendly. Honestly, they seem like they’ve been working together for a little bit of time already, so I’m the newest one here. I heard someone say they’d been training for a while…

Anyway, I said in the last letter that I’d give you my phone number. I realized after I left that you didn’t have one either, so…I’m not sure how that’ll work. And I wasn’t expecting a response to these at all, but if you want to write back, it’d give me something to look forward to after all this hecticness.

But yeah…honestly, I was a bit worried about moving here and being in a group. I’ve been learning a lot of Korean though, and another member named Jisung has been helping me a lot. He’s a few months younger than me, can you believe it? Everyone treats him like a baby, but I think he likes it. I told them about you, and they all kept teasing me.

Maybe they just don’t understand. You’re my favorite person, of course, I’m going to talk about you and tell them stories about all the fun we had.

Sorry this one is a bit long. I hope you’re not too mad at me. And I also hope that you’re keeping up on me. I think you’d like Chewing Gum…

I’ll talk to you soon! I’ll write my number down at the bottom of the page.

Your Chenle

You have to take a break. You rest your head back against the wall, closing your eyes and imagining how hurt poor, young Chenle must have been when you never responded to his heartfelt letters. You don’t know much about Jisung—besides the obvious, public information—but you’re happy someone was good and helpful to him.

After that, you wonder what it would’ve been like to be there for him through all of that. Based on what you know about his group, he’s been through a lot of ups and downs over the years. You wonder if he wrote about some of the harder things, too.

You read another one that’s about their promotions, how he’s getting closer with the other members. Then one about how he performed with twenty-two others. The next one you grab is dated from 2019. You open it.

(Y/N),

I didn’t think this year would be as hard as it has been. We all expected it, you know? We knew it was going to happen, but it doesn’t change how scary it’s been. I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written. Maybe you just throw them away at this point, which is fine, but I wish I could hear from you. Especially at a time like this.

Dream has a graduation system, and Mark’s been gone for months now. Things have been continuing ‘as normal,’ but without Mark, we don’t really feel complete as a group. We see him as often as we can, but performing without him is…it feels wrong.

I wish I could see you. You’d make everything better in an instant, just like you always did. Sometimes, I feel terrible because the others get sad about the situation, and I can’t figure out any good words to say. You’ve always been so good at comforting others, I wish you were here to help me.

It’s been two years since I’ve seen you. That’s so weird to think about, because I swear I still hear your voice in my head. Your encouraging words, how you always believed in me. I need that now more than ever.

I’m not sure if you know much about Mark, but he’s our rock. We kind of fail to function without him. But in the spirit of missing both you and Mark, I’ll tell you a little story about what happened when I asked Mark for advice.

I asked him about you—about what I could possibly do to make all of this up to you since you deserve it. And not hearing back from you makes me think you might hate me.

Anyway, his question in response was interesting. He wanted to know what you were to me. How I felt about you. At first, I thought he was crazy. I mean, it was obvious—you’re my best friend. I can’t live and function without my best friend.

He asked if that was all.

I vividly remember scrunching up my face and pushing his shoulder. Not too hard, by the way.

But the more he told me about what it felt like to be in love, everything clicked into place. I’m in love with you, (Y/N). I have been for so long that it started feeling like second nature instead of a conscious idea.

I guess it doesn’t matter now. Maybe I’ve failed you too much for it to mean anything to you.

Loss sucks. Losing Mark in Dream has sucked, losing you before I even realized the extent of my feelings sucked, but at the end of the day, I have to keep pushing forward. I’m sorry for any hurt I may have caused, because this situation with Mark also made me realize how much it must have hurt you for me to up and disappear the way I did.

I’m so, so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.

Your Chenle

You wipe angrily at your tears, unsure if you should be mad at yourself or at your mother. She stole this from you. Chenle figured out his feelings for you long before you figured out yours for him, but it feels like a new revelation—to know he felt the same way, even after years without you.

You remember this time where Mark had ‘graduated’ from NCT Dream. And because you knew Chenle well, you could tell he was struggling, even when he put on a happy facade. He needed you, and you weren’t there for him.

No matter how much it hurts, you can’t stop. You grab the next one. His writing became less frequent after that. He wrote to tell you when NCT Dream became a fixed unit, and how happy he was to be reunited as seven. The next was from their first full album. You find the last one, surprised to find how recent it was. There was a large gap between this one and the one before it.

The letter was addressed from a few months ago. The one before had been from two years ago.

(Y/N),

I’m sorry it’s been a while. Honestly, we’ve been so busy, I’ve barely even had the time to sleep. I got news today that we’ll be going to China for an event. I’m coming home, but I figured I should tell you in advance. Give you some time in case you really don’t want to see me.

I still think of you every day. All I want is to hear your voice again, but I won’t ask you to do something you don’t want to. If you have no intention of seeing me, that’s fine. I know I messed this up, but I figured it wouldn’t be right to give up when I’ll be so close.

We’ll be arriving in the next few weeks. I wish I could give you more detailed information, but I won’t even know it until the day of.

If this is it for us, thank you for the time I had with you. I love you, (Y/N). No matter what, that’ll be true, but this will be the last thing I send. I hope you understand.

Love,

Your Chenle

At this point, you’re bawling your eyes out. You aggressively wipe away the tears, cursing yourself for not knowing about these damn letters. All the pain you could’ve helped him through, all the hurt it could’ve saved you from.

You sniffle, grab your phone, and dial the number at the bottom of the second letter. It’s been years since he gave it to you, so there’s a good chance it’s different now. But you don’t exactly feel like going over to his house while his friends are there and making a fool of yourself.

“Hello?” That’s definitely his voice.

“Chenle,” you breathe out, closing your eyes. “My Chenle.”

“Yeah.” His tone softens. “Yeah, yours. Always yours.”

Running your fingers through your hair, you sigh. “I found them. All of them. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “It’s not like you even knew about them. Give me one second, I’m gonna go upstairs. Jeno and Jaemin are still here.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, and you hear him say something to the other guys. They reply, and then you hear the tell-tale sound of the stairs creaking beneath Chenle’s feet. Once he makes it up to his bedroom, he closes the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “That’s a lot to read all at once.”

“I don’t know. I’m so mad, Lele. How could she hide those from me? If I’d known you didn’t just leave me, it would’ve hurt so much less. And seeing all this pain you went through all by yourself…I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he tells you. “We know the truth now. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” you whisper, burying your head in your palm. “Not even if I tried.”

There’s a brief silence, only filled with the sounds of you sniffling and Chenle breathing. He’s right next door, but the idea of being with him is too real. You need time to process all of this, and bringing him around while you do isn’t the best idea.

“You said you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects you. “Present tense. I never stopped.”

“I kept up with you.” You play with the seam of your jeans. “With everything you did with Dream and all the accomplishments you’ve had so far. I’ve been so proud of you with no way to say it.”

“I almost stopped writing letters. Mark convinced me not to give up, but after seven years I was pretty sure you wouldn’t change your mind,” he admits.

“If I’d been receiving them I would’ve called you the second you gave me your number.”

“That’s what I’d been hoping for.” Chenle takes a deep breath. “We have to go soon for a schedule, but can I come see you later?”

Later wasn’t really definitive. The thought of him in your house and in your space is scary, terrifying even, but this is Chenle. The boy who used to play piano with you and sing to his heart’s content. From what you’ve seen, this version of him doesn’t seem too different than that boy.

“Please,” you whisper. “Will you be hungry? I can make you something.”

“It’ll be late. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Not too long after your conversation, you hear the three boys clamber into the van. You try to busy yourself throughout the day, cleaning in order to distract yourself. Eventually, you sit down at the piano and play whatever song comes to memory. One of the ones Chenle taught you back when he was here.

You taught yourself a few of Dream’s songs as well, like Rainbow, My Youth, Puzzle Piece, Teddy Bear, and most recently, Like We Just Met from their newest album. You play the last one, the darkness cascading around you as the sunset fades away from view. It’s only you and the starlight now, a gentle melody flooding through the air around you.

The door creaks open, and Chenle walks through when you’re almost done with the song. You stop playing, standing up to greet him. There’s an odd moment where you stand there staring at each other, admiring the way the starlight reflects off his skin. His eyebrows are furrowed, like he’s trying to decide what to do next.

You don’t hesitate anymore. Moving forward, you wrap your arms around him and bury your head in his chest. He immediately reciprocates, shaky breath passing by his lips as he holds you closely. His heart thrashes, the sound more than similar to yours.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you, too,” you reply easily, tightening your grip on him.

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, wetness gathered beneath them. With shaky hands, you reach up to wipe it away. His gaze travels over your face.

“You love me.”

He nods hesitantly, palms pressing into the small of your back. “Always have.”

“I’ve always loved you, too.” Before you talk yourself out of it, you’re on the tips of your toes to kiss him. It starts gently, your mouth barely brushing his before his breath catches in his throat. Then it’s real—he pulls you flush against him, lips fitting with yours like he’s made for you.

You move your hands from his cheeks to his hair, leaning into him. His fingers latch onto the fabric of your shirt. Next thing you know, he’s walking you backward until he’s pressing your back into a wall.

“We have so much to talk about.” He rests his forehead on yours. “So much air to clear up.”

“Yeah.” You nod, but your stare is focused directly on his lips.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” he warns you. “I don’t get to come here often, so unless you were to come to Korea, we’d pretty much never see each other. My schedules are so packed, I’m practicing all day and half-dead by the time I get home. I can be a real asshole when I’m tired, and sometimes I might take jokes too far. This life is not easy, (Y/N). I need you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“What am I even doing here?” you ask. “I can come with you.”

“I can’t ask you to give up everything you have for me.” He shakes his head, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You’re not asking. Chenle, I spent years thinking you were gone without a word. All I want is to be with you as much as possible.”

“At least think about it for a little bit first, okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” He gulps. “That goes for a lot of things.”

“I’ve had seven years to think about all the things I wanted from you.”

“You can’t say things like that,” he mutters.

You’re painfully aware of what it feels like to have him pressed against you, warm in all the right ways and, despite being so thin, he’s firm to the touch. The ache you feel to be closer to him is overwhelming.

“I spent years thinking everything was a lie,” you tell him. “That I couldn’t possibly have mattered to you if you could just disappear without a word.”

His fingers play with yours, discomfort at the idea plastered across his face. “Never. I never would’ve done that. You’ve always meant so much to me.”

“I’m just happy I finally get to tell you all of the things I wanted to tell you after I found out you were gone.” You give him the smallest smile, and he reaches up to trace along your bottom lip.

The simple touch sends sparks flying down your spine, and you’re sure you’ll crumble to dust right at his feet from the forceful impact of it. An odd tug occurs in your chest, one that has you questioning if you’ve ever experienced it before. It pulls you toward him, and despite being flush, your mind dips to dangerous places that could get you so, so much closer.

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but this is Chenle. Your Chenle. And if you’re having these feelings for him, there’s no need to hide it.

“I…” you trail off, clenching onto the fabric of his shirt, right above his heart. “Do you feel it, too? Everything is…different now.”

“Under other circumstances, I’d say different is bad,” he whispers. “But there’s nothing bad about the way you’re looking at me.”

His arms wrap around your waist tightly, and simultaneously, you both lean in until your lips are locked in a gentle battle. The warmth of his touch finds your hip, where your sweater rose up enough to reveal your skin. You let out a shaky sigh, and he squeezes you.

“Come upstairs with me?” Your invite is airy, suggestive, and he analyzes you while his gaze darkens.

“If that’s what you want,” he says.

“Is it what you want?” You tilt your head at him, voice quiet since he’s so close.

He pauses and wets his lips. “Of course, it is. I just don’t want you to regret anything. Losing you once was enough, and I refuse to go through that again.”

Instead of answering, you intertwine your fingers with his and lead him toward the stairs, through the blackness of the night casting through the windows. You take one step at a time, your heart thundering and blood pulsing through your veins. One look at your shoulder, and for a second, you almost swear you see the younger versions of you and Chenle sitting by the piano. Caught up in the music. In each other.

He follows you, entranced by the way you move and how you’re so willingly guiding him. Everything happens in slow motion for you. Too fast but too slow at the same time, somehow the moment you’ve waited for your entire life while simultaneously the thing that’s scared you the most.

Your Chenle.

He said it himself. Why is it so foreign to think about? That maybe, even after all this time, he loves you even an ounce of how much you love him? Endless devotion with no contact. But he did the same—he waited and waited for your response much like you waited for any contact from him. You were both physically and metaphorically in the dark.

The door to your bedroom creaks as you push it open, embarrassed by how little it’s changed since the last time he was in it. The walls are still the same color, faded and paint peeling in some of the corners. Your bed has been swapped from twin-sized to a queen, but everything else is virtually untouched.

No more words are spoken.

They’re not needed.

You don’t need anything. Not when you have him.

He presses your body into the mattress, climbing over you gently. His touch is tender, sweet, not too much pressure. You’re halfway certain you’ll wake up from this dream any time now, and you’ll once again be without him. Without his touch and his love and his truths.

Kissing him is like touching the sun. It burns, nearly enough to make you combust into flames, but magnetic. He is your sun, and you are the Earth. You revolve around him.

Normally, anyone else taking your clothes off would make you nervous, but you know you’re in good hands with Chenle. Your shirt is tossed aside first, his mouth instantly dipping down to explore every inch of exposed skin. His tongue drags along the swells of your breasts, over your collarbones. He nips, teeth leaving shallow indents on your soft flesh.

Your whines are soft, delicately slicing into the silence of the air. The first time he hears you, he freezes, his eyelashes fluttering against your neck as he takes in the way you sound. Quiet cries of ‘more’ escape you while your hands explore beneath his T-shirt.

Never before in your life have you wanted someone with such despracy. Your body aches for him, and the tug in your chest that pulled you closer to him has finally revealed how. As his fingers pop the button on your jeans, you lift your hips.

He pulls his lips away from your chest, gaze honing in on yours. There’s something swirling around in his irises, and you’re sure yours reflect the same. He doesn’t have to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Not verbally. You nod, guiding his mouth back to yours.

The heat of his touch dips dangerously low, past your jeans and the hem of your panties. You gasp, appreciative of how he catches the sound. You’ve been touched before, but nobody has ever compared to the way he feels. When you’ve met your soulmate, nothing could be better.

He rubs slow circles on your clit, eyes hazy from knowing he’s the one who made you feel this way. Normally, you’d need more. A simple touch wouldn’t be enough to have you squirming in someone’s grasp, but there’s so much more behind his movements than lust.

And he takes it a step further, sliding his long fingers inside you. His gaze focuses on you the whole time, watching your face for any sign of discomfort as he thrusts his hand. He nudges your sensitive bud with the heel of his palm every time he’s knuckle deep.

Your stomach feels elastic, as if you’re stretching a rubber band, and it’s taking everything you have not to let it snap back. It’s too good. Too intoxicating. Too early for it to be over. He swallows your short moans, picking up his pace. You lean up, yearning for his kiss. He doesn’t need to ask, and the second your lips meet, you tighten around him, and it’s over.

Warmth spreads all over your body, your insides boil, and butterflies swarm deep in your stomach. Your eyes shut, and your head falls back against your pillow. He kisses all over your face, humming quietly.

He pulls away from you to help you remove the last of your clothing, the fabric of your panties sticking uncomfortably until he tugs them down your legs.

You reach down to feel him through his pants, unable to stop the shuddering breath that escapes you when you touch his length. He grinds into your hand, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

Finally, nothing separates the two of you anymore. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, the initial pressure already making you crave more. You need all of him, so you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your heels into his back to tell him to push in further. Your whole body tingles with pleasure, the type enough to make your toes curl, and your chest heaves as you adjust to his size.

His forehead drops against your shoulder, grasping one of your hands in his own to squeeze. He takes you slowly, his throbbing length stretching you to your limits and rubbing your walls perfectly. You were made for him, you’re certain. He fits so well, so completely, there’s no other explanation for it.

He curses under his breath, eyes threatening to flutter shut from the pleasure. Sweat clings to you tighter than Chenle does, but you relish in the way you react to him. His eyebrows pinch as he looks at you for any sign of discomfort.

His name slips past your lips. In that moment, you truly become his, and he becomes yours. Bodies meld together, each one of his thrusts sliding so pleasantly inside you. There’s no sound from either of you besides the brief exchange of names, moans from both of you, and the slick of your wetness.

He kisses you, thrusting at a steady, mind-crumbling pace. His chest brushes against yours, breathing uneven as he clenches the bedsheets next to your head. You quickly realize you could do this forever. The feeling of him so deep inside you would never subside, and you find yourself never wanting to separate from him.

Starlight gleams off his skin, the blue shine accenting the sheen of sweat clinging to him. His muscles contract as he holds himself over you, and his hair hangs over his eyes. All you can do in your current state is push it back, basking in the softness of it.

Picking up his pace, he slides one of his hands down your body, his thumb connecting with your clit. You’re a moaning mess, clinging to him as the familiar sensation returns to the pit of your stomach.

His trembling breath fans across your ear as he leans close. You’re unsure of how to handle all of the pleasure, your body spasming. He presses a kiss on that sensitive spot.

“I love you,” he whispers.

And that’s all it takes to have you shatter around him, your back arching as you grip onto his shoulders for dear life. He moans loudly, hips stuttering as your walls clench. When he spills inside you, it’s as if the last piece of you two finally comes together.

In bliss, you tell him you love him, too, over and over.

He kisses you passionately once more before gently pulling out of you, reassuring you that he’ll be right back so you let go. Grabbing a towel from your bathroom, he cleans you up, gaze drinking up every part of you. Once he’s finished, he crawls next to you in bed, pulling you to his chest.

You’re still certain you’ll wake up, and all of this will have been a dream, but until then, you’re going to enjoy it. Burying yourself in the warmth of his chest, you hum in content when he pulls the blankets over the two of you.

Finally, he’s here.

He’s no longer a memory trapped within the piano keys in your foyer.

He’s your Chenle, never to leave your side again.

#nct dream #chenle #nct imagines #nct #nct dream smut #nct scenarios #nct smut #chenle smut #chenle fluff #chenle angst

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tojiscumdumpster · 5 months

Text

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ i. suguru

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⭑๋࣭ summary page

please refresh your memory of the content warnings that's mentioned on the summary page. this chapter will include s*xual activites.

“Ah, fuck, baby. Just like that.”

No. I lied. Not just like that.

I’ve been in the bathroom for twenty minutes with some chick, whose name I can’t remember, getting probably the worst head I’ve ever had in my life. I’m pretty sure I’m still soft, but her self-esteem won’t allow her pride to be tarnished by the lack of abilities she has to make me cum.

She approached me while I was having drinks with Satoru, Shoko, and Nanami. Well, really Shoko and Nanami because Satoru just keeps getting sugary milkshakes. Anyways, that’s not the point. She approached me. I thought she had nice lips, which I thought could be utilized to please me, but instead, she couldn’t stop talking.

“Do you like that, baby?” She asked, for maybe, the tenth time.

I groaned. Though, not in the way that she thinks. I couldn’t do this anymore, and I knew her knees were hurting. “No. Look, Akane,” I sigh, pulling her off me and lifting her to meet my face. “I don’t—”

“Ayame,” she interrupted. I gave her a confused look. “My name is Ayame. Not, Akane.”

My right eye twitched. “Okay, Ayame . Look,” I began, adjusting myself back in my pants. “I don’t like it. It’s okay, though. Maybe it’s not you. Maybe I’m just tired. But hey, I’ll get your number and we can try this some other time. Okay?”

“Ugh, whatever.”

I eventually got her number before we made our way out of the bathroom. I’m not going to text her. I was just trying to make her feel better.

My plans were never to hook up with anyone tonight, let alone leave my apartment. But Satoru insisted I needed to come out of my shell more.

I’m pretty sure that was code for, “You need to get laid.”

I argued with him that I don’t need anything. It wasn’t hard for me to find someone to have sex with. I’ve just been on a break because I haven’t found anyone who matches my libido or someone I actually enjoyed. Don’t get me wrong. Most of the women I’ve been with are beautiful. Physically, my type. However, they’re just too boring. Too prissy. It’s like they’re trying to prove something to me when I fuck them.

The unnecessary loud moaning.

The unnatural facial expressions when they cum.

Not wanting to be kissed after I eat their pussy, which I find strange because why wouldn’t you want to taste yourself? Questionable .

Anyways. This is the last time I’m allowing Satoru to drag me out of my apar—

My thoughts were interrupted by someone running into me.

“Oh! I’m sorry.”

That. . . That voice. Sultry. Raspy. All I heard were three words and I felt at ease. Her scent. It was alluring. Sweet. Delicate. I’m picking up notes of warm berries, creamy vanilla. Maybe cacao? She smells so fucking good. But when I looked at her? I’m convinced she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking laid eyes on.

Her complexion reminded me of autumn. Deep and warm. Those chestnut-colored doe eyes I knew I would become lost in if I didn’t look away. It didn’t take long before I took notice of the fullness of her lips. They were two different colors. Brown on top and pink on bottom, coated with a clear gloss. Gosh, I want to suck them. I want to suck them so fucking badly until she becomes whiny. My cock is getting hard just thinking—

“Hello?” She spoke again.

Suguru, what the fuck?

I looked down and noticed my fingers were still caged around her soft flesh. I immediately pulled away. “S-Sorry,” I stammered. Why am I so damn nervous?

She looked at me through narrow eyes with a hint of playfulness. “It’s okay. . . Well, enjoy your night.”

“Wait!” Before she turned away from me, I impulsively reached for her wrist to prevent her from leaving. Those brown hues that were amorous turned dark, daggers that penetrated my head. They were a warning to let her go. They make me want to be submit. So I didn’t let go. “What’s your name?”

I still see the daggers in her eyes, however, she slightly raised her brows while tilting her head out of confusion— boldness —of my decision to not let go of her wrist. My expression is deadpan, but I feel heat rushing to my body, to my cock. She drags her eyes up my six-foot-three frame, stopping at the front of my pants that caused my dick to twitch in response. She chuckled, snatched her wrist, and walked away from me.

I stood where she left me, lustful, watching her tight curls bounce every step she took, which I guessed to be to the bar.

I want her. No. I needed her. I’ll let our tension relax for now, but I hope my nights end with her bouncing on my cock.

Later that night. . . .

I sit at the booth, dividing my attention between the conversation being held at the table and the bar, where the woman I ran into earlier sits. I can’t stop thinking about fucking her. The image of her thick curves plays in my mind. She’s so sexy. That backless dress that clung to her hips drove me insane. I was craving those love handles. I wanted to hold them. Bite them to leave my territorial marks. What the fuck is wrong with me? This instant lust was foreign to me. I don’t remember the last time my cock was this eager. Maybe never.

“Suguru!” Satoru’s voice tore me away from my perverted thoughts.

“Huh?” I answered, but my attention was still on the bar.

He pouted. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Uhm, yeah. You were talking about throwing a surprise party for Utahime,” I said, hoping I was right because I did want to hear a speech about ignoring him.

“No. That was thirty minutes ago.”

“Okay, sorry. Repeat what you said.”

He sighed. “There’s no point. You’re not even looking at me. What are you even looking at over. . . Ohhh, I see.” I knew Satoru would begin mocking me based on his voice and how he slurped the remnants of probably his fourth milkshake tonight.

“Aren’t you glad I dragged you out tonight? If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have seen her,” he says, scooting closer to nudge me. “She’s gorgeous.”

I snapped my attention back to Satoru with possessive eyes. Why? She’s not my girlfriend. I don’t even know her name, but she was off-limits. Mine. I know she’s gorgeous. He didn’t have to fucking tell me that.

I decided not to play into his obvious game. My time can be used elsewhere. Like sitting next to that beautiful woman. I’ve been watching her for the past three hours, seeing how several men, at least ten or more approached her with their advances.

She declined every single last one. But I didn’t care. Seeing her reject a couple of men would never hurt my ego. . . especially since I knew she’d be mine.

I had nothing to worry about.

I left the table for the second time tonight and this time, I’m not planning on returning.

Every step that I took, brought me closer to the woman of my dreams. Her rich scent starts to fill my senses. She’s making me have a smell kink. If she smells that delectable, I could only imagine the scent of her pussy. I’d do anything to run my nose along her natural odor.

Focus, Suguru. You can’t go over there hard.

Yes, I can, and I will.

I was close enough to be in the shot of her peripheral, making her notice me. She sized me up before giving her attention back to the large televisions surrounding the bar. I smirked. She’s enticing. She may or may not make me work for pussy, but I don’t mind at all.

Of course, I’m a gentleman, so I asked if the seat next to her was taken. I’m sure the other guys asked her this same question. I saw her reject them. She didn’t say yes or no to me. So naturally I took it as a yes.

I nodded at the bartender. “Open a tab for me. Double Hibiki on the rocks, and add this lovely lady’s tab onto mine,” I told him.

“I can pay for my tab,” she says, eyes remaining on the TV.

“I don’t remember saying that you couldn’t. Now did I?” I saw her roll her eyes, which made me chuckle. Fuck, I like her even more. “Are you going to tell me your name now?”

She lightly scoffs. “Why are you being so clingy over a name? And common courtesy, you introduce yourself before asking for someone’s name. Do you lack mannerisms?”

Twenty-four words.

That’s how many words she spoke to me, and I watched her plush lips pronounce every last syllable.

She speaks to me with such spice, but I know she’d sound so sweet while my cock is in her depths.

Fuck .

“You’re right. Maybe you can forgive my lack of mannerisms ,” I say, teasingly. “My name is Geto Suguru.”

She finally gives me her attention, scanning my arms that are painted with tattoos before actually looking at my face, leisurely. But says nothing and returns to watch whatever is on TV.

I continued, “I didn’t get your name?” The bartender placed my whiskey in front of me and I nodded my gratitude while waiting for her name.

“Because I didn’t give it. What do you want anyways? Placed a bet with your friends to see if you could get an older woman’s number? Hm?”

I threw my hands up in surrender, chucking. “No, and older? We’re probably the same age. I can even argue that you’re younger than me.”

“Ha, I doubt it.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Me or you?” she asks.

“Me.” I take another sip of my drink. “You?”

“Damn, you want my name and age? Should I give you my ID number, too?”

She’s such a fucking tease.

“I’ll settle for your name and age.” For now.

Her lips part into a smile that pulls strings inside my chest. “Ah, asking a woman’s age. . . There goes those lack of manners.”

I smirk. “I just want to make sure I can be in this territory.”

We lock eyes. Hers shines curiosity and mine shines intent. I want her to understand that I’m not going anywhere unless it’s with her. For a moment, I allowed my eyes to fall on her gloss-coated lips, then the rest of her body to make my message clear. Something in me wanted the boldness to leak and tell her how badly I wanted her on my cock, but I chose to play it safe.

“Thirty-five.”

“Me or you?” I teased, earning another eye roll from her.

“And for your information,”—she raises her left hand—“territory off limits. I have a husband.”

Oh, so she is married.

Funny she thinks that’s going to stop me. Like I’m supposed to give a fuck.

“Well, I think it’s silly that your husband is allowing such a beautiful woman such as yourself”—my eyes roam along her curves—“to come out alone and potentially have other men make a move on her. No?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say, Geto? Just spit it out.”

Say my fucking name like that again.

I got up from my seat, invading her personal space to ghost my lips along her ear, making it clear, “I want to fuck you. . . so badly. ” The last words came out as a faint whisper.

I stood there for a moment so my clear message could linger. If I didn’t know any better, her breathing quickened for a moment. I sat back in my seat and watched her attentively to see if I could catch a reaction. Her face showed none, but the subtle uncrossing and crossing of her legs told me everything I needed to know.

She’s aroused.

Wet .

Dripping.

But she didn’t say anything. Only cleared her throat and sipped on her near-empty glass of wine.

We sat in silence for at least ten minutes and just when I was about to call the bartender for another round for the both of us, she stood up. She started walking away, and rather than reaching for her wrist like I did the last time, I watched her sway her full hips in the direction of the restrooms. She has been drinking, so of course she probably needs to go clear her system. However, the small look over her shoulders in my direction said otherwise.

I chugged the rest of my whiskey, pulled out cash, leaving more than needed, and followed her.

Our lips collided, kissing recklessly like two horny college kids at a frat party. My hands rummaged through her body to leave firm grips along her thick curves. Every grip I left was a handful that caused her whimpers to leak into my mouth. I sucked on her lips before allowing my tongue to invade her mouth, where I was met with heaven. She tasted so fucking sweet and was so damn soft. Kissing her alone could make me cum.

My cock is screaming for a release, being uncomfortable due to the restraint of my pants that keeps its hardness from fully erecting. I’m in between wanting to take my time with her and being eager to fuck her, so I choose the latter. I lifted her with ease onto the sink, parting from her lips to drag mine along her flesh. I suck, nip, and lick that sweet and succulent neck of hers. She whimpers, more so whines, and I couldn’t get enough of how sexy she fucking sounds. Not forced. Not trying to impress me. Just pure bliss.

I found my way between her breasts to leave open-mouth kisses while playing with her nipples through the sheer material. She loses her fingers in my hair, pulling me closer to her until my air circulation was blocked. She’s fucking needy too?

“Geto,” she moans, softly.

“Hm? What’s wrong, pretty girl?”

“ I need more. ”

“You need more, what?” I ask, pulling down her straps to expose her breasts.

They’re so full. I’m met with the prettiest titties I have ever seen. Naturally saggy. Slight stretch marks. Dark brown peaks.

They’re fucking perfect.

I continue, “Use your words. I don’t know what you need if you don’t tell me.” Then start sucking on her nipples.

Her gasps fill the bathroom, and while I’m showing love to her breasts, she begins hiking up her dress and spreads her legs.

I smell her.

How wet she is.

Her scent is telling me that she’s dying to cream on my cock. But I need to hear it.

“Geto. . . I need you to fuck me, ” she purrs.

I stopped sucking her breasts to level with her face. Both of our hues are darkening with an appetite for each other. Lust. Hunger. A need for a release. I pulled out a condom from my pocket and held it in my mouth. Without breaking our intense eye contact, I unbuckle my pants to push down, along with my briefs, in one motion to free my cock. She looked down and sucked in a sharp breath before bringing her eyes back up to me.

She’s probably thinking that she can’t take me. But she will. That’s what I’m here for. To help her and make sure she does.

I ripped the wrapper with my teeth to roll on my cock, still not taking my eyes off her. I will never stop watching her. I need to see her reaction to everything I do.

When I finish pushing her dress up to her waist.

When her brows draw together when I pull her panties to the side and run my fingers along her puffy folds to rub her clit.

She looks so damn pretty when she’s pleased. I’m anticipating her face when I’m finally inside her.

I pull her to the edge of the sink, lining my cock up to her entrance to push in. But I was met with an intrusion. My head was barely in. When was the last time she got fucked?

“Hm, stubborn we’re being. Aren’t we?” I taunt.

“It’s been a minute,” she teases back.

That’s fine. We’ll fix that.

I bring my fingers back to her pussy to warm up her walls. The moment I slipped inside, she immediately clenched onto my fingers. I only had two in and I felt like I was being pushed out again. I’m not going anywhere though. I pump my digits in and out of her, pulling the most obnoxious and pornographic sounds of wetness. It’s like music to my ears. My only intent was to open her up a bit, but I could tell she was dying to cum.

She looks at me through lidded eyes, softly panting and holding my wrist. I pick up my speed while now rubbing her clit with my thumb. Her walls clamp tighter and together around my fingers. She was about to cum, so she kept my hand on her sex to ride out her orgasm.

“ F-Fuck . . . Geto. I’m cumming.” Earlier she was spicy to me, but now she cries and sounds so sweet cumming on my fingers.

She’s open and ready to cum for me again.

I grabbed my cock to slam myself inside of her in one motion, which gifted me with a sharp cry I’m sure anyone outside could hear. She slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds of pleasure, but I shook my head and removed her hand.

“When I’m inside of you. . .”—I pulled back—“When I’m making you cum. . .”—I pushed in—“You call me Suguru. Okay?” She nodded, placing her hand below my abdomen to hold my shirt up to prepare for my thrusts. “Good girl.”

I didn’t let her adjust to my size. She could take it. I know she can. I start fucking her with hunger while keeping her legs apart. Gosh, she’s so fucking tight. So wet and warm. I doubt her husband knows what to do with her pussy because she wouldn’t be here crying on my cock.

I stuff every inch of me in her depths to pull out her moans. To watch how gorgeous she looks while being fucked. I want to ask her if can I feel her raw because this fucking rubber is preventing me from feeling her a hundred percent. But I don’t want to show my greed

Not yet, at least.

I’ve never had pussy this good before. Pussy that’s leaking and creaming all over me. No one else deserves this but me. Fucking pussy this good is pure luck, and I feel like the luckiest man alive.

“You’re doing so good, Suguru. This feels so fucking good,” she moans. “Fuck me harder.”

Her praise makes my dick twitch. Imagine being praised by someone with pussy as good as hers.

I’m so lucky.

However, her need for more makes me possessive. I ripped her away from the sink to place her back against the door and fucked her against it. The door jiggles from our intense fucking and it only jumps more the harder I fuck her.

“W-Wait! S-Suguru, it’s too. . . it’s too much. You’re too big, ” she stammered through breathy moans.

I clicked my tongue. “You begged me to fuck you harder and now it’s too much?”—I shook my head—“Take this cock like a good girl because I know you can. I know you can. Just take it for me. Okay? Hm? Will you do that for me? I just want to make you cum one more time. Is that okay?”

Every word I spoke to her I felt her squeezing my cock. I can feel her cumming again soon. She just needed reassurance.

“. . . O-Okay . I’ll take it, Suguru. I’ll take it .”

I repeatedly pecked her lips. “Fuck. Thank you, angel. Thank you for giving me this good pussy. This fat wet pussy. Do you realize how good you feel?”

I continued pounding into her and pulling her down on my cock simultaneously. I noticed how her full tits bounced out completely of her dress with every thrust I made, and how her chestnut-colored eyes became glossy, tears pricking. She’s high off ecstasy because of me. Not her pathetic ass husband. I don’t even know the guy, but how big of a loser you have to be not to worship a woman as enticing as she is.

I think I’m infatuated.

No, I love her. She needs to be mine. I’m the only motherfucker that needs to fuck her like this. This cannot be a one time deal. I’m going to make her cum again tonight. Tomorrow. The day after. The weekend. All day, every day. Only me.

Suguru. Relax.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, but her heightened moans brought me back. She doesn’t care about being loud anymore. Yes. Cry my name loud enough so the whole restaurant knows who’s making you cum like a slut in the bathroom.

“Yes. Oh, fuck, yes! Give it to me, Suguru. Give it,” she begs while rubbing her clit. “I’m about to cum again.”

I push through every single last of my thrusts, digging my fingers into her flesh to keep her in place. “Look at my pretty girl taking this fucking cock.” I fuck her with the energy of a lion chasing its prey. “Like this?”

“Fuck yes. Right there. I’m cumming, Suguru!”

I’m indecisive about letting her moans roam freely or devouring them with a kiss. And she looks so pretty. That fucking smile, while libido pumps through her veins, has my cock jumping inside of her unruly. I’m doing my best to hold back my release, but the feel of her pussy is not making it easy.

I look down between us and fucking groan from seeing the creamy mess she’s making. My cock down to my balls. The hem of my shirt. Her thighs. Even after she orgasmed, her pussy grips me. I know I told myself I wouldn’t be greedy just yet, but fuck that.

“One more?” I panted, smirking.

Her eyes blew wide. “S-Suguru, no. I don’t think I can.”

“So why is your fucking pussy still latching onto me?” I was left with nothing but a whimper. “Exactly. Keep rubbing your clit until you cum again and squirt all over me.”

I remove her from the door to hook my arms under her thighs to have her meet with my precise thrusts. She hooks one of her hands around my neck while the other is being used to play with herself. I feel my balls growing heavy and they slap against her sex.

I was recklessly fucking her pussy like I have no home training. I moan for her. Call for her despite me not knowing her name. I’m lucky. I’m so, so lucky. Fuck her husband. This pussy is mine. I don’t care if this is our first encounter. I’ll kill over pussy like this.

“Ahh, fuck!” I growled. My release crept up to the tip of my cock and sprayed the inside of the condom while I fucked her through both of our orgasms. She splashed all over me, drenching my cock, shirt, and pants with her juices.

I hope she doesn’t think this is the last time we’ll see each other.

I rest my face on the side of her cheek, breaking heavily from that intense orgasm. I know the condom is filled to the stop. I had years worth of cum built inside of me, and I still feel like I have more to give.

She looks at me, eyes still filled with lust and smirks. “Not too bad, Geto.”

“I thought I told you to call me Suguru,” I say, leaving kisses on her neck.

“You said only when I’m cumming on your cock.”

She listens.

“I did say that. Didn’t I?” I let out an airy chuckle. “Still call me Suguru.”

“Okay, Suguru .” It rolls off her tongue perfectly even when she’s not moaning. “I enjoyed myself.”

I nipped on her jawline before meeting her lips with a sensual kiss. “I did too. I want to do it again.”

“You got three nuts out of me. How greedy can you be?” She teases.

If only she knew.

“No. Not tonight. I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but not tonight. Another time.”

She looks at me in confusion. “One night stands aren’t your cup of tea?” She taps my shoulders to let her down, so she can start fixing herself. We shared a final moan when I removed my cock from her pussy. The lost contact made me want her more.

“They are, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with enjoying each other’s company. No?”

“No, but”–she pulls down her dress—“you’re forgetting that I’m married.”

I arched my brow, teasingly. “Did I forget or did you?”

She glares at me. “Seems like I have a thing for jackasses with good dick.”

There goes that spice again.

“Look. That’s not what I meant and you know that.”

“Ha. Oh, do I?”

I watched her finish adjusting herself in the mirror, grabbing her purse, and heading for the door. The moment her hand lands on the handle, I put my hand on top of hers to keep the knob from turning. By all means, she’s not a short woman. Maybe five-foot-seven at most. But even with heels, I tower her.

Wrapping my free arm around her waist, I push myself against her so she can feel my erection against her ass. My lips meet with her ear, and I know she’s affected by my actions because I heard the moment her breath hitched.

“It’s just. . . you’re so damn beautiful . You can’t give me that good pussy and expect me to only want it once,” I whisper. “I haven’t even tasted you yet.”

“ Suguru . . .” Her voice was soft, barely above a hushed tone.

“Hm?”

She turns around. Our eyes lock once more. Her plush lips ghost over mines, nearly kissing me, but says, “ Go fuck yourself, ” and walks out the door.

Yeah. I think I love her.

I follow behind her like a lost puppy. “Wait!” She stops in the hallway near the bathrooms. “You still didn’t give me your name.”

Smirking over her shoulder, she left me there with a semi-hard cock and her name.

“Y/N.”

Y/N. . . Perfect.

I hope she doesn’t think this will be the last time I see her.

It’s not.

Far from it.

next chapter

#jjk x black reader #jjk x reader #anime x black!reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x black reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto x black reader #geto x reader

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hr43s · 2 months

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His favorite

Teacher Joel x f!reader

Summary: You’re a needy girl who needs to be taken care of, the pressure of studies weighting on your back making you sleep deprived. He is a reserved man in his 40’s thinking his age can’t attract a love interest into his life. And he’s needy too.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI . Unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, Possessive Joel, reader is in her 20’s, No specific description of reader body except the gender and outfit. Age gap, no outbreak, porn w/plot, very slightly mean Joel ( he just doesn’t show much fluff ), dirty talk, no use of y/n

w/c: 2.1k (this is short, see a/n )

a/n: this is my first smut hence why it’s short !!! PLEASE GIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, I wanna learn !! Also give ideas if you have any <3 If this gets a few likes and some appreciation I might keep going with this so tell me if you’re intrested !!!

His eyes makes you shiver every time he looks at you, like thunderbolt sliding along your spine all the way down to your core making it ache so bad for him. Your head hurts like hell, the sound surrounding you feeling like a bell ringing constantly in your ears as the students around you chats in group, thinking about their projects.

“Hey ? Are you okay ? You seem distracted.” The girl next to you interrupting the bell

“Yeah, head hurt that’s all” you feel your heart pumping in your head, and hear your blood stream in your ears.

“ You better focus, I don’t want my art grade to go down just because of you” she spits

You can’t stand the people around you. Ever since you started university a few years back, everybody turned into unfriendly assholes thinking having a second of inattention can ruin their whole year

They’re not wrong, in a way. You’ve been distracted since the start of the year by your art teacher, Mr.Miller, and you can’t think of anything but his brown hair with a pinch of white snow on the roots, his messy beard with a visible growth along the neck and his square glasses makings his jawline stand out more. You want to kiss it, bite it.

There you go again, not paying attention, but at least you forgot about your headache for a second.

You take a box full of pills and a water bottle half empty out of your handbag and put one in your mouth, swallowing it with the mid temperature water making you grin.

“ Is everythin’ okay here ?” He say, him, Mr Miller. “ Noticed you were making faces and didn’t seem to focus too much, need’a hand to the nurse office ?”. You can feel your cheeks turning red, a burning sensation matching with the burning between your thighs. That’s how bad your attraction to him is.

“ I’m okay, I took a pill but thanks” you nod, putting your head back between your hands.

You suddenly feel a large hand on your shoulder, making you lift your face again.

“You’re going to the nurse office, right now” he say with a harsh tone.

He is now next to you, walking you to the nurse office. You start walking a bit wobbly, feeling his eyes on you making you forget how to walk normally. As you get near the office, his pace speeds up a bit to walk in front of you, reaching for the door to open it. He lets you in with a small gesture of his hand telling you to go in.

“Hi Mr. Miller, what’s the matter ?” The nurse says, giving him a huge smile showing her bright white teeth.

“student here lookin’ sick, I’m worried it might get worse with everybody around her chattin’” he says while putting a hand on your back between your elbows.

“I already took a pill, I’m going to be fine, just need a few minutes” your voice low, trying to avoid your head to hurt even more.

“Well I’d be happy to help but I’m going to close soon and you already took a pill, I’m afraid I can’t do anything else to ease the pain darling” she looks at you with a soft smile

She has always been so nice to you, and other people in general. All the times you came in with a bad migraine after a busy night drinking shots of vodka, or for period cramps, she’s been extremely helpful.

“I could take her in my office for the next 30 minutes. Class is ending in 5 minutes and I don’t have any class for half an hour”

You get taken aback once again from your thoughts, your eyes widening from what he just said. You can’t possibly stay in a room alone with just him, HIM, the man who haunts your day dream. The one who’s looking at you in class silently, while you wished he was touching you, feeling you right here on your desk

You’re out of the nurse office and on your way to your teacher’s office two hallways away. You can’t think straight because of your headaches. The both of you reach his door, he take the keys to his office from his back pocket on in his pants and open the door.

“ You wait here, don’t touch anythin’. You can sit on the couch or the office chair, whatever you prefer”

He leave the office, looking back at you when closing the door behind him, catching your gaze.

His office is well decorated. Plants sitting almost everywhere. A succulent on his desk and a few on some shelves with books; a monstera in the corner next to a small CD reader with a disk already in, and other plants you can’t name. His office is mostly brown with wood furniture. His desk is near the back of the room in front of tall windows with black curtains giving the room a dim light, a leather chair tall enough to support his broad back. The couch is near the door, it’s small but there’s enough space for two. The book shelves are on the left of his desk, on the other side some closed shelves with the CD reader on it and a box filed with disk in it. There’s a Lamp at the far end that is turned off.

After a few minutes of contemplating the room, the door opens up again with a large figure coming in.

“I brought you a hot chocolate, didn’t know if ya liked coffee so I went the safe way”

Your headache went down a bit, probably from scanning the room around you that is weirdly relaxing and cozy.

“Thanks, my head feels better by the way” you sit down on the couch.

“That’s good news” he says, putting the hot chocolate cup down on his desk. “ So uh, I didn’t wanna make this too embarrassing so I wanted to talk to you about the project we’re currently doing in class.” He leans on his desk, his butt on the edge of it.

“ ‘Noticed you didn’t seem to fit in well with your classmates, but this is a group project and you need’a work with them, or I’ll have to grade you down.”

He takes the cup from his desk, stands up and hands it to you. You reach for it when your fingers accidentally brushes his, making the hair on your arms and neck rise. He stands a few inches in front of you, crossing his arms.

“I know, sorry. It’s just that my friends aren’t in the same classes as me and I kinda struggle to make friends.” You sip from the cup.

He hasn’t moved, his eyes scanning your body before he notices his own movement and looks away.

“Still. You need to be careful, this could be bad for your grades” he goes back to his desk and turns your back to you, reaching for something on his desk and stars fidgeting with it. Rays of sun are peaking out from the curtains, highlighting his figure. A minute goes by, the both of you staying silent until-

“I noticed you looking at me during class, and this almost every time. Are you being distracted by me ?” He turns around.

Your eyes meet his, a hint of panic in yours.

“l uh…haven’t noticed” your heart pounding in your chest. You’re sure he can hear it. You stand up, anxiety making your legs feel numb.

He walks to you, standing close to your face.

“I’m warning you, this is not appropriate, you know that right ? “ his eyes on your lips, almost devouring them.

“Well, what if I am ? “ you look in his eyes, hoping that this is going the way you want it to go. If not, you will just keep dreaming about him in class and in your bed with your hand down I’m your panties

“I wouldn’t wanna risk anything if I were you darlin’” his breath hitting your face. You know he wants to touch, feel your whole body against him.

“We can just…be careful” your eyes almost begging

“Yeah, you’d be my little secret huh ?” his hands grips your waist, making you gasp, the burning sensation between your thighs growing bigger.

His lips suddenly crash onto yours, teeth touching as he brings you closer to him making your hips grind against his. Moans escape his mouth and yours between kisses.

He pushes you to the nearest wall keeping his lips on yours, reaching to lock the door with a swift movement.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so fuckin’ long “ he grabs your shirt and takes it off, while you zip off your skirt and toss it away.

“Fuck Mr. Miller…are you sure you wanna do this ?” You say while trying to catch your breath.

“I’m more than sure Angel, as long as you’re down for it I’ll do anything you want”

At this point your headache is long gone and forgotten and all you think about is him, him him him.

“Also please, call me Joel” he say as he grips your left leg and put it around his waist, making it easier for him to slide his hand down your cunt.

“Fuck you’re so fucking wet…Been’ wanting me the whole time huh ? “ he grins as his fingers rub against your clit, slowly building up your arousal.

“Please, please just fuck me already” your moans becoming louder and your breath going faster as your hands try to unbuckle his belt.

“Jesus you’re so needy, but you need to be quite, or else we’re gonna get caught, you don’t want that huh ?” He ask as he slides two fingers into your cunt, making you gasp.

“Fuck Joel, “ hearing you say his name is making him go feral. He lift you up in his arms, your legs around his waist as he turn around to put you on his desk, tossing some of his stuff to the ground including his poor little succulent plant.

“When’s the last time someone fucked your pretty cunt, huh ?” He takes his belt away, unzip his pants and take his hard growth into his hand, then slowly rubs it against your wetness.

“It’s been way too long, that’s why you need to stop waiting and fuck me already “

He obeys and starts grinding against your cunt, until his length slips into your core , stretching you out

“fuck you’re so tight Angel” he pants as his hips starts trusting into you, going deeper and deeper.

Your hands grips to his desk, desperately searching for hold as your body moves up and down.

“Shit Joel I think im gonna cum already” you say as his trust are getting deeper touching your sensitive spot inside.

“I wanna taste ya’ on my tongue” he comes out of you, leaving you empty, pussy clenching around nothing as he comes down on you. His breath hits the inside of your thighs, hot and fast until his tongue finally touches your swollen clit.

You gasp loudly, the fleshy part of your hand in your mouth to cover the filthy sound of you enjoying the tongue of your teacher on yourself.

“You taste so good baby, I’m gonna need this as a dessert every fuckin’ night”

He pushed two digits inside of you moving slowly to build your high until you finally cum, covering his fingers with your slit as he takes them inside of his mouth and licks it off.

“Fuck” you pant, coming down of your high with your heart racing maybe too fast

You know he probably ruined you for any other man, as short as it was, his cock was surely way bigger than you thought.

He stands up, putting his pants and belt back on.

“wait you didn’t finish, maybe I can help you out” you say, grabbing his tie making him come closer to your face, nose almost touching.

“Maybe for next time, sweetheart.”

Next time ? Oh. My. God. Next time.

“You wanna see me again?”

“Why not ? ‘s long as we keep this secret then I’m fine in fucking your here ‘n there in my office” the side of his lips lifting.

“ I’m down but, I’m not sure I just want to be some kind of doll to you.”

Your love for him is growing, there’s no doubt. But you want more than just sex here and there. You take a pen from a cup on his desk and a note from the note pad to write your number down and put it in the pocket of his buttoned up shirt.

“Well, was scared to ask but yeah, maybe we can go further than just some filthy sex” you look in his eyes, a smile showing on your face.

“What about going out to the restaurant just down the street then maybe I’ll let you suck me off ‘til I cum”he say, smiling back at you, exiting the room.

#joel miller smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #Pedro pascal fandom #one shot #teacher crush #joel miller teacher x reader #Joel miller teacher

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morganbritton132 · 1 year

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what do EMTTS eddie and steve look like in 2023? how have their styles evolved with age?

So, I don’t have a very well-defined image of them in my head for this AU.

I know that some people have said before that they just picture the characters as they are on the show, and I don’t want to be too particular and disrupt the version that someone has in their head. I feel like we’re pretty too far into this AU to set hard and fast rules, you know?

But I’ll throw out some of my HCs for this older couple.

I think they are both aging exceptionally well. Steve a little more than Eddie because he’s moisturized his entire life.

They’re both pretty fit but soft in that way you get as you get older. A large part of Eddie’s job is running around on stage and Steve works out as a hobby. They’re healthy but neither are sporting a six pack.

I love the HC that Steve goes gray early. He found his first gray in his late twenties and is a full silver fox by the time he’s thirty. He never thought to dye it and honestly, it’s a great look on him. Eddie’s graying too but slower. He still has a lot more brown than gray in his hair.

I don’t think Steve’s style ever really changes much. I think he just gets more comfortable with himself. He’s still going to wear a nice polo and well-fitted jeans when he wants to look nice, but he also wears things that aren’t in style now. He holds onto his clothes for longer instead of switching them out for the newest trend and he wears a lot of sweaters and cardigans.

Steve’s a teacher and he has been for decades. You know he owns some of the weirdest cardigans you’ve ever seen.

I think Eddie’s style has gotten more elaborate and more casual as the time went on. When Corroded Coffin made it big, he was suddenly able to afford a lot of the clothes that he always wanted. His stage clothes got flashier and bigger, and his casual clothes got better, but you always eventually fall back to what you like.

Eddie’s got a closet full of old band tees and ripped jeans. It’s what he likes to wears. Sure, his rings are nicer and he’s got better accessories, but he was already settled in who he was when they got famous. There wasn’t must else to change about him.

#You know since Wayne is balding you can make jump that Eddie would too #but I don’t wanna live in an alternate universe where Eddie doesn’t have his long curly hair #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

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themeatpit37 · 20 days

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Something’s Wrong With Sunny Day Jack Random Assorted Headcanons

This is just a fun little collection of random headcanons I got! Mostly showing these since I have been wanting to write for a while but either haven’t had the energy or any idea of what to write. Enjoy!

❤️💛💙☀️Sunny Day Jack☀️❤️💛💙

I have a lot of headcanons for Jack but one of them is that he LOVES it when people run their fingers through his hair. He will practically melt into their touch like he was starved of attention and hold your arms so they don’t stop. His hair is VERY soft too so it’s heavenly to touch! A win win scenario!

Jack is very much a physical guy. If anyone gives him permission, he will absolutely take the opportunity. It also has to do with his need to be seen since you can’t really forget someone who practically clings onto you! But seriously please let him hold onto you, he needs physical contact.

HE. LOVES. KISSES. Doesn’t matter where, when, or why just give them to him. He does prefer giving passionate and soft kisses though because to him they show how much he loves whoever he’s kissing.

Very much prefers honey on his pancakes over syrup. He’ll still use syrup but will use honey when it’s available. The natural taste honey has fits better on pancakes than maple or pancake syrup does. He does love a good blueberry syrup though!

🖤💀Shaun💀🖤

Shaun is very easily excitable in my eyes. You’re hyped about something? He is immediately hyped too! You could be explaining the history behind the creation of dishwashers or something and as long as you are happy, he is fully listening and engaging as much as he can all while hyping you up!

Attends furry conventions whenever he can. Is he a furry? No one knows anymore but he does know a few too many inside jokes though.

Canonically, I am pretty sure he is a monsterfucker but in my opinion I feel he likes “weird” monsters the most. Like yeah werewolves and demons are cool but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have at least one erotic dream about Seth from The Fly.

His favorite fall drink is apple cider! Hot cocoa is nice but a warm mug of spiced apple cider just hits different especially with a squirt of whipped cream!

🧡🌿Ian🌿🧡

To me, I always read Ian as a very emotional guy. Wears his heart on his sleeve type. It’s kind of a side effect of his home life and the way people treated him as he got older.

His favorite flavors are cinnamon, brown sugar, matcha, and pistachio. Flavors for what? Anything really. But mostly in either baked goods or drinks. Speaking of, his favorite milk flavor is a tie between strawberry milk and banana milk.

I get the vibe that on social media, he follows mostly cute animal accounts, food blogs, and aesthetic pages of many varieties. His favorites are the ones that post outfits or accessories for outfit ideas.

One of his biggest fears is spiders and most insects! Something about them just makes him freak out, especially if they got lots of legs like a centipede. Even caterpillars freak him out sometimes, but he rarely ever kills them. Most of the time they get put under a cup and released.

🩶🩵👾Nick👾🩵🩶

Due to us not knowing much about him, most of this is based off nothing but vibes. He is 100% a collector though. He has a whole binder of Pokémon cards, multiple blind bag toys of his favorite games and expensive figurines sit on his shelf, posters are all over his room walls, and his collection is constantly growing.

Very superstitious. If he learns about an urban legend from another country, it becomes part of his beliefs like hiding your thumbs in your pockets while passing cemeteries to keep your parents safe or throwing salt over your shoulder after spilling a salt shaker.

Sometimes when he is alone with his dogs, Pico and Cheese, he’ll have full on conversations with them like they’re people who know what he’s talking about. Usually it’s a rant about someone annoying he had to deal with or explaining what happened at work that day.

Naps often. If you give him an opportunity to nap, he will take it. Even if he gets the best night of sleep in the whole universe, he’ll always be ready to take a nap. Bonus points if it’s with someone he likes or if his dogs are there.

#sunny day jack #something’s wrong with sunny day jack #somethings wrong with sunny day jack #sdj #swwsdj

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marvelmusing · 13 days

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A Fresh Start

part two of the Someone Special AU

Pairing: Vampire!Darklina x Vampire!Reader

Summary: Settling into life as a vampire isn’t what you expected, but Aleksander and Alina are more than happy to guide you.

Warnings [18+]: mentions of masturbation, nudity, soft dark vibes, similar warnings to part one, vampire themes, blood consumption, reader is reliant on Aleksander and Alina for everything

My Masterlist

The first day you spend with Aleksander and Alina appears to have been a fluke - the last of your human energy being used up - because by the next day you’re exhausted. Aleksander assures you it’s normal for a fledgling vampire to sleep for the majority of the day when they’re a newborn.

It doesn’t take long for your mind to melt into a hazy mess. All that you’re aware of is forehead kisses, the sweet taste of hot blood in your mouth, and the sticky mess of arousal between your thighs that they wipe away carefully with a damp cloth.

Sometime during the fourth or fifth day, Aleksander is carrying you to bed after feeding you his blood, only for you to tighten your grip, looping your arms around his neck when he attempts to let go of you.

“No,” you whine, pitifully high with distress as you cling to him. “I’m not tired.”

“Yes, you are, little one. You need your sleep.”

Aleksander settles you down on your mattress and helps you slip underneath the covers, tucking you in with care. For comfort, he gives you one of the plush animals from the collection Alina has lovingly assembled over the years of preparation for you - a fluffy brown bear with a cream bow around its neck - which you grasp onto, fidgeting with its ear in agitation.

When he turns away, heading for the doorway, you can no longer hold back your tears. The prospect of an empty bed, and falling asleep in the dark, has your throat constricting in fear.

“Aleksander,” you plead, sniffling as you press the bear tightly against your chest to ease the discomfort there. “Please don’t leave me alone.” He stops immediately. “I know it’s silly, but after what happened in the forest, I- I’m scared of the dark.”

He doesn’t say anything until he’s standing beside your bed, reaching over the bars to wipe your cheeks.

“Would you like me to stay with you until you fall asleep?” he suggests softly.

You nod.

Aleksander moves over towards one of the cabinets at the side of the room, lifting the lid of a little box and a tinkling melody begins to play.

He opens up the gate closest to him, climbing easily onto your bed. Almost instantly, you scramble to lie beside him. The stuffed bear stays pressed against your chest as you drape your legs over Aleksander’s, grasping onto his shirt tightly.

He smiles as you bury your head into the crook of his neck and the tension leaks from your body the moment he begins petting your hair.

“There we go,” he breathes out softly. His voice is gentle as he continues doting on you. “Deep breaths. Just relax.” His hand strokes down your body, encouraging you to nestle further into him. “That’s better, isn’t it, sweet girl?” The hand that isn’t in your hair rubs your thigh, the bare skin exposed as your nightgown shifts upwards. “You’ve been so brave for us.” A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Such a good girl, sleeping and feeding when we tell you to.”

It hasn’t really been a conscious choice - adhering to the routine they’ve crafted for you. Hunger and exhaustion have been the driving forces behind your obedience. It’s hard not feed on Alina - when she offers you her fingers, sticky with blood from the shallow cuts created by her own fangs. Especially when her blood makes you feel so full, and warm, and safe. It’s almost embarrassing, the amount of times you’ve fallen asleep while feeding on them.

Just the thought of feeding makes you squirm slightly, a familiar heaviness growing between your legs. One morning, to your embarrassment, you had awoken with your hand tucked underneath your panties, fingers reaching for your leaking cunt. Aleksander had told you very firmly that he knew this instance was an accident, but you couldn’t touch yourself. Alina explained later on that it would overwhelm you.

Despite your frustration and arousal, you doubt your current capability to touch yourself efficiently enough to climax.

The scent of blood draws your attention back to the present, as Aleksander presses the pad of his thumb against your lips. Instantly, you open your mouth, allowing his thumb to press against your tongue. The tiny break in the skin there causes a casual flow of blood, just a taste. It’s the final nudge you need to fall asleep.

Aleksander would never let anything bad happen to you.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

As soon as you see Alina, a lightness fills your chest and your mouth waters. She smiles at you, casting the book she was reading aside.

“Good morning,” she says, gesturing for you to join her. “Come here, little one.” As soon as you’re within arms reach, she pulls you into her lap and you can’t stop yourself from smiling as you get comfortable. Her own smile widens. “That’s my girl.” She brushes some hair away from your face. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod. The conversations you’ve had with them both have been brief. Stolen moments between your naps and feeding sessions when your mind clears enough for you to focus on your words.

“How long will I be like this?” you ask her.

She frowns, her hands rubbing casually down your sides.

“What do you mean, sweet girl?”

“I’m always tired, and hungry.”

She laughs, petting your hair fondly.

“I’d say around another week.” That makes you frown slightly, trying to grasp the concept of time and whether a week is long. Thinking becomes more difficult, as your mind latches onto the sound of Alina’s heart beating. She seems to notice. “Are you hungry now, my darling?”

You nod, whining for her. She reaches over to the table beside her, picking up a fruit knife from the plate where a half sliced apple is sitting. With her other hand, she loosens the ribbons at the front of her dress.

Slowly, she drags the blade across the top of her breast, at the point where her chest begins to soften. The cut is shallow, but blood soon blooms brightly and the sight of it draws you in.

“Go ahead. Drink your fill.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

one week later

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It’s strange being out in sunlight. All the stories you’ve heard about vampires paint the image of a monstrous creature that belongs to the night. But the sun is gentle on your skin, shining cheerfully down on you.

Basket in hand, you follow Alina obediently as she pulls up potatoes from the garden. Her hands are muddy, as is her dress, but her eyes are bright as she relishes in the work. She hums a soft tune, a melody you’re familiar with but can’t quite identify.

It feels as though you’re seeing the world for the first time, staring up at the clear blue sky and smelling the rich dirt as a cool gust of wind strokes your cheeks. Birdsong echoes in the distance. The scent of flowers and greenery dances along the breeze.

Suddenly, you realise Alina has moved further down the patch at some point while you were distracted by an orange butterfly. Aleksander will be able to tell you what kind it is later.

“Feeling alright, sweet girl?” she asks, concern crinkling at her features. Quickly, you nod and head back towards her. “If you’re getting tired, we can go back inside?”

Immediately, you shake your head.

“No. I like being outside.”

She smiles softly, sweeping a stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“I do too.”

Aleksander is sitting beneath a tree in the corner of the garden, a book in his lap that he soon replaces with your head. He strokes your forehead gently, fingertips smoothing down the length of your nose as your eyes flutter closed, unused to the bright light of the sun.

Alina sits down beside him, retrieving a ripe berry which she holds against your lips and you bite eagerly into the morsel. Yesterday, they had begun your slow reintroduction to solid food, and strawberries from the garden are currently your absolute favourite. Everything tastes better now, though not as delicious as their blood.

Aleksander picks up his book, reading the story aloud. Alina turns the page for him, when needed, so that he doesn’t have to let go of you. The three of you sit there in the sun, while they provide you with all the affectionate touches and strawberries they can give you.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters @idohknow @vaguekayla @the-desilittle-bird

#aleksander morozova x reader x alina starkov #darklina x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #alina starkov x reader #darklina au #shadow and bone au #vampire au #shadow and bone x reader #vampire!aleksander morzova #vampire!alina starkov #vampire!reader

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in-class-daydreams · 8 months

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Talking Terms (Sebastian Sallow x Reader)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader Synopsis: Things are awkward between you and Sebastian after everything that happened with his uncle. You haven't spoken since before the holidays and this is the first time you've seen each other since the incidents. Your life is progressing with or without him, but you'd be a fool to deny that parts of you - all the important ones - remain with him. Notes/TW: Rich people. Also you're a member of the Black Family in this one. No use of YN. Unedited tho, ya girl ain't got attention span like that.

While families and lineage tended to hold a lot of weight where you lived, and everyone who wasn’t part of the main circle wished they were, money and status weren’t nearly worth the trouble, in your opinion. Late nights at tiresome soirees among the other pure-blood families tittering about how pure their blood is or whatever it is they talk about. You play the game, of course, just until you finally graduate from Hogwarts. As soon as that happens, you’ll never step foot in 12 Grimmauld Place again.

On the train to Hogwarts, you reach out to slide open a compartment door when a pale hand reaches past you.

“Please, let me get that for you,” your companion says, gesturing for you to enter first. Over the last several holidays, your family has been eager to introduce you to some other eligible pure-bloods your age. They were unsurprisingly heinous people, guilty of just about every prejudice in the book - against muggle-borns, against poor people, against women, it was like they had a checklist.

What was surprising was your odd fondness for Pollux Carrow, a fellow Slytherin you’d seen once or twice in the common room but never spoken to, hailing from the noble Carrow family. It would be a stretch to say you liked him. Growing up in a Sacred Twenty-Eight family of pure-bloods would always be a cauldron of generational trauma, and just because Pollux wasn’t a bad person, it didn’t mean he was the most saintly person, either.

The two of you enter the compartment and before Pollux can insist, you heft your bags into the overhead bin yourself. You sit, stretch out, and crack open the first book you grabbed on your way out the door that morning. The well-loved leather cover is soft beneath your fingers.

Goblets, Goblins, and Gobstones: An Anthology of Magical Folklore

Your heart clenches. You’d only received this a few months ago. You remember a flash of freckles and a boyish smile, telling you how he’d found it at a used bookstore and just had to get it for you. The tip of his nose was red from the cold, but he could not have cared less when you hugged him tightly and thanked him for the gift.

You’d gotten him a book as well, naturally, but you never got to give it to him.

“Merlin’s beard, that thing’s been through the wringer,” Pollux says from his seat.

You hum just to acknowledge him.

“Read it many times, then?” he asked.

The incident with Solomon Sallow happened not too long after. Since then, you couldn’t bring yourself to even open the thing. Not when you and the person you wanted to discuss it with the most weren’t speaking. You’d even given Ominis some space so as to not put him in a tight spot between his friends.

Finally, you reply, “It was a gift.”

Pollux eyes your book like it was diseased. “Interesting gift.”

This time you don’t deign to reply, knowing Pollux was one of those people who needed to have an opinion on everything.

Movement in the walkway catches your eye and you gasp when a shock of fluffy brown hair breezes past the window. Ominis’s unmistakable visage follows closely behind, visibly grabbing for the boy in front of him and steering him into your compartment.

“Do you have room for two more?” Ominis asks. His posh accent and soft voice were always pleasing to hear. “All the other compartments are full.”

You know very well that they’re not, but you play along anyway.

“By all means.” You move your legs and belongings out of the way and pat the seat beside you. With the other hand, you shove your book under your thigh.

Maybe it’s seeing him again after time apart or the leather tome that smells like him sitting just beneath your robes, but the words are out of your mouth before you can think better of it.

“Hi, Sebastian,” you murmur.

The boy in question looks confused that you addressed him at all. He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut before shaking his head and giving you a nod.

“Hello.” His voice is a tad deeper than you remember it and he looks more tired. He inclines his head towards your companion. “Carrow.”

“Hello, Sallow,” Pollux replied. What is it with boys and calling each other by their last names?

Sebastian quickly plants himself beside Pollux and busies himself in a book you’ve seen him read a hundred times before. He was reading it when you first met him in the common room, in fact. He buries himself in his reading, but his lips are pressed into a hard line and he’s squinting at the words.

Rather than stir up trouble, you turn to Ominis.

“How was your holiday?”

He laughs. “Of course it was,” then he seemed to remember Pollux, “fine. Good to see family again.”

Being in close proximity to the Gaunt family could never be described as ‘good,’ even for the more obedient members of the family, which Ominis was not.

Thinking quickly on your feet, you feign coughing into your fist.

“Are you alright?” Pollux asks.

“Yes, I’m fine.” You cough again. “My throat’s just a little dry.”

He jumps to his feet. “I’ll get you some water!” And with that, he’s gone. If your calculations were correct, he’d see some more Slytherins on the way to the beverage cart and get held up for at least ten minutes.

“Well, Ominis? How was it really?” you prod.

He rolls his milky eyes and scoffs. “As good as predicted, that is, not at all. My family has migrated to our country estate for the season and when it wasn’t contentious between us, it was terribly boring.” He shrugs tiredly. “And you? Does the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black have anything to do with your new companion?”

You cringe at the full title. “The social season is months away, and yet they insist that I meet the other pure-blooded hellspawn.”

“Unsurprising that they’d favor a Carrow for you,” Ominis sighs. “I think I’ve spent at least half my holiday in the presence of the Greengrass’ youngest.”

“She’s pretty, at least,” you comment before Ominis raises an eyebrow at you.

“I wouldn’t know.”

You desperately stifle your laughter.

“Besides,” he adds, “she takes great fun in making the house elves compete for sport.”

Wrinkling your nose, you ask, “Compete in what?”

“A better question would be what don’t they compete in?”

The two of you stare at each other in disgust before dropping the subject entirely. You steal a glance at Sebastian, who hasn’t turned the page since he opened his book and you know for a fact that he is an amazingly fast reader.

Ominis gives you a look that sends a shock of dread through you. He always made that face when he was planning something.

“Well, Garreth should be around here somewhere.” Ominis stood, stretching. “I have a book of his and I should pass it off to him now before I end up carrying it around for the rest of the day. I’ll be back shortly.”

You open your mouth to protest but he all but ran out the door. Sighing, you resign yourself to watching the landscape blur past through the window. Though, you note that Sebastian still has yet to turn the page. Part of you wants to say something, anything to fill the silence. Yet, what would you say? ‘I know you killed your uncle not too long ago, but how are you? Had a good holiday in an empty house?’ Or even ‘Remember how I prevented you from getting sent to Azkaban? So we’re good, right?’

Stealing another glance at him with his head nearly buried in the pages, you think about how the hardest part of being in this awkward place with Sebastian is that you don’t feel like you can talk to him. Before, you could sneak into the restricted section of the library and raid goblin camps and sit in the astronomy tower seeing who can invent the silliest new constellation.

Sebastian always won at that. It’s easy for smart people to be funny.

The two of you hadn't exchanged a single owl all holiday. Then, with all these memories in mind, you had to wonder: Did Sebastian miss you as much as you missed him? Of course, you had your bonds with Poppy and Imelda and Natty, but for all intents and purposes, Sebastian was your best friend. Being out of sync with him was like hearing a beloved song in the wrong key.

Even while your family paraded you around, introducing the different sons and daughters of the noble purebloods to you, you only thought of Sebastian. You’d never be fond of any of those bigots anyhow, but each of their flaws were in relation to him. They’d be too short or too tall, another lacking enough freckles, and then one wouldn’t laugh at a joke you made that would’ve had Sebastian rolling on the floor with tears in his eyes. They were all wrong on so many accounts.

Pollux was the best of them, which wasn’t saying much, but he wasn’t nearly as hateful as the rest of them. At the time, while you were missing someone, he was an acceptable stand-in.

Being alone with Sebastian was quickly becoming too suffocating. You stand and rush to the compartment door and in your haste you almost don’t register the dull thud behind you.

When you turn, you see Sebastian pick up the leather tome you forgot you had. He turns it over in his hands, his expression unreadable.

“Oh!” You exclaim nervously, reaching for it. “Thank you, I’m so clumsy.”

“You kept it?” Sebastian said quietly.

You were somewhat offended at the implication. When he turned, you forced yourself to look into his eyes when you replied, “Of course, I did. It was a gift and I wanted to know why you liked it so much.” By the time the words left your mouth, you wondered if you’d said too much.

Sebastian doesn’t look away. His grip on your book loosened and an array of emotions flashed across his face. The circles under his eyes had lightened since you last saw him, but they were still there.

He wordlessly passes the book back to you and your skin tingles where your fingers brush.

“I wanted you to know.” Sebastian broke eye contact, then seemed to catch himself and reestablished it. “I feel like you deserve to know that–”

You jump when the door slides open right next to you. Pollux stands on the other side holding two cups of water. He begins to speak when rush out the door, calling out some excuse about needing the restroom over your shoulder. Never mind that the restroom was in the opposite direction.

Just the next car over, you run into Ominis, who aims the red tip of his wand towards you.

“Why are you so upset? What did Sebastian say to you?” He demands, then his eyes widen in shock. “Did he give that to you?”

You nod, and adjust your grip on the book. “Yes, a while ago. He said he couldn’t wait until the proper holidays. But I haven’t gotten around to reading it. Not that I don’t want to, it’s just that it’s–”

“You’re rambling,” Ominis interrupts. You smile sheepishly and he looks solemn. “He loves that book more than life itself. Did he tell you that?”

The book is leather, with loose bindings and yellowing pages. “No? It’s just some folklore, I do tend to like stories like these,” you reply.

Ominis shakes his head. “It’s full of his old bedtime stories. His mother used to read it to him before she died. It’s one of the last memories of her he has.”

You stare at the book in disbelief, looking back and forth from it to Ominis. “You’re serious? I can’t take something like this! We’re not even on speaking terms!”

Ominis pats your shoulder on his way past you. “Impulsive as he may be, Sebastian doesn’t take this sort of thing lightly. If he gave it to you, he wanted you to have it. Perhaps talk to him about it? Or about anything for that matter. Honestly, the two of you would have significantly less problems if you just talked to each other.”

As he leaves, you stare after him, the book in your hand suddenly much heavier than it was before. Smiling softly, you find an empty compartment - you knew Ominis was lying earlier - and sit down. The smell of the old book is comforting when you turn the first page, and it reminds you of someone who smells just like it. For the first time in weeks, you relax and begin to read.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy imagines #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt

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pasukiyo · 7 months

Text

YOU'RE ALWAYS GONNA BE MINE

| PROLOGUE

a royalty au. remus lupin x princess!reader. multi-part series. series masterlist.

word count; 2,635 words summary; the princess is to be betrothed soon. but she's still so, so young, she has yet to even see the world! how can she marry a man she doesn't love, much less a man she has never even met? meanwhile, the full moon is in two weeks and remus is in the most pain he's ever felt. how much longer does he have to suffer, how much longer until the pain fades away?

so even in a different life, you still would've been mine, we would've been timeless...

‘Dear Lily,

Things have been less than exemplary here, I’m afraid. Peter has been practically breathing down my neck as of late… (I’ve just been told off for even writing that) …and I overheard mother and father talking yesterday. They’re going to force me into marriage.

I know I should be happy. This is my sole purpose as princess anyway, I should feel honored to have found a suitable prince to marry. Yet… I cannot help but to feel anything but. It feels like I am wasting my life away… why can I not find a man for myself? Why must I marry without falling in love?

I apologise for how short this letter has been. But it is becoming rather difficult to keep Peter from reading over my shoulder and quite frankly, I do not wish to succumb to another one of mother and father’s rants. Peter is such a sneak.

With all my love,

The Princess’

The princess sighed as she signed off her letter, narrowing her eyes up at Peter where he stood, an incredulous look upon his face as she rolled the parchment, tying it with a red, silky ribbon. “You don’t have to give me that look, Peter,” she said, fixing up the bow she had tied. “The letter is between me and Princess Lily, you don’t need to be such a snoop.”

Peter hissed, watching the princess as she rose from the desk, dusting off the skirt of her gown. “You understand that it is my job to keep you in line?” He scoffed, following close behind her heels as she walked up the steps of the Owlery, catching sight of her beloved owl, Athena. “Your mother will be very displeased if she were to know the contents of that letter.”

Her eyes rolled in their sockets as she soothed her fingers on Athena’s mottled brown and white head, a satisfied hoot slipping from her beak. “Which is why I trust that mother won’t hear of this,” she said, her lips curved in a cheeky grin as she tied the parchment to Athena’s claw. “Deliver this to Lily, would you, Thena?” She cooed at the owl, the creature giving her knuckle a tender nip before she outstretched her wings, pushing her body off of her perch, soaring out the window and into the night. The princess sighed as she watched the owl take flight, an envious burn in her heart.

“You’re lucky I am feeling extra generous today,” Peter replied and she huffed, turning back around to face him. “‘Extra generous?’” She chuckled as she pushed past him, holding onto her skirt as she made her way back down the steps of the Owlery. “Since when were you capable of being generous?”

With a smile, she turned her head around to peer over at Peter just in time to watch his eyes roll in their sockets. “You jest, my princess. Perhaps I’d laugh if it weren’t damn near midnight. You should be in bed, may I remind you.” She sighed as she pushed her way out of the Owlery, Peter following close behind like a shadow. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Peter, I’m going,” she giggled as they made their way through the garden and back into the castle, stepping inside one of its many hallways.

“My knickers are not in a tw–”

“Goodnight Peter! I cannot wait until the morning where you will chastise me again,” she smiled and waved at the Royal Advisor behind her, lifting her gown as she made her way up the staircase. She could hear Peter scoff behind her, her lips still curled into a soft smile as she made her way through the corridor towards her quarters, yawning and rolling her neck as she smiled at the guard outside her room. With an indifferent expression, he pushed open the door for her, stepping aside to allow her to enter the bedroom.

The room was warm with the marmalade glow coming from the candle she had left lit earlier and she hummed at the sight of her handmaiden, Marlene, in the corner of the room, silent as she focused on the parchment in her lap. At the sound, Marlene snapped her head towards where the princess stood, pushing the parchment off to the side as she scrambled to her feet. “My princess! Let me grab your nightgown for you…” Marlene hurriedly stammered out, rushing to the closet to grab one of the princess’ many nightgowns, pulling a long, white lace one from the sea of many fabrics.

The princess’ lips twitched in an amused smile as Marlene practically sprinted back towards her, presenting the gown for her to take. “Marlene, what have I told you?” The princess chuckled, graciously taking the nightgown from her handmaiden’s hands. “You can relax when you are with me. You make me seem like one of those stuck-up, snobby princesses that care very little for others’ wellbeing. It is almost insulting.”

Marlene’s rosy cheeks flushed and she bowed her head, locking her shaking fingers before her. “M-my apologies, your highness,” she hardly managed to stutter out, earning yet another roll of the eyes from the princess. “Marlene,” the princess called her name again, reaching out with her hand towards the handmaiden’s chin, tilting it up until their eyes met once again. “Relax.”

Marlene’s chest heaved when she inhaled a deep breath, her muscles visibly relaxing at the sound of the princess’ soft, gentle voice. She exhaled as the princess’ lips grew in yet another warm grin, making her way around the dressing screen and making quick work of her dress. “Do you need help with your corset?” Marlene’s voice called over the screen just as she unlaced her own corset, her muscles aching in gratitude, her waist finally free of its confinement. “I’ve got it,” she sighed, tossing the corset until it hung over the top of the screen as she began to shimmy herself out of her dress.

“Princess,” Marlene’s voice called again and she hummed in reply as she tossed the dress over the screen as well, rolling up her nightgown until the head was visible. “The King and Queen requested you for brunch tomorrow. Apparently, Lord Sirius will be spending the day in the castle.”

Her lips twitched at the mention of Lord Sirius and she stepped out from behind the dressing screen as she soothed the nightgown down her body. “Thank you, Marlene,” she nodded her head. “May I request that I wear that midnight blue dress, you know, the one I wore the last time Lord Regulus came around?” Marlene’s face lit up in an almost knowing grin, although she tried to suppress it. “Trying to impress Lord Sirius?’ The handmaiden couldn’t help but giggle and the princess chuckled as well, shaking her head as she made her way towards her bed. “No, of course not,” she replied. “Lord Sirius is only a dear friend. And I like that dress. It is very comfortable– you did well on it.”

Marlene flushed and bowed her head, “thank you, princess,” she murmured shyly. The princess smiled as she tucked herself beneath the covers, gazing up at the dusty pink ceiling of her bedroom. “Is there anything else you’d like before you sleep?” Marlene inquired and the princess shook her head in response. “No thank you, Marlene,” she murmured softly. “Have a good night.”

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

The princess blinked up at the ceiling as the marmalade glow faded when Marlene blew the candles out, the room slowly shrouding itself in darkness until she was gazing into a void of black. She listened to Marlene’s footsteps as she sauntered out of the bedroom and out of her quarters, leaving her alone in the room much too big for one woman.

Everything was still, the sky outside her window was black and frankly, she should have been asleep. Alas, her mind was reeling, a dark, swirling tempest of much-unappreciated thoughts. What was she to do about her impending marriage?

Call her a sap, call her a hopeless romantic— she wanted love. She didn’t want a prince of some far away kingdom, she didn’t want to be his shadow— she wanted to properly fall in love with someone, to marry someone on her own accord. She was still so young and still had so many years ahead of her, how could she be forced into wedlock!

The thought put a sour look on her face and she turned to her side, wedging an arm beneath her pillow to support her head. She gazed out her window at the night’s black sky, eyeing the twinkling stars illuminating it. This couldn’t happen, it just couldn’t— she’d find a way to be sure of it.

Remus howled in pain as he stumbled through the back door of Lord Sirius Black’s manor, his muscles aching and the contents of his stomach bubbling at the pit, threatening to spill from his chapped lips. He could hear footsteps somewhere on the other side of the mansion and he hoped to whomever it was watching down on them that it was his dear friend.

“Remus?”

Remus growled as sweat beaded down the side of his face, crashing into the bookcase against the wall as he tried to regain his balance, chest heaving as a thread of saliva fell down in a string from his lips. He groaned as he blinked up at the figure approaching him, hardly able to make out the face in the darkness of the manor.

“Sirius,” Remus managed out, yelping at another particularly rough jab of pain in his abdomen, practically slamming his forehead down on the nearest shelf of the bookcase.

“Merlin, let’s get you upstairs,” Sirius muttered, grabbing a hold of one of Remus’ arms, tossing it over his shoulders as he used his other arm to hoist his friend off of the wall. Remus hissed through his teeth at the pain and squeezed his eyelids shut, throwing his head back as he tried to move his feet to aide Sirius.

Sirius grunted as they approached the stairs, practically dragging his friend up the steps, much to Remus’ displeasure. His belly lurched at a particular rough landing on one of the steps and he pursed his lips together, hoping the acid bubbling in his throat could be willed to stay down. Sirius grabbed a hold of Remus again and hoisted him forth, finally arriving on the second floor of the manor.

He rushed Remus into one of the empty spare bedrooms, practically tossing his dear friend on the mattress as he rushed for the waste bin he kept in here for this sole purpose, handing it to the man. Remus wasted no time in spilling the contents of his stomach, a sour, rotten odor Sirius had grown far too accustomed to to care about imbuing the bedroom.

Sirius found a washcloth and poured some cold water over it, sighing as he plopped down in the chair beside the bed, handing the cloth over to Remus once he was done vomiting. He fell back against the pillows on the bed, chapped lips agape as he tried to catch his breath, slapping the cold rag down on his entire face. He squeezed his eyelids together hard enough to see stars, feeling his heart drum against his chest.

“Sorry,” he managed out, his voice low and husky. Sirius rolled his eyes and scoffed from his bedside, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I think we’re well beyond an apology, my friend,” he chuckled. “Besides, you know I don’t mind.”

Remus huffed and coughed against the rag, furrowing his brow as he folded it to only lay on his forehead, pressing it down hard enough to let some of the water trickle down his skin. He sighed at the feeling of the cold water reaching his chapped lips, his tongue swiping between them just as Sirius pressed the rim of a bottle to his lips. Remus’ lids shot open and he peered over at Sirius before back down at the glass of water, practically ripping it from his friend’s grip as he chugged the entire thing down, hiccuping and wiping the little bit that had dribbled onto his chin before handing it back.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Remus apologized, letting his head fall to the side to get a better look at Sirius in his night clothes. Sirius shook his head, setting the glass of water down against the nightstand, once again leaning back in his seat. “No matter, I was awake anyway,” he replied. “Was just figuring out what to wear for brunch at the castle tomorrow.”

Remus rolled his eyes at this�� somehow, it always seemed to slip his mind that his best friend was rich, and a lord for that matter. “Right,” Remus muttered. “While I’m doing my best not to die, you’re rubbing elbows with royalty. Almost forgot.”

Sirius, too, rolled his eyes and snickered at this, “it’d do you well to remember that I’m the one making sure you’re not dying in this very moment. Wouldn’t want to jeopardize your position right now, would you?”

Remus scoffed, rolling his head to gaze back up at the ceiling. “Right,” he murmured. “Well, thanks for helping me out, mate. And don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair come morning.”

“Now, wait a minute here, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” Sirius chuckled, leaning forward in his chair. Remus peeled a single eyelid open, glancing over to his friend. “The full moon’s not for another few weeks now, is it? And you’ve already got it this bad.”

“Two weeks, actually,” Remus sighed. “My symptoms seem to have gotten worse lately. Not even one of your million galleon beds takes away the pain.” Sirius pursed his lips, “not a million galleons, for one thing. Second, I thought you didn’t get this bad until the day before a transformation. Are you alright?”

Remus opened both his eyelids again, cocking an eyebrow towards his friend. “Really?” He scoffed. “Oh, I’m doing just fine and dandy here, thanks so much for asking.” Sirius’ chest puffed when he huffed, “I can throw you back out onto the street if you fancy.”

Remus huffed, easing himself further down into the mattress. “I’m better now,” he sighed. “Just… tired.” Sirius eyed his friend, Remus’ skin still slick with a layer of sweat but at the very least, he didn’t seem prone to hurl his dinner out at any given moment anymore. Sirius soothed his palms over his thighs before pushing off of his seat, fingernails scratching at his scalp. “Get some sleep,” Sirius said as he made his way towards the door. “Leave whenever you need to tomorrow. I’ll probably already be gone.”

Remus’ lips tugged into a smirk, “off rubbing elbows with the royal family?”

Sirius hissed and rolled his eyes in their sockets, “piss off.”

With that, Sirius closed the door behind him, leaving Remus all alone in one of the manor’s many bedrooms, blinking up into the black above where the ceiling would be. His muscles were sore and aching, the upcoming full moon lingering in the corner of his mind. How much longer would he have to bear this? How much must he suffer before he finally went numb? Before he felt nothing at all?

Remus sighed, letting his eyelids flutter closed, hoping sleep would overtake him soon. He was grateful for Sirius, for having at least a comfortable bed to sleep in, unlike his own bed at home that was no better than sleeping on pins and needles. Remus let himself fall deeper into mattress, slowly but surely feeling himself slip into the arms of a deep slumber…

a/n; so uh... surprise? so sorry for my long hiatus! between college and work, i have just hardly had any time for anything, especially writing but i'm back! and with a series of all things lol but i'm so excited to finally be posting this and i hope you all enjoy this as much as i do! please either comment or fill out my taglist form in my pinned post if you'd like to join my taglist for this series!

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin au #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin smut #remus lupin royalty au #pasukiyo #harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #marauders #marauders era #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #marlene mckinnon

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