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notmyneighbor · 24 days

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

Chapter 10

Word Count ~ 5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ fluff and smut

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

taglist ~ @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp @kaislashes @charli33-b33 @finalitgirl @kawaiichookie @vexillum-moeru @blackcurrant28 @r4yyyyy @dazedin2d @mrsspector-grant

Monday morning comes all too soon.

You’d stayed up later than you’d intended. Talking about the wedding. You’d agreed on an outdoor ceremony. To be held in late autumn, maybe. Still nothing definite. Baby names. This still unresolved. You think you’d fallen asleep mid debate.

Your doppelgänger has to get up even earlier on mornings when he stays at the farmhouse.

He’s insisted you sleep in before but you never do. You don’t want to miss any time being with him. It was worth missing sleep. Maybe you’d have matching shadows under your eyes.

You smile sleepily at him. It’s still dark but you can sense he’s awake, looking at you. You reach blindly for his face. He turns it, kissing your palm, his hand covering yours.

“I love you,” you greet him. You can’t say it enough.

“I love you, too.” A little regretful sigh before leaving the bed. The sounds of him getting ready in the bathroom, less obvious as you make your way downstairs and get coffee going. The sky is gradually lightening now. You can see some small wild brown rabbits through the kitchen window, rummaging near the bushes for breakfast before heading back to the burrow. You watch them scamper and forage while you prepare your own breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast to accompany the coffee.

An arm wraps around your shoulders, drawing you backwards. You can smell soap and shampoo and aftershave. He’s gotten better at the routine. Getting ready faster. Or maybe just rushing to steal a few more of these moments with you.

You lean against the doppelgänger, your head dropping back as his lips find your neck, then brush the shell of your ear. The smell of the coffee and cooked food permeates the kitchen. Warm kisses before the warm liquid slips down your throat after your first caffeinated sip.

The same words are spoken each morning before he steps into the delivery truck. I love you. Be safe.

The familiar ache is present before he’s even left the driveway. You miss him already. You worry for him. The rising sun kisses the dew on the lawn. You wrap your bathrobe tighter around your waist and head back up the steps of the porch.

***

Today is the day you’re introducing your fiancé to your parents.

You’re not sure which of you is more nervous as you drive to their house.

“What if your father says I can’t marry you?” Francis’ copy inquires anxiously, not for the first time, his fingers twisting restlessly in his lap until you reach for his hand, clutching it tightly.

“He won’t. I told you, it’s just a formality. A cultural politeness,” you reassure him. Still unsure of how this meeting is going to go. You’re going to be lying to your parents, after all. Telling them you’re marrying a human resident of the building you guard, knowing full well he’s really an alien. “We’ll get through this, love. Last thing before we move in together.”

A crooked little smile at this reminder. Still nervous. Your mouth brushes his knuckles before you return your attention to the road. Not as much traffic on a weekend morning.

“I’m surprised they don’t live in the building you work at.”

“There weren’t any vacancies or else they might have. There’s quite a waiting list to get into a DDD guarded building.”

“Meaning my apartment will be in demand once I move out.”

“Yes.” You sigh. “I’ll missing seeing you there. But then, I’ll have you at home, so, it’s a fair trade off.”

“Making you get up extra early five days a week.”

“Worth it.”

Another smile, this one sturdier. He was relaxing a little. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You’ve arrived at your destination. A brick and mortar home close to downtown. The narrow strip of lawn immaculately kept. Window boxes full of flowers. Your mother is watching your approach through the screen door, unable to wait any longer, hurrying down the trio of cement stairs and wrapping her arms around you. It had been several months since your last visit. You really should come more often.

Maybe you would, now. With a grandchild in tow, one day.

She steps back to inspect you. Looking you over, making sure you were healthy, eating properly. Remarking on the color in your cheeks which only heightens it further. You introduce your partner to her, noticing your father still hovering in the background, near the stairs.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Francis’ copy closes the distance and holds out a hand and you beam with pride. You’d rehearsed this. Your dad looks stern, but that’s just his way. He accepts the offering, his eyes boring into your fiancé’s. Did he suspect? He couldn’t possibly.

“Well, come on in. We’ve got lunch ready for you,” he invites, and you sigh inwardly with relief. So far, so good.

“Your young man is so handsome,” your mother murmurs as you ascend the stairs. You nod, holding the door open for her. You can hear your beau talking to your father in the dining room. Your dad was definitely a sports fan, and you knew for a fact neither Francis nor his doppel followed any pastimes. Hopefully they’d found some neutral pleasantries to converse about.

“Let me help you in the kitchen, Mom.” She accepts, leading you into the room. Smaller than your own, necessary with these inner city dwellings. Everything was more compact. Efficient. “New wallpaper?” You observe, noting the previous floral pattern has been exchanged for a linear print.

“Yes, last month. Very contemporary.” You grab a pair of potholders and remove a casserole from the oven while she begins unloading side dishes onto the plates.

“That’s a lovely ring, dear. He must have saved up quite a lot for that.”

“Yes, it’s pretty, isn’t it?” You pause to admire the engagement solitaire you’re wearing. “Francis always lived quite frugally. Lives quite frugally,” you correct hurriedly.

“Well, nothing wrong with being sensible when it comes to finances. Your father will appreciate that sentiment.”

“Do you think they’re okay in there?” You gaze in the direction of the open doorway that leads to the dining room. You still can’t quite make out what they’re saying.

“Oh, I’m sure your Francis is doing just fine. Don’t worry.”

You finish helping her fill the plates and then lift two, carrying them into the other room. Your father is seated directly across from your fiancé. Talking about the apartments. News. The war effort. You dart an anxious glance at the doppel but he’s doing well, keeping his voice neutral, answering everything politely. You can tell he’s relieved to see you, though, the second you enter the room his eyes lighting on yours.

“Here we are. Now, Francis—do you go by Francis? Not Frank, or…?”

“Francis is fine, ma’am.”

“Francis, we’re not shy about eating a good meal. There are seconds if you want them, just ask.”

“Thank you.”

You sit next to your doppel and your mother settles across from you. “Um, before we dig in, Francis would like to say Grace.” Your parents weren’t devout, but they respected the faith well enough. It had been a constant practice before every meal you’d sat down to with the milkman’s copy.

“Oh, certainly.” Your mother bows her head, and you see a faint flicker of something—maybe approval?—in your father’s eyes before he follows suit.

The simple prayer completed, you find yourself demolishing the contents on your plate with enthusiasm. Nothing ever beats your mother’s cooking. You’ve missed it.

The conversation flows well, with only a few pauses here and there. You appreciate the fact that your mother keeps drawing the invader back into the discussion, making sure he feels involved, a welcome participant.

Your father is still a little reserved, much of the communication done with his eyes. Intently regarding your beau. Studying him. You abandon the napkin draped on your lap and reach for the pretender’s thigh to reassure him, squeezing lightly. He squeezes your hand back.

By the time dessert arrives—you’re suddenly wishing you hadn’t stuffed yourself quite so full, you should have left room, because who could say no to homemade apple pie?—you can see your fiancé is anxious to ask the question he’s wanted to all along, shifting a little restlessly in his seat, the fork sinking into the sugared crust forgotten.

“Sir, I’d like to ask your permission for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The room goes quiet, the movement of cutlery on porcelain still. “You’re going to provide for my girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s special. She deserves the best.”

“I agree. I swear to you I will do everything in my power to care for her and make her happy.”

Another pause. You’re holding your breath. Your mother is staring at your father, worrying her bottom lip.

“Well, I can’t ask for more than that. You have my permission.”

A collective sigh of relief from the guests at the table. Your mother’s hands clasp, her eyes shining. You press your lips against the doppel’s shoulder. He’d passed. You’d done it. You manage to clear your plate, offering to help your mother with the dishes.

“I like your Francis. He’s a fine young man. Respectful. Hard working. Maybe a little too hard working. The boy looks a little in want of sleep. Or is that your doing?”

“Mom!” You gasp, and she nudges your arm.

“I’m only teasing. But he’s a good man. He’s got your father’s approval, and you know that isn’t easy. Have you thought about a date yet?”

“We were actually thinking about the fall.”

“This fall? 1955?”

“Yes.” You finish lathering a plate with soap and rinse it, setting it on the rack to dry.

“That’s a little soon. You’re not…you know…”

“No, Mom. Not yet.”

“You know I’ve been wanting grandchildren. I know your career is important to you, but you should indulge in a domestic life. Stay home and raise a family. It would make me feel better not having you facing those horrible doppels day in and day out.”

“I want to help people, Mom. So others can have that kind of life. But I would take time off for a baby.”

“Only one?”

“Francis wants several.”

“I wish your father had,” she mutters, the dish sponge squeaking against the inside of a glass. “I’m with your young man on this. The more the merrier, provided you’re doing alright financially. Fill the house, dear. You won’t regret it. It will be the happiest time of your life.” She kisses your cheek. “That’s the last of the dishes. Let’s go find out what our men are up to.”

Your men, as it turns out, are outside in the front yard. Your father sounded like he was giving tips on lawn care. Poor Francis.

“Hey.” You slide your arm through the doppel’s, coming to your fiancé’s rescue. “We’re all done in the kitchen, if you’re ready to head out.”

He nods, shaking your father’s hand, then returning the hug your mother offers before heading to the car. You embrace your parents again, your mother already on her way back inside after bidding you farewell while your father lingers by your side.

“You like him, Dad?”

“He’s different, that one. Something about him…”

A little surge of alarm runs through you. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just something,” he murmurs thoughtfully, then shakes himself. “One thing’s for certain, though: he’s crazy about you.”

“He is, Dad. And I feel the same way about him.”

“Keep us posted when you set a date. You be careful with those doppels.” His lips graze your forehead and then he retreats indoors.

You settle behind the wheel, glancing over at your fiancé. “What do you think?”

“I think that was stressful, but overall it went well. What did your father say to you just now?”

“That he could see you’re crazy about me.” You lean over and kiss him. “Want to go home and celebrate?”

“Yes. Maybe wait a bit, though. That was a lot of food.”

“My mom always fills the plates like that,” you agree, starting the engine. “You did great today. I’m really proud of you. Really happy.”

“I’m glad, sweet girl. Me too.”

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

***

There’s an advertisement for an event the following weekend sitting on the kitchen table.

The paper had been folded and tucked into the doppel’s work pants, retrieved when you’d been gathering a load of laundry together.

“I forgot about that,” he murmurs apologetically, kissing the patch of skin behind your ear, making you shiver. “It’s a dance. I didn’t know if you wanted to go. Someone on my route gave it to me.”

Social gatherings were few and far between. Dangerous, these days. You generally avoided them.

It’s tempting, though. You’re conflicted again. Wanting to go out with your beau, being afraid of discovery.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do you have to do the washing right now, or can we…?”

“We can.” You set the basket down and turn in his arms. His hands slide down your back, then shift to stroke over your hips.

“My beautiful girl.” His lips touch yours.

“My handsome doppel.” You return the gesture, your fingers carding through the hair curling at the nape of his neck. He needed another trim.

“Come upstairs with me.”

You follow him eagerly. He pauses midway through unbuttoning his shirt to cup your face between his hands, kissing you. He’s forgotten to undo his shirt cuffs, the sleeves still clinging when he tries to shed the garment. You come to his rescue and he stops you for another kiss. Little by little the clothing piles onto the floor.

Neither of you has switched the bedside lamp on. It’s just the two of you in the darkness. The moon is hiding tonight.

“I love you so much,” he breathes into your ear as he enters you.

“I love you.” You wrap your legs around him tightly, rocking up against him. Gentle movements. Filling you. Withdrawing. Stretched again. Plunging deep. The place where he ends meeting the place where you begin.

“Is it wrong to pray? To ask for something, is it so different than the words we recite before meals, these ones from the heart, will He answer me, a monster…” He whispers against your skin, your hair, musings you’ve mulled over yourself, surely he deserved it, if any did, you know what he wants, what you want, too.

“Ask, love. Ask, I’ll ask too, Francis…”

“Please…” His hips drive against yours. Sheathed faster. Impaled and then not, in rapid succession. His mouth is rough on yours, sliding sloppily off the edges, words half uttered, some in that strange native language of his.

Inside. Pressure. Contractions. An echoing pulse. Liquid heat. Your nails digging into his shoulder. His teeth scraping your throat. Filling you. Breathless kisses before the calm.

***

You don’t typically make small talk with the residents.

There’s always a kind of tension between you, their fates resting in your hands. You were trained to be professionally detached, but that obviously had failed in Francis’ case. Still, you’re gradually warming up to some of the others. The happiness of your relationship making words tumble free easier. Today it is the physicist at your window, Dr. Afton. He adjusts his glasses with a long practiced gesture, shoving them back up the bridge of his nose as you examine his ID and entry request. He is listed for the day and everything checks out. A quick call to his fiancée confirms what you already know. He’s legit. The real deal.

“Have you and Mia set a date yet?” You slide his documents back towards him through the slot.

“Spring, I think. You and Francis?”

“Autumn, maybe.”

“So soon,” he murmurs. His eyes flick down for the briefest of moments and you don’t misunderstand the significance.

“Oh, no, I’m not…I mean, we’re trying, but…” You flush heavily as you stammer. Your attempt at small talk was seemingly backfiring. Maybe it was best to just keep things professional after all. “Anyway, have a good rest of your day.”

The doctor stands looking at you expectantly. “The door?” He prompts gently.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” You hastily operate the door controls and the man leaves the entryway.

Your next attendant makes your face break out in a grin. Your beau has returned.

The replicant milkman deposits his required documents into the slot, grinning back at you. There’s an extra slip of paper there, something torn off his delivery list on the clipboard, perhaps.

I love you

You mouth it back at him. He lays a hand on the window. You match your palm to his, dwarfed by the larger structure.

“How was your day?”

“I made an ass out of myself in front of Afton, but yeah, good. You?”

“Not bad. Can I come in?”

“Uh-huh.” You press the buzzer. Your fiancé doesn’t take the elevator like you’d expected, instead invading the security booth.

“Sir, this is for DDD staff only,” you mock protest.

“Does it count if I’m going to be married to a DDD staff member?”

“Mmm, I’m not sure.” You’re about to step closer to him when you hear someone entering the building. A middle aged man you don’t recognize wearing a suit. The same DDD enameled pin on his lapel. You hurriedly take the papers and ID he offers while the doppelgänger takes a step back, still out of view of the window, near the open doorway.

“I’ll need to call to verify your identity,” you remark. You don’t get visits from personnel other than the cleaners that often, and if you do, you usually get notified first. The man’s face is expressionless. He nods and you proceed, dialing the number of the headquarters.

“Good afternoon. I have someone here from the R&D department. I wasn’t expecting…I see. Alright. Yes, thank you.” You hang up the phone. “They’ve vouched for you. What brings you here today?”

“Something that will revolutionize the screening process, we’re hoping.” He sets a briefcase down on the narrow ledge of the counter, using a key on a cord around one wrist to unlock it before thumbing the latches and opening the case. He lifts an object and places it on the ledge before shutting and removing the briefcase. “This device here emits a frequency that the doppels can’t resist. It forces them to come out of hiding, as it were.”

“How do you know?” You can see your doppel’s body tense in your peripheral vision.

“Oh, a little project we’ve been working on. Sometimes the cleaners bring us gifts. We don’t always exterminate…but I suppose you wouldn’t know that, once the screen goes down. Well, in any case, they’ve made for good lab rats. It’s taken us awhile, but I think this just might be what we need to turn the tide and gain the upper hand.”

“You’ve been experimenting on them,” you whisper, unable to keep the revulsion and horror out of your voice.

“Why not? It’s not like they haven’t taken their own POWs from our side.”

The urge to glance at your fiancé to confirm the truth of this is overwhelming but you resist. “Why would they want to keep us prisoner?”

“I’m sure something unsavory. Food supply. Experiments. Who can say? Disgusting creatures. But I don’t need to tell you about that. You encounter them on a daily basis. A nearly perfect record too, I hear. Only one…mishap.” He grins. His teeth are yellow. You find yourself disliking the man more and more.

“No one was hurt,” you say defensively.

“Thank goodness. Now, to the task at hand. This device is extremely simple to use. It’s already calibrated to the correct frequency. No need to adjust. Simply flip the switch. Undetectable to human ears. But very effective for the doppels. They’ll reveal their true form within seconds. Then it’s just a matter of calling the disposal team. Just think of the applications this will have once this gets approved for mass production. No more fear of the unknown. No more doubts. The ultimate weapon of retaliation.”

Your stomach turns with every sentence he utters. There would be no hiding for Francis. For the baby you would one day conceive. All of the happiness you’d felt earlier evaporates. You grip the edge of the counter as he demonstrates the switch to turn the device on and activate the frequency.

You hear the creak of the wood when the doppelgänger grips the door frame.

“Yes, I see, easy to use. Better conserve the battery, right?” You finally surrender to the impulse to glance over at the invader. His chest is heaving, his teeth razor sharp. Bloodshot eyes that plead with you, the familiar shimmer outlining his true, hidden form appearing.

“That is one of the drawbacks, yes. We’re still working on a more reliable power source.” He flips the switch off and you can’t help but sigh loudly in relief. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that you’re to use it only in cases when there is any doubt. You’ll still be performing the standard screening procedures. But if this has the results that I expect it will, I’m certain this will become the new industry standard. And give us the advantage at last. I’ll be collecting this after a one week trial. I’ll have a questionnaire for you to fill out after you’ve tested it out.”

“Of course.” You plaster a smile on your features, willing the man to leave.

“Shall I bring it to you, or…?”

“No, company policy prohibits anyone from entering the booth that’s not authorized. Technically you haven’t been, so…”

“Quite right. Well, I leave it in your capable hands, then.” The briefcase in hand, he turns and exits the building.

You immediately turn to see Francis’ clone sweating profusely, still struggling to return to human form.

“Francis! Are you alright? Love, it’s okay, I’m here.” Your hands cup the intruder’s face, disregarding the dangerous rows of cuspids stretched wide, peering into the crimson streaked eyes.

He shudders, his hands—claws—closing over your wrists. You’ve never seen him have this much difficulty. What was that evil frequency the scientists had discovered?

“Francis, it’s me. Come back to me, love. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Another violent tremor. Then his grip on you lessens, his eyes clearing, the haze dissipating. The facial features rearrange to form the familiar ones of the milkman.

“Sweetheart,” he manages, his breathing still ragged.

“Yes, Francis. You’re okay.” You wrap your arms around him and he squeezes you tightly.

“The pain, love. You can’t imagine. We have to destroy that. We can’t…”

“We’ll think of something. Tamper with it. Lie about it’s effectiveness. I don’t know. Something.” As wondrous as it would be to have access to technology like that, you couldn’t risk its use for your doppel’s sake. For your future children’s. “I didn’t know they were experimenting on…is it true, what he said? Have the invaders been taking humans prisoner?”

He releases you. “Not my squadron, I promise you that. But yes. It’s true.” He draws in a shaky breath. “I know I said in the beginning I wanted to experiment…now, I would never condone…”

“I know. I know you.” You retrieve the device, deciding to store it in the lockbox under the desk for now. Francis’ doppel gives you a wide berth as you walk around the booth carrying it, backing away as you make the corner. “You should go upstairs and rest. My shift will be done soon.” He nods, still looking shaken. You embrace him again, watching as he steps onto the elevator, then your eyes flick to the lockbox.

A new complication that you didn’t need.

***

Francis Mosses’ apartment is silent that afternoon when you enter.

No record rotating on the player. No meal being prepared on the stove. There is just the doppel seated on the couch, the crocheted blanket draped over the cushions behind him. He hasn’t even removed his work uniform, except for the cap which is resting on the coffee table. He hadn’t locked the door or risen to greet you at it, his tired eyes shifting to watch as you sit next to him.

“Francis, are you feeling alright?” You’re wondering if the device didn’t have some lingering ill effects.

“Fatigued. I’ll be alright. I’m sorry I didn’t get the door for you. I’m still…” He holds out a hand that tremors as if with palsy. You’ve never seen him this ghostly pale.

“Do you have any appetite at all? Should I fix us something, or…?”

“Just stay with me, love.”

You snuggle closer to him, slipping off your shoes and drawing your knees up, tucking your stockinged feet to one side, your fingers stroking his forearm. You’re suddenly feeling tired yourself, the rush of adrenaline from earlier now leaving you feeling sapped of energy. There was a nice breeze coming in through the living room window. Your lover’s arm curls around you. You fall asleep.

It’s dark when you awaken.

You’re disoriented, blinking away the vestiges of a dream you don’t recall the details of. Francis’ doppel is cuddling you. Awake. You can tell by the rhythm of his breathing.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

“We both needed the rest.” His lips press against your hair.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Physically, anyway. Mentally…I’m worried.”

“I know. Me too. We’ll figure something out, Francis.” You reach out blindly to find his hand. “Want to do something improper like skip to dessert and have cookies and milk in bed and forget everything for a bit?”

“Hmmm. Are you included in that menu?”

“I can be.”

“Then it’s a deal. Shower first?”

“Definitely.”

His lips touch your forehead. “You always make everything better.”

You’re more concerned than you’re letting on. But you don’t want to focus on that right now. You want the doppel to feel safe, secure. Enjoy the peace you’ve found together for tonight.

You feel him leaning away from you, reaching for the lamp. His condition does appear to have improved from earlier. Healthy color returned. Hands steady. You dig around in the drawer where you’ve stored some spare pajamas while he turns the shower on.

“Don’t fuss too much on what you’re wearing. It won’t be staying on.”

Oh, he was definitely feeling better. “Maybe I’ll just skip it entirely.”

“Now we’re talking.”

You strip off your work clothes, your fiancé already halfway undressed, finishing that task now and leading your into the deluge of warm water. You take a moment to soak your hair, then switch places so Francis’ copy can do the same.

You grab the bar of soap from the shallow ledge on the wall and begin lathering your hands together, working up a cloud of suds that you quickly smear across the cloned milkman’s chest. You take turns washing each other, hands lingering when they reach nipples, buttocks, between legs. You’re pushed gently back against the shower wall, the soap slipping from your grasp. The doppel cups his hands beneath the spray, splashing it over your body, making sure you’re rinsed, lifting one leg and guiding it to rest on the edge of the tub while he kneels down, blinking water out of his eyes, his damp fingers now working against your sex, followed by his tongue, sucking a mouthful of shower water and your clit in one go. You moan, raking your fingers through his damp dark hair, marveling at the feel of that frenzied muscle dividing your nether lips, plunging inside and then swirling around your clit.

You’re thinking of that alien cock of his, the one you’d mostly felt more than saw, and you suddenly crave the feeling of it again. You won’t dare ask him for that tonight, not after what had happened earlier when he’d been forced out of hiding, but another time, you want that in your mouth, back inside of you, fucking you missionary style, driving in deeply. You’re already swollen, dripping, that slick liquid thicker than the water pelting your bodies, a trail he follows with lips and tongue and even teeth, nipping at the soft skin of your inner thighs, the arc of one hip, the crest of your mound before he’s sucking your bud again. He’s leaning into you, offering you a chance to rest some of your body weight, the raised leg shaking as you find a swift release, bursting on his tongue, ripened hive spilling creamy honey before you’re rinsed clean.

He shuts the shower off and you’re barely swiped with a towel before he’s pushing you down into the bed, picking right up where he left off, sliding his erection into the place his tongue and fingers have just vacated.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me, I’ll do anything you want.”

Catering to you. You feel you should be the one making the offer. “I’m yours. I love everything with you. You decide. This is nice. This is…oh…good.” He’s picked up the pace, droplet covered hips kissing yours over and over. The shower water still clinging to him drips from his hair, splashing your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. You think of kissing him that day it rained on your front porch, already falling so fast, so far, Francis the bridge but the doppel the destination, it didn’t feel wrong, it couldn’t, when it was like this between you.

“Sweet girl, you’re so perfect for me.” A word you don’t know, but the tone is in the same vein, affection, lust, breathed beside your cheek, moaned against your throat.

“I want to learn it. All of it. Starting with your name. I love you.” The words are pushed into the mouth that closes over yours, hot breath, that thick cock of his incessantly drumming inside of your womb. You’re lost in the dark of his eyes, in that blissful realm he drags you back into, your body shattering around him, milking him, urging to be mated, claimed, marked as his. He calls you something that sounds almost like wife and you nearly are, bonded to this foreigner that’s crossed galaxies and mapped stars to build a new universe within you, starting with this, that sowed seed, fingers interwoven, cock buried deep, face burrowed in the curve of neck damp from the strands of hair clinging there.

After there is cold milk from the fridge and chocolate chip cookies, melting sweet on your tongue as Francis’ doppel holds you against him, licking at the stray sweet granules clinging to your lips. “Your first lesson,” he begins, and it is him speaking now, the invader beneath, that deeper voice stirring interest in your loins again already, twice sated but still eager for more. “My name is…”

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

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maysileeewrites · 4 months

Text

it looks better on you || Coriolanus Snow

18+ content; mdni!

summary: Coriolanus is obsessed with you wearing his clothes | based off of this concept post

my Coryo masterlist

Coriolanus Snow is positively obsessed with you wearing his clothes.

Whenever he sees you in one of his shirts or sweaters, it’s like he can’t think straight anymore, every single thought wiped from his head - except one: you’re absolutely mesmerizing, somehow even more beautiful and enchanting, wearing his clothes.

You’re his - and you wearing his clothes is just one more way for him to mark you as his, to show everyone that you belong to him, and only him.

No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to fuck you. No one else gets to fall asleep next to you, wake up next to you. No one else gets to feel the immense, overwhelming satisfaction that always overcomes him when you’re wearing his clothes.

No one else - just him.

As it should be, Coriolanus thinks, smirking as he watches you poring over your University books at your desk from his position on your bed. Initially, he came over to your apartment so that you could study for your test next week together. Though he hasn’t really gotten a lot of actual studying done.

You’re just too damn distracting.

You always are, but especially now - wearing his shirt and playing with the hem of it while you’re trying to memorize the text you’re currently reading, your other hand absentmindedly running through your hair, your lips silently moving - it’s like he can’t think straight.

His eyes are fixed on you, following your every move.

The way you screw your eyes shut as you sigh frustratedly - probably trying to remember a particularly difficult aspect of your textbook article. The way your fingers keep playing with the hem of his shirt.

Really, he thinks, watching you sigh in frustration and slamming your textbook shot, throwing it a dirty look, his clothes look so good on you - almost better than they do on him.

„Something wrong, love?“, he asks you, getting up from your bed and walking over to your desk, where you’re still sitting in your desk chair, head in your hands.

You shake your head, sighing again. „No, it’s just this stupid biochemistry test … I just can’t get the hang of this stuff, which means that I’ll fail that test next week, which will bring my overall grade down and-“

„Hey“, Coriolanus interrupts your nervous ramblings, stepping closer to you and taking your hands in his, gently pulling them away from your face. He squeezes your hands, before bringing up one hand and gently brushing his knuckles over your cheek.

You sigh, closing your eyes and leaning into his comforting touch.

„I know that this is all a bit overwhelming right now, but you won’t fail that test, you hear me? You won’t - I’ll make sure of that. Even if it means that we have to spend every minute this weekend studying.“

„But, Coryo-“, you try to say, but he shakes his head, his eyes finding yours.

„You won’t fail, trust me“, he says, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your hairline. „We’ll continue studying for this, I promise, but right now, you need a break.“ His gentle, yet firm voice tells you that he won’t take an objection for an answer.

You sigh, even though you know your boyfriend only has your best interests at heart. He can be so stubborn sometimes …

„A distraction …“, he continues, something in his voice changing that causes you to shiver involuntarily as he leans down, stepping between your legs, looking at you with a teasing smirk on his face.

„What do you-“

Your words are swallowed by his hungry, wild kiss.

You make a surprised noise, wrapping your arms around Coriolanus’s neck out of pure instinct as his hands settle on your waist, drawing you closer to him as he keeps kissing you, his tongue coaxing your mouth open. You can’t help but moan as you feel his tongue moving against yours.

Then, suddenly, he’s picking you up from your chair and you wrap your legs around his waist out of instinct as he carries you over to your bed, not once breaking the kiss. Your back hits your soft mattress and Coriolanus swallows the surprised noise you make with his hungry, desperate kisses.

He breaks the kiss then, looking down at you with a teasing smirk on his lips, before lowering his head to the crook of your neck, sucking at the soft, sensitive skin. His lips curl into a possessive smirk when he hears the mewling, panting noises you make.

He knows that he’ll leave bruises on your skin - pretty, purple marks that will mark you as his, showing everyone who you belong to.

„Coryo!“, you gasp, trying to make sense of the world, tangling your hands in his blonde curls and trying to ground yourself, as he continues to relentlessly suck at your soft skin, all the while grinding his hips into yours, creating a delicious, nerve-wrecking tension.

His lips leave a trail on your skin, from the soft, sensitive skin of your neck, to your collarbone and then lower and lower, until the hem of his shirt you’re wearing gets in the way.

Breathlessly, your hands leave his hair and you reach down, trying to free yourself from the bothersome garment, but then suddenly, Coryo’s hands are there as well, stoping your motions.

„No, keep it on“, Coriolanus says, reaching out with his hands to tug the dark grey shirt you’re currently wearing - one of his that you’ve ‚borrowed‘ - back down. His voice is low, his eyes are dark, the expression in them sinful and challenging - a promise. (A threat.)

„It looks better on you anyways.“

You swallow upon hearing the arrogant possessiveness in his voice and clench your thighs together.

When he notices, Coriolanus just smirks at you.

You whine, reaching for his hands. „Please, Coryo“, you beg, your eyes finding his. You can’t have him teasing you - not right now, not when he’s already got you this worked up.

„Please what?“, he asks, still smirking.

„Please, just - touch me; just do something, Coryo, please.“

When he still doesn’t react to your pleas, just keeps smirking at you, you reach out with one of your hands, brushing over the bulge in his pants, before growing bolder and cupping his already hardened length through the material of his trousers.

Coriolanus closes his eyes then, a low moan escaping his lips.

„Fuck.“

His voice is something between a groan and a whimper as you keep stroking him through the fabric.

For a split second you toy with the thought of doing the same thing to him he did to you - teasing him, edging him on, only to cruelly withdraw your touch at the last second. But he looks so good right now, his head thrown back, his eyes screwed shut, his lips slightly open, soft whimpers escaping him, you can’t bring yourself to do so.

You don’t need to - because the next thing you know, Coriolanus is impatiently swatting your hand away, getting rid of his trousers and briefs in mere seconds, before placing his hands on your waist, shifting you, until you’re straddling his lap, your legs on either side of him, your core brushing against his erection.

You can’t help the loud moan that escapes you then - the friction feels so good and you just want to feel him inside you already.

„Coryo-“, you start to say, but his hand is already there at your core, roughly yanking at the thin material of your panties. You hear the material tear and you gasp loudly, when, without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you, curling them inside you, immediately finding your sweet spot.

„Y-you really o-owe me a v-visit to the clothing store“, you pant, trying to form a cohesive sentence as Coriolanus continues to pump his fingers in and out of you at a merciless pace, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust of his fingers.

Coriolanus just smirks, groaning when he feels your walls clenching around his fingers. „Fuck, not yet“, he pants, removing his hand and causing you to whimper at the sudden feeling of emptiness. „Need to feel you, need to be inside you.“

All you can manage is a nod, moaning when he positions you in his lap. You try once again to take of the shirt you’re still wearing, but Coriolanus swats your hands away once again.

„Keep it on“, he says, his voice low and dangerous.

All you can manage is a weak nod, because then his grip on your waist is tightening, shifting you forward even more until you’re sinking down on his hard length.

„Fuck, Coryo.“ Your voice is nothing more than a breathless whimper as you continue to sink down on him, trying to adjust to the stretch.

Coriolanus however, is too impatient to give you time to adjust, bucking up his hips to thrust up into you the moment you’re fully seated.

You whimper, feeling his cock hit that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

Coriolanus groans, his grip on your waist tightening to guide your movements as he continues to thrust up into you. „Fuck, baby, you look so good riding my cock like that, wearing my shirt …“

You whimper, squeezing your walls around him.

Coriolanus groans again, his expression clouded with pleasure. „Fuck, keep doing that and I’m not going to last long …“

You can’t help it - your walls squeeze around him again.

A strangled moan escapes him then and you whimper when his thrusts get harder and faster and one of his hands finds its way to your core, brushing over the bundle of sensitive nerves.

„Fuck- Coryo, please“, you whimper, as the pressure inside you keeps building and building and building.

„Don’t worry, I’ve got you“, he says, as he continues to thrust into you at a relentless pace, his fingers teasing your clit.

You do your best to meet his movements with your own, glad for his bruising grip on your hip, guiding your movements.

„Just like that, you’re doing so good“, Coriolanus praises, sitting up to claim your lips in a hungry kiss.

You whimper, overcome by all these different sensations - Coriolanus moving unrelentlessly inside you, his fingers on your clit, his lips on yours; turning you to mush in his arms.

„Coryo!“, you breathlessly try to warn him when you feel your walls clenching around him again, you’re so close and you just want to feel your sweet release.

„I’ve got you“, he repeats his earlier sentiment, his thrusts becoming even more erratic. „I’ve got you - fuck, you look so good, I could watch you riding me in my clothes forever, fuck-“

It’s his words that do you in, sending you over the edge.

You come with a loud cry, his name on your lips, shaking in his grip, your walls squeezing him.

„Fuck, fuck-“

It only takes two more thrusts and then Coriolanus is coming as well, spilling inside you.

„Fuck, Coryo“, you whimper, still overly sensitive from your orgasm.

„I’ve got you“, he repeats, pulling out of you, before closing his arms around you, shifting you around until your head lands on his chest and your back hits the soft mattress of the bed.

You close your eyes as he settles a hand on your stomach, drawing you even closer for a moment.

You stay like that for a long moment, both of you trying to catch your breath.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, you notice how unbearably hot you feel - Coriolanus’s body heat is more than warm enough, but you’re still wearing his shirt that’s now drenched through with your sweat.

You press a quick kiss to his cheek, ignoring the protesting noise Coriolanus makes as you move to sit up again.

„My turn“, is all you say, as you finally take off his shirt and throw it to the floor, baring your chest to him.

„What-“ Coriolanus’s remark is swallowed by the loud moan that escapes his lips when you settle back down in his lap, brushing against his erection.

„My turn“, you repeat, grinning, „and I think it looks better on the floor.“

You swallow his reply with a hungry, desperate kiss. And judging by the way he’s squirming beneath you, trying to brush against your core, he probably doesn’t mind too much.

someone please get me some holy water so I can cleanse my mind from these smutty thoughts

It’s finally here!! Sorry that it took me so long to get to it, but I’ve been in quite a writing slump these last few days.

Anyways, I’m wishing you all a Happy New Year <3 and thank you so much for all the love you’ve shown my writing lately! Here’s to more content in 2024!! :)

tagging:

@qoopeeya @honey-flustered @spectr3inl0ve @reader-bookling123 @itsnocturna @toogardenheart @theamuz @livius-codex @dominqueeekk @ebsmind @damagdcoda @snows-wife

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bangtaninborderland · 11 months

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JJK- Late Night Calls.

you get a call from Jungkook at 7am, struck with worry you pick up only to find your adorably tired boyfriend.

Genre: smut, fluff, Jungkook x reader.

Warning: NONE!

A/N: came up with this in 10 minuets thought it was cute enjoy :)

The familiar tune of your phone ringing broke you from your sleep, your vision was blurry but you could still clearly read the caller ID

Incoming Factime Video call: JK ♥️

It must have been 7am in Korea, Jungkook was never awake this early. You quickly answered, a million scenarios running through your mind as to explain why he was calling at such a time and none of them were good.

“Hello?”

He must have seen the panic in your face as he croaked out. “Baby what’s wrong?”

“I thought something happened you’re never awake this early?” You felt a small weight lift off your shoulders as he chuckled.

“I’m fine baby just couldn’t sleep, missed you.” You loved how he sounded when he was sleepy.

You laughed at the way he was laying across his bed, small rolled up pillow underneath him. “You have got to get different pillows.”

“No no I like my pillow.” He laughs, showing you how comfortable it is. “How’s London jagiya?”

You suddenly regretted being in a different country for work, the idea of morning sex seemingly more attractive than anything else. “It’s fine here, I can’t wait to be back home though. The food isn’t as good.”

“The food is the only thing?” He pouted, pulling the blanket further over his face. “What about me and bammie?”

You turned to the side, resting your leg atop the blanket. “Of course I miss you and bam too kook.”

“The bed is cold without you, empty. I think you should quit work and just be a stay at home wife.” He laughed again, although you could tell there was a sliver of hope to his absurd suggestion.

“Never gonna happen, you may be rich but I’m only half way there.” You both laughed, money was never something either of you took seriously you had always shared everything for as long as you could remember. You’d buy him dinner and he would buy dessert. He would buy you designer but he would also be more than happy if you brought him a pack of ramen. “Besides we aren’t even married.”

“Don’t remind me.” He shakes his head, before shifting to rest it upon his arms. “How many days until your back?”

“We should have the contracts finished up in a day or two and then we will have a celebratory dinner and I’ll be on the first flight back.” You explained as you watched him, his tattoos standing out against the white fabric of his sheets, his hair messy. You let your eyes wander, your imagination running wild thinking about how he would look completely naked. “are you wearing pants?”

“Come back and find out jagiya, I’m sure you’re already picturing the ways I’d fuck you.”

The sudden vulgarity of his words left you in a state of shock. “I- when I get home we are definitely doing whatever I’m thinking right now.”

“And what is that doll?” He laughed, fingers drawing circles on the sheet. “What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?”

“Just thinking about how good your hand would look wrapped around my neck.” You pushed yourself further into the pillow, slightly shy.

“Too bad you’re too far away baby. We should sleep.” He closed his eyes, teasing you.

You groaned, fighting the urge to grind against the sheets. “Kook.”

“Hmm?” He mumbled, lazily.

“You turned me on.” You giggled, closing your eyes.

“I’m hard too beautiful, I’ll go to sleep thinking about good good your mouth will feel around my cock.

“Why couldn’t you call me at 8pm and get all dirty with me? Why does it have to be when I’m too tired to do anything?” You whined, wanting to cry from how much you missed his touch.

“It’s okay princess when you’re home I’ll take care of you. we should still sleep you have a meeting tomorrow morning don’t you?” You opened one eye, just enough to see him staring at you smiling.

“At six am, it’s 11pm right now. I have to wake up at 4am so I can finish the presentation.” You explained, your words slurring as you started to drift off. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“I have a few appointments nothing important, call me anytime tomorrow I’ll be there but for now get some sleep baby, I won’t hang up.”

“Promise?” You whispered, the folds of sleep covering you in a sheet of darkness.

“Always jagiya.”

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winterrrnight · 4 months

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“here we are again” — new beginnings chapter II

PAIRING: stepdad!soft!rafe x mom!reader

WARNINGS: none!

EDITH SPEAKS: hello mls! I hope you enjoy reading this chapter <3 just a lil note: updates will get a bit sporadic for the upcoming week or so because I have some big things coming up which unfortunately require more attention than my silly little fics :( I greatly apologise for that, but let me tell you once I'm free I'll have great fics awaiting you all!!

please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading and don't hesitate to let me know any of your thoughts 💕💕

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↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You let out a huge sigh as you lean back in your chair and close your eyes shut. You’ve been trying to find a good preschool for Sage, after you had to pull her out of the one she was earlier in because their fees increased exponentially, and unfortunately you haven’t been earning enough to support Sage going to such an expensive school.

“Mamma mamma!” You hear her call you out from a different room. Her footsteps are audible as she comes running to you, basically banging the floor with her feet.

“Mamma!” She says, smiling wide, standing next to the front legs of your chair and tugging on your pants. You look down at her and plaster a big smile on your face, picking her up and placing her on your lap.

“Yes baby?” You coo, leaning to press a kiss on her soft cheek, which is tinted a light pink.

“I made something for you! You have to see it now,” she says, now tugging on your crewneck. You get up from your chair, Sage on your hip as you go to the room she was just in.

You set her down on the floor, and she picks up a folded paper. “Here,” she grins, and you take the paper from her.

You unfold it and you see a drawing of you, her, and one strange man standing next to the two of you. She’s colored in the drawings, her colors going out of her drawn lines, assuming their own directions, but nevertheless, you can’t help but grin wide at the present.

“Sage baby,” you get on your knees in front of her, “this is so cute! You’re my talented little kiddo, aren’t you?” You smile, tickling her sides. She laughs and squirms to get away from you, her little hands trying to swat you away.

“But who is that?” You ask, pointing at the drawing of the strange man.

“Fafe!” She yells excitedly.

“Fafe? Who’s ‘Fafe’ baby?”

“We met him, at the, at the store! He was big, veryyy big!”

And suddenly it strikes you. The handsome, handsome man who you met at the grocery store. It’s been around a week since that day and you had nearly forgotten about him.

Nearly.

Until this exact moment.

Now everything comes back to you; the exact moment you saw him, your eyes sinking into his, your heart beating so loud it might as well jump out of your chest.

“I remember him baby, why did you draw him?”

“Because, because he was very nice to me,” she says, her hands at her back as she’s swaying side to side in her position.

You aren’t sure what to reply to her with. She drew a man you met and didn’t even talk for more than five minutes on a random Tuesday, and showed you three being a family.

Dad, mom, and Sage. A family.

Is she expecting you two to just get married to him? To bring him in your house this quick?

But, at the end of the day, she’s a four year old little girl, with a wild imagination, and a desire to have a father figure in her life.

You’ve tried your level best to never let Sage feel the lack of a father in her life, but you always knew deep in your heart that one day, she will wonder why she only has a single parent, and why can’t she have two parents like all her friends. But you never expected this day to come so early.

You shake your head and come back to reality, and let a smile pull onto your lips. “I’ll hang this on the fridge next to all your other art,” you tell her, and she jumps up and down with excitement. You make your way to your kitchen, your daughter on your heels as she’s giggling, and you pin her drawing up with a magnet next to the rest. You take a step back to admire the splash of colors on your fridge door, your heart feeling content.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You smooth out the wrinkles in her dress, and tie the bow of her dress tightly. Sage is especially giggly today, your hands roaming over her little body which constantly creates a tickling sensation on her skin.

“Mamma, where are we going?” She asks you, carefully pocketing a candy you gave her. You pick her up and take her to your kitchen island, settling her in her chair to hand her her cereal.

“We’re going to a new school baby,” you say, pouring milk into her bowl and mixing it well with her fruit loops.

“But, I love home,” she puts, her eyes big and wide, and you know she’s trying her best to convince you to stay at home by putting on a puppy dog face.

“You know that face doesn’t work on me,” you smile, sitting next to her, and gently smoothing a hand over her hair. She only giggles as her answer and you pick up her spoon, and start to feed her. Even though she knows how to eat on her own, you’re worried she might get messy and spill the milk on her dress.

You were worried she might not like the idea of going to a new school. She really liked the previous one, but you knew you couldn’t keep her in there for long. But here she is sitting next to you, eating her cereal as excitedly as if you’re about to go to an amusement park.

Once she’s done eating, you both leave for the school. This one also happens to be closer to your home than the last one, so you're quick to reach there. You help Sage get out of the car, her light bag hanging on her shoulders and her hand securely in yours, as you lead her to the main doors of the school.

When you go inside, the receptionist leads you to the classroom Sage has been assigned to. A few children are sitting on the floor of the classroom, empty white sheets spread around them along with unopened boxes of paint.

You hear Sage audibly gasp as she notices all the art supplies, her eyes shining with a desire to create art. You look around the classroom to spot a teacher, but there’s no one to be seen.

You decide to maybe talk to the receptionist once again; maybe she’s making a mistake? You leave Sage in the classroom and turn around, and almost in the next fraction of the second you bang into a broad chest.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry!” You grunt, your eyes closed from the impact. You run a hand over your forehead, feeling a slight pain from your collision into the broad and muscular chest.

You finally open your eyes, and you see the last person you would expect to be here.

“Rafe?”

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

what do you all think Rafe is doing there? 🤭

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lilybug-02 · 6 months

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Happy 2 Year Anniversary to The Chara Timeline ✨

I FINALLY made drawing references for you guys, yippie!✨

It’s wild how long I’ve been working on this comic without reference sheets. I’m never that consistent with my art style, so I figured it was a waste of time 🫥💀😔 this is my first full comic okay…

Thoughts and Feelings About the Comic Below ❤️💖💕💞

Wow. It’s been 2 years??? I thought I would be done with this comic in 2 months! I don’t know whether to feel worried or accomplished!!

(With months between each update, I understand why it’s been 2 years. I’m a slow writer and artist and well- many things have come up in my life that had to come first, like my sisters wedding! 💞 and college 😅)

I want to thank my family and friends (WHO DO NOT READ THIS COMIC- THANK GOD) 💕 AND I want to THANK YOU! The readers! 💐💐

You guys are relentless! I’m as impatient as traffic and yet you guys wait for weeks or months at a time for like 4 pages?! You guys don’t even complain!!! I truly want to thank you all for that ❤️ it helps me so much. Being busy and getting burnt out are common and it helps me feel relaxed that i'm not on a timer. Literally tho- you guys keep this comic chugging I swear. Tysm 💐

Unorganized rambling about the comic ahead :) ⭐️🔥

—

My feelings with this comic are actually so complicated. On one hand I hate looking at my older art because GOD IT LOOKS SO OFF I want to stab it, and then on the other hand I am so so proud of myself for even continuing it this far. Ngl the weird route has been one of my favorite parts of this comic. It took me FOREVER to figure out an ending, but damn do I still get chills >:) hehe.

I’m still miffed that I named this project “Deltarune: The Chara Timeline” I could have gone for something so much COOLER. Doesn’t help I use like 7 different titles for it either. We got Deltarune the Chara timeline, Deltarune chara timeline, THE Chara timeline, chara timeline, Ct??? Man,,, I’m crazy. I take after my family so hard. We have 3 names for each of our dogs 💀.

Comic/Animation Tip i have learned. It is VERY GOOD to make the character relatively simple in design. Shape language is also super important, ((but I never really got around to doing that before I was half way through the comic, woops.)) These things can make ur process go by so much faster. This whole comic has been a HUGE learning curve. LIKE OH MY GOD. I had to learn how to draw backgrounds, write dialogue, plan a story, learn how to draw fast and draw noses (which god damn I really still can’t). And I had to learn how the heck to squeeze art into a tiny page and make it not look grainy. It's intense!

Anyways.... this has been such an awesome opportunity! Thanks Toby Fox!

I totally ran out of “art time” for my iPad and wanted to finish this today. So it’s a bit rushed. I’ll add weapons and possibly the other characters later :)

Oh shi- I forgot to add this grainy image of the next few pages lmao

#chara is literally built like a rectangle. idk why ive never noticed that #a thick greenbean #and Asriel is kinda half and half when it comes to standing on his toes or regular foot. He has a more top heavy approach to his balance #bread #undertale #deltarune chara timeline #my art #chara #asriel #character sheets #character references #art #deltarune #happy 2 year anniversary!!!!#college chara #college asriel #darkworld

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 months

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I Won't Lose You

I've been told by all my friends who have played bg3 that durge runs should not be the first run of the game but here I am, doing just that. In my defense, I want to go around as a fictional dragonborn trying to kill most things and save scumming on dialogue choices for approval ratings.

Summary: The dark urge takes over when Astarion gets injured in battle. In the aftermath, you flee, afraid of what the others think of you now but Astarion goes after you to bring you back to camp and reassure you that nothing has changed.

When the arrow pierces through his shoulder, all you can see is red. Blood roars in your ears, a scream tears itself from your throat and you change. You become a different person, your legs move of their own accord, the dagger in your hand twirls and you stab downwards. Over and over again you stab, blood splattering all over you but you don’t care. You’re not thinking, everything is a blur except the one word that rings in your head.

Kill.

And so you kill, your dagger tearing into flesh and drawing blood with each sickening squelch. The metallic taste floods your tongue and you grin. You feel alive, powerful, invincible. No one can stop you, no one can take anything away from you ever again. Laughter bubbles within your chest, bursting forth as you stand there, head thrown back. Blood drips from your clothes onto the floor but you barely notice it. Euphoria thrums through your veins, you’ve killed the being who tried to take the only thing you have left from you. It feels wonderful.

You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and raise your arms towards the sky, laughing all the while.

“Try it! Try and take him away from me!” You yell. “I’ll kill you all!”

Adrenaline rushes through your veins as the goblins flee in terror from the figure covered in blood. Your legs begin to move, feet pushing off the floor as you hunt them down, a wild gleeful look in your eyes. Your dagger slices through their skin, ripping open arteries, tearing off limbs and you only laugh harder at their screams of pain.

You slam your dagger into the neck of the goblin leader, crouching on its back as the body falls to the floor with a loud thud.

“No one can take him away from me,” you growl. “Not even the gods.”

You look up to see your companions’ various reactions, but the only one you really care about is Astarion’s. As you take a step towards him, reaching out with a bloody hand, he takes a step back, ruby eyes wide with horror. For a moment, all he can see is Cazador, drenched in blood with a grin so wide it stretches his face, and then he blinks and you’re standing in front of him, a look of hurt in your eyes.

Before your name can fall from his lips, you’re gone, running into the nearby forest. Everyone turns to look at him, the same question in their minds: what did he do?

Back in camp, Astarion tries to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest as Shadowheart heals his injury. He can’t shake the look you gave him before running away, the fear that filled your gaze. He recognised the look, after all, it was the same as the one he wore as Cazador’s spawn – the look of despair.

“I’m going out for a walk,” he says and leaves the camp before anyone can say anything. In all honesty, he has no idea how to find you, all he knows is that he has to. He can’t leave you alone to fend for yourself, especially not in that condition of yours. Letting out a sigh, he makes his way back to the battle site. He can try starting from there, track the scent of your blood and hopefully find you before anything else does.

When he reaches the site, he notices a lone figure sitting by the bloodstained rubble, their knees hugged against their chest.

“Y/N,” he calls out. You look up, and then quickly look back down, curled even more into yourself. Astarion feels his undead heart ache at the sight of your current state. You’ve always been the life of the party – cheerful, upbeat, optimistic. He’s the one who is broody, sitting in the corner and staring at everyone else and yet here you are, sitting all alone in the cold night with no fire to keep you warm.

“May I inquire as to why you have stolen my role as the broody rogue?” He seats himself next to you whilst maintaining some distance. You keep silent, staring into the distance.

“Come now, darling. Let’s head back to camp, the others miss you dearly, not as much as they miss me of course but –”

“Leave.” Your voice wavers. When he doesn’t move, you repeat your words a little louder. “I said leave.”

“But why, darling? You’re clearly cold and hungry, the camp has both fire and food. Don’t tell me you plan on freezing to death while starving? It’s not a very comfortable way to go,” he tuts. “You should choose a better way of dying.”

“I deserve it,” you mutter. “After what I did.”

“After what you did? You killed the goblins and protected the weak, I don’t believe any of that is deserving of such a slow death.” Astarion attempts to lighten the mood but your face remains sullen.

“You know what I’m talking about. I saw it, the way you looked at me. You don’t want me anymore, you shouldn’t. I’m a monster.” Your voice cracks, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve seen,” his voice drops to a whisper. “And my feelings for you haven’t changed in the slightest. I still want whatever it is that we have, this weird relationship of ours. Nothing will ever change my mind about it. Your appearance simply…reminded me of something I’d rather forget in that moment, but the situations couldn’t be more vastly different.”

Astarion reaches out with a hand, simply holding an upturned palm towards you. A simple gesture, but one filled with so much meaning between the two of you. You stare at it, a hand slowly reaching out before pulling back again when you see how bloodstained your hand is.

Seeing as you are still in no mood to talk, he continues. “Whenever Cazador was covered in blood, it tended to be my blood. Usually it was after he had finished torturing me for whatever sick reason he had and he would smile at me, asking if I would be his good pet. You were covered in goblin blood, vowing to kill anyone even the gods if they tried to harm me. You were protecting me, not harming me, and I am forever grateful for that.”

Astarion takes your bloodstained hand and presses it against his cheek, leaning into the warm feeling, “I need you, Y/N.”

You feel a fresh wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stop the cascade. He shifts closer to you and leans in, ready to pull away should you flinch but you remain still, looking him in the eye and so he wraps himself around you, holding you tightly.

The dam bursts open and you weep, clutching at his tunic. Ugly tears dampen his sleeve, ruining his perfect appearance but Astarion doesn’t care. He’d do anything for you, just like how you’d do anything for him. The vampire spawn rests a reassuring hand on the back of your head while the other rubs circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Right now, only you matter, and if you needed a shoulder to cry on, he would be that shoulder.

“I can’t lose you,” you sob through the tears. “I’ve lost everything else already, I can’t lose you too. WIthout you, I…I don’t know what to do. You’re the only one who keeps me going.”

Astarion presses his lips to your head, closing his eyes as he takes in your sweet scent, “I can’t lose you either, Y/N, and I promise, we will remain by each other’s side forever.”

His words make you cry harder and you bury yourself into his chest, crying until you have nothing left to give and lie there panting, cries reduced to sniffles. Astarion kisses away the tears that remain on your cheek, lips lingering longer than necessary with each kiss before pressing his forehead against yours.

“All these years, I’ve always wondered if anyone would ever care about me to the point where they would do anything to protect me, and now I’ve found my answer in you,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t be happier knowing that you would choose me over everything else.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Thank you, for accepting me after seeing what I really am.”

“Any time, dearest.” He continues to cradle you in his arms, gently swaying from side to side. As your eyelids begin to flutter shut, he decides that tonight, it can’t just be you who is vulnerable. You trust him enough to drop your guard to this extent around him, he wants to repay the favour.

“I had a nightmare about you, just the other night.” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, tracing your jawline. He’s been wanting to keep this a secret, afraid of scaring you but since you had challenged the gods themselves, perhaps a vampire wasn’t that scary in comparison.

“Did I look hot in it?”

Astarion blinks in surprise. Maybe he was rubbing off on you too much. Amusement colours his face as he gives your cheek a poke and pouts. “First you steal my role as the broody rogue in the party and now you try to take my place as the residential flirt?”

“It’s all your fault,” you huff good naturedly, folding your arms across your chest. “You’ve been a terrible influence on me.”

He smiles softly, giving you a peck on the lips, “I suppose I have. Although I must say, you have a long way to go before you can ever reach my level.”

“I can’t possibly put you out of a job, can I? Whatever will I do to keep my vampire lover around then?”

“You simply need to exist, darling. That is all.”

Your gaze softens and you press your lips against his, kissing him deeply.

“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” You ask once you reluctantly break away from the kiss to breathe. He nods, swallowing hard.

“Cazador had you. He threatened to kill you unless I returned to him, threatened to turn you into one of his spawn just like me and make you suffer for an eternity while I watched. You swore and cursed at me, saying all this was my fault, that it was all because of me that you were now on the cusp of being turned into a vampire spawn, and I –” His fingers tremble. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Star –”

“I hesitated! I thought about putting myself before you, and I –”

“I want you to do that.”

His eyes widen, “darling, you can’t possibly –”

“Star, you’ve spent far too long putting everyone before yourself. You need to start putting yourself before others from time to time, to stand up for yourself. I want you to live your own life, not someone else’s. And if Cazador ever comes for us, well I won’t let him separate us. We’ll have each other’s backs as we always do, and he won’t stand a chance.”

You say it with such certainty that Astarion almost believes you, but a nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him of how strong Cazador is. Yet, looking deep into your eyes and seeing your resolve, a small part of him dares to hope again. Maybe, he really could stand up against his master with you by his side. Maybe one day, he really could be free, but for now, he’s more than content to simply hold you in his arms, feeling your warm embrace and his undead heart soaring.

#astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion #astarion angst #astarion romance

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tommydarlings · 11 months

Text

Pretty when you cry | c.l

pairing: mean!dom!charles x sub!gasly!reader

warnings: smut, taking virginity, cnc, gagging with fingers, gagging with a thong, chocking, dacryphilia, slapping, slight overstimulation, dumbification -> extended version!! (3.9k)

w/c: 2.5k

summary: After desperately trying to find your brother at a very noisy club, you surprisingly land in the arms of his best friend Charles, and you surprisingly land bend over his kitchen counter while he takes your virginity in a very mean and rough way.

song suggestion: Pretty when you cry by Lana del rey

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! (get access to +25 works) <3 // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

The music was almost hurting your ears as you slowly tried to squeeze your way through the wild crowd, pulling your arms to your chest that was perfectly hugged by the thin, red dress that you’ve bought yourself not to long ago.

You sighed as you weren’t able to see your brother anywhere even though he told you that he’d stay by your side… most of the time.

Worked out great, didn’t it?

But who were you to blame — you should have known better than that. Obviously your brother, Pierre would be celebrating with his friends and drink until dawn breaks out instead of watching if his little sister and making sure that she’s having fun.

Oh, you were having sooooo much fun trying to find your older brother and telling him that you’ll go home now since you're… tired.

But after multiple hopeless minutes of trying to find Pierre, you gave up and just decided to take seat at the bar, ordering a harmless glass of water.

Suddenly a young but rather crusty and drunk man sat himself down, right next to you even though every other seat was still available. Could this night get any better?

“Well hello, gorgeous,” he slurred his words, obviously being under the influence of too much alcohol as he came a bit closer to you, making you sliding your body a few centimetres away from him,

“I am not-”

“Shut the fuck up and let the man speak, are we clear?” He interrupted you as his palm touched your bare skin on your back, fingers gliding along your shivering figure. You never felt that kind of fear before.

“Don’t be scared-”

“I am not int-”

“Shut the hell up bitch! God! You are really something else, aren’t you little one?” The stranger yelled at you in a loud tone before his fingers went further down, making tears fill up your eyes.

After swallowing at least a tiny part of your fear down, you swiftly stood up, “I said that I am not interested.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, “And I said that you should shut the fuck up and let the man talk, you-”

“Excuse me?” Someone interrupted the stranger who was still touching your back. As soon as you turned around, you were quite suprised to see your brother's best friend, Charles, standing with a dark and almost possessive gaze right behind you.

You gulped as you looked up at Charles, “C-Charles, I-”

But before you could say anything, Charles grabbed the stranger by his wrist and removed his palm from your body, harshly throwing it away before he got a hold of his collar and slammed his against his seat.

“Touch her again, and I’ll make sure that you ain’t got no hands to touch her with anymore, am I clear?” Charles spoke up with pure rage in his voice, quickly letting go of the young, disgusting man before he looked down at your slightly paralysed figure.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asked you as soon as the young man left, hand now gently touching your arm, thumb drawing circles onto your skin.

You slowly nodded, “I-I am-” but you couldn’t get the words out, you just started crying and before you knew it, you stood up and fell into your brother's best friend's arms, tightly hugging him as he put his chin on top of your head and shushed you.

“Shh,” he whispered as his palms caressed your back, “It’s okay now, I am here, alright?” Charles asked you as he looked down at you, wiping your tears away before he gave you a quick and short peck onto the top of your head.

You briefly wiped one last tear away before you lifted your head and looked up at Charles, “I w-want to go home b-but I can’t find my b-brother.” Quickly looking around the big, noisy room again to see if you maybe see him now but no chance, Pierre was nowhere in sight.

Charles briefly scanned the room as well before he brushed a strand of hair out of your face and answered,

“I can take you home if you want to, sweetheart,” Charles whispered in your ear while his hands didn’t leave your still shaking body, you nodded before your eyes widened.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“Pierre has my keys! I can’t go home without him!” You nervously told your brother's best friend.

Maybe you’ve imagined it, but you could swear on your older brother that Charles’s eyes briefly darkened as he looked down at you, hands leaving your body as he got his car keys with one hand, and his phone with the other.

You gulped and shook those thoughts away before you leaned forward and glanced at his phone where he’s typing something, other hand playing with his Ferrari car key.

“What are you doing, Charles?” You mumbled. He briefly looked at you, eyes still kind of darker than before,

“I’m texting your brother that I’ve found you and that I’ll take you home with me, okay?” Quickly putting his finger through the big chain that’s attached to his car key before he swiftly took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours.

You were just able nod as the monaguesque leaded the two of your out of the loud club, hand tightly grabbing yours since he really didn’t wanna lose you in that big crowd.

Even through the two of you are not dating, Charles always had a special place in your heart that the other friends of your brother didn’t had. Since today you’re not sure which kind of place that is but you always just brushed the feeling away that you’ve got as soon as Charles looked into your eyes or touched you since you were the little sister of his best friend.

And something like that could never end well, right?

“Thank you,” you quietly thanked him in a hush tone as he opened the passenger door for you, closing it behind you before he went over to the drivers seat, immediately starting the engine, making it roar so loud that most of the people that stood outside turned their heads and looked in your direction.

You just gave the a small, polite smile before Charles already took off and drove you to his home.

- - -

“I’ve actually never seen your house before,” you said as you entered Charles's million dollar mansion in Monaco, feeling his big palm on your back as he leaded you the way towards his living room.

Charles hand left you right before he sat himself down onto one of the big sofas in the modern room, you took a seat at the other one right at the opposite of him.

After taking a deep breath, you leaned down and desperately tried to removed your black high heels, but you felt so exhausted that you just sighed and leaned back again, not even trying.

“Should I help you?” Charles asked you in a quiet but deep tone, already getting on his knee in front of you.

You just nodded, muttering a quiet 'thank you' before his fingertips touched your ankle, slowly gliding them down to the hard fabric before he gently opened your heel and removed it from your tired feet, putting it down right next to him.

Then his hands went to your other leg, fingertips touching your knee now, briefly looking up at you. With slightly widened eyes, you looked down at him, hands gripping onto the couch as his soft fingers glided down your leg until he reached the dark heel.

After a few seconds, he was also able to remove your other heel but this time he bend his body downwards and kissed the spot right above foot, just briefly pecking it but it made you blush like a little school girl that just received her very first kiss.

“Thank you Charles, for everything tonight,” you mumbled as he set the other heel next to the first one down, putting your foot down again, looking up at your sitting figure

“No need to thank me mon chéri,” he answered in a hush tone.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him after he stood up, your heels in his hands as he carries then to the front door, gently setting them down before he turned his body around and look at you.

“I am sorry that you guys have to go through stuff like that almost everyday,” Charles started talking about the man in the club, making your ears peek up, “Men are disgusting, no arguments there, that’s for sure.” The monaguesque told you while you nodded along,

“They r-really are, yeah,” you quietly answered as you crossed your legs and leaned your body backwards, eyes not leaving his slightly darker ones.

“I mean,” you started again, “I guess that I don’t know a lot about men or at least their… sexual behaviour since I’ve never been touched by one but they are definitely… disgusting, nasty, ugly, pricks.”

Suddenly, Charles stood a bit straighter, slowly taking baby steps towards your figure on the sofa.

“What do you mean that you’ve never been touched by a man before, sweetheart?” You briefly blushed at the infamous nickname before you spoke up,

“Well, I-I am a Virgin, so-”

And Charles quietly laughed. Only very, very quietly and softly but you were definitely able to hear it, no doubts.

“You-, You’re a virgin?” Charles asked as he stood almost right in front of you, forcing you to look up at your brother's best friend.

You nodded, “yeah, I j-just don’t want to waste it, you know?” You gulped as he stood right in front of you, hands in the pocket of his dark slacks as he looked down into your big eyes looking at him.

“Yeah, I understand,” he mumbled in a deep tone, eyes now visibly darker… for some reason that you couldn’t catch onto.

Then, after starring at each other eyes for a couple of seconds, Charles removed one of his hand from his pocket and put it on your check, thumb gliding along your bottom lip as his lips turned into a very tiny smirk.

You furrowed your brows as you looked up at the Ferrari driver, thumb now softly and slowly caressing your bottom lip. And then he tapped onto your lip, silently asking you to open your mouth and suck on his thumb.

And to your surprise, you did as you were told and opened your mouth and sucked on his thumb.

“I knew it,” Charles muttered as you furrowed your brows again, not knowing what he meant by that.

“I fuckin' knew that you were not the pretty little innocent girl that’s just Pierre’s little sister and nothing more,” he whispered in a deep tone, “Your doing so good for me, ma chérie.”

You took his thumb a bit deeper into your mouth while he opened his pants, removing his belt before he freed himself.

And oh my god, was that fucking big.

He chuckled in a deep tone as he saw how your eyes widened, thumb leaving your greedy mouth, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” slowly leaning forward so that his mouth was hovering above your ear, “I’ll make it fit in every single hole of yours,” he told you, making you gulp before he brushed some hair out of your face.

“Stick your tongue out, baby,” Charles demanded in a rather soft tone. He got a hold of his big cock and slapped the tip of it onto your wet tongue, repeatedly doing so while you kept your hat on his one.

“That’s my good girl,” he muttered deeply as he shoved his dick down your throat, at first very slowly but then going a bit faster as he noticed your want for it.

“Fucking shit,” he groaned loudly, “if your brother would only know what I am doing with you now and what I am gonna do with you after you’re down with sucking my cock, then I would be dead.” He stated as his breathing pattern got more uneven, feeling his orgasm approaching him while you gagged around his cock.

“O-Oh my god, just l-like that!” He groaned deeply as he got a hold of the back of your head, forcing your mouth even further down his cock while he looked down at you.

You continued gagging on his cock as he shoved him further down your throat, making tears shoot into your eyes, Charles was only able to growl as he noticed that.

He removed your head from his cock and slapped his leaking tip onto your sticked out tongue, smirking while doing so, “if your b-brother should ever p-provoke before, during or after a r-race, I am gonna record you in that e-exact state and send it t-to him, I swear I-I do that.”

You gasped and quickly closed your mouth, in the meanwhile — Charles took your hand and leaded it to his erection, forcing you to jerk him off, “Please d-don’t do that c-charles, Pierre would kill b-both of u-us.” You answered quietly.

He chuckled at your reaction, one hand on your wrist as he guided your hand that was currently jerking him off while the other hand held your chin, thumb playing with your now slightly cum covered lip.

“We'll see… it depends.” He mumbled.

You tilted your head to the side but charles didn’t liked that, immediately turning your head again and pushing your face slightly forward.

“Depends on what?” You asked him innocently, hand not stopping the movements on his cock.

“Depends on how good of a good girl you are for me tonight, you understand?”

You slowly nodded, gulping at his demanding tone. Charles smiled in a wicked way, “Good.”

Then, he gently took your hand and removed it from his cock, tightly gripping your upper arm and pulling your body up, leading you in a quick and careless way towards the kitchen counter, swiftly bending you over it.

“C-Charles, what are you d-”

But your sentence was cut off by his big palm slapping over your mouth, suddenly feeling his closer to your body.

He got a hold of your thong, dragging it down your legs.

You expected him to put it down onto the counter next to you, or maybe dropping it onto the floor but that wasn’t the case, no — he tied the thin, white material around your mouth, not making it unable for you to speak but also not making it able for you to speak properly.

You gulped, or at least desperately tried to do so, as Charles made sure that the white piece of clothing is tightly tied around your mouth, feeling how he exposed your ass, dick gliding along your wet entrance now.

And once again, you gasped at the feeling, especially since you were feeling it for the first time.

“Do you trust me, mon amour?” Charles whispered in your ear from behind while the tears didn’t stop.

You refused to answer for a few seconds but then you mumbled through your thong,

“Yes.”

He quietly sighed, “Bad idea.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc ferrari #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #smut #Patreon

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moonstruckme · 6 months

Note

hi love! could I request reader having a nightmare and Remus comforting her?

Hi gorgeous, of course you can! Thanks :)

roomate!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You wake when your own fist hits the window beside your bed.

You’re not sure if it's the feeling of the cold glass hitting your hand, the loud banging sound it makes in your silent flat, or the terror that’s been building as your dream reaches a climax, but you gasp as you wake, flinching away from the window.

For a few moments, you just lie there. Staring into the darkness and listening to the pounding of your heart. You’re okay. You’re in your room, at home. There’s no one here.

Until there is. Remus busts in your door, wild-eyed and rumpled, and you flinch back towards the window you’d been so eager to get away from a few seconds before.

“Shit!” Your eyes fill with tears as your brain plunges from the treacherous peak of adrenaline for the second time in a minute. You squeeze them shut, covering your face with your hands. “I’m so sorry, Remus. I woke you?”

“That was you?” He stops just inside the doorway, fisting a hand in his hair and blowing out a harsh breath. “Christ, I thought someone was breaking in.”

“Sorry,” you say pathetically, sitting up and wiping under your eyes. “I think I was breaking out. I hit the window in my sleep.”

Remus’ eyes flit to the window (you don’t think you came anywhere near damaging it, thank god), before landing back on your face. His eyebrows draw together. “Well, that’s a reaction. Everything okay?”

You swallow. “Yeah, just sorry I woke you. You should go back to sleep.”

“Why are you crying?” He ignores the suggestion and comes to sit on the edge of your bed. You make room for him automatically, drawing your knees to your chest.

“I guess I spooked myself,” you laugh wetly. “It was just a dream, though.”

The space between Remus’ brows puckers. “Bad dream? Must’ve been pretty terrifying for you to jerk your arm like that.” He’s looking at you thoughtfully. “I’ve never known you to do anything like that before.”

You shrug, feeling your face heat from the attention. “Hopefully it’s the only time.”

“Do you think it might help to talk about it?”

“I’ve already forgotten most of it,” you say, but give him a small smile for his efforts. He really is the best roommate you could ask for, kind to a fault. “I woke up pretty freaked, but I’ll get over it. Thanks, though.”

Remus watches you with those warm, caramel eyes of his. You get the impression he’s sizing you up. “Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep after that, love?”

You’re sure he’s tacked on the endearment to imbue the question with extra sweetness (as if his voice isn’t enough), wanting to make it clear that either answer is alright. But even Remus’ special brand of tenderness can’t convince you to inconvenience him any more than you already have. Your heart is still half-stuck in your throat, and there’s no way you’re going to let yourself fall back asleep when you’re in this headspace—that’d just be asking for another nightmare. He doesn’t need to worry about that, though.

“Yeah,” you fib. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”

Remus looks dissatisfied, but nods. “Alright.” He reaches up, giving your knee an affectionate squeeze as he stands. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Sorry again for waking you,” you say, voice pitched high with shame.

“Don’t be,” he says, plodding sleepily out of your room. “It’s no problem.”

You’re positive it was some problem, considering he’d been roused by your noise in the early hours of the morning and come charging into your room looking half-crazed, but you’re done arguing about it. Maybe if you still haven’t fallen asleep by six or seven, you’ll get up early to make him an apology breakfast.

You track the sound of Remus’ quiet footsteps as he goes into his room, waiting for the click of the door closing. A few moments, and it doesn’t come. His footfalls have stopped, until they change direction, shuffling back across the hall.

His head pokes into your room. “You’re not going back to sleep, are you?”

Your shoulders begin to curl towards your ears. “No,” you say in a small voice, “but it doesn’t need to be your problem.”

He gives you a disapproving look. “Would it help to sleep in my room?”

You startle. “I could never ask—”

“You’re not asking,” he says, seeming to have got his answer. “Come on.”

“Remus, thank you, but I can’t stay in your room.”

“Sure you can. My bed’s bigger, and the longer you argue the less time either of us gets to sleep.” He levels you with a hard look, and for a second, your quiet, polite roommate is nearly intimidating. “Come on.”

You comply this time, slipping out from beneath your blankets. “Sorry,” you say, and then, unable to choose, “thank you. You’re seriously too nice.”

“I’m not,” Remus mutters, waiting at the door until he’s sure you’re coming before leading the way into his room. “The problem is that you’re too nice, and so I can’t ignore you when you’re upset like I would anyone else.”

You sincerely doubt that. You’ve seen Remus rush off at the drop of a hat whenever any of his friends needed him. He’ll give every scrap of himself to anyone he cares about, without hesitation.

But instead of that, you say, “I’m not upset.”

“That’s good,” Remus replies, lying down and propping himself up on one elbow. When you hover on the edge, waiting for permission, he gestures to the other side patiently. “It’s alright to still be a bit frightened, though, you know?”

You gnaw on the inside of your lip as you crawl beneath the covers. It feels like such an invasion. “I think it’s more just the aftershocks of fear,” you tell him. “I’m still panicking a bit, but I can’t even remember what about.”

He hums, his watchfulness making you squirm as you lay your cheek on his pillow, facing him. His sheets smell like him, cinnamon and clove and something heady that you’ve never been able to place. “That doesn’t mean the panic isn’t still scary, yeah? How’re you feeling now?”

He asks like he really wants to know, and you believe him. There’s a particular sincerity to Remus. He likes to hide it behind gruffness and feigned insouciance, sometimes for so long that you can trick yourself into thinking you imagined it was there in the first place. He’s not hiding it now.

“Better,” you answer honestly. “Kind of getting tired. Did I startle you awake too badly to sleep?”

The smile he gives you is small for all the fondness it contains. “No, I’m getting tired too. Ready to try sleeping again? If I notice you stirring, I can wake you if you like.”

You feel like you could cry again, but for completely different reasons. “I’d really appreciate that. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He sets his head on the pillow next to yours, the backs of his knuckles resting gently against the side of your hand. “Goodnight, love.”

You let the weight of your eyelids win, the darkness behind them more welcoming with Remus beside you. “Goodnight.”

You don’t wake again until morning.

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beskarandblasters · 1 month

Text

Say you can’t sleep, baby, I know

Pre Outbreak!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Ways to help Palestine

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Author’s note: This came as a result of me listening to Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter on my way to work this morning ☕️ Dividers are by @saradika-graphics 🩵

Summary: Joel can’t sleep and he’s up thinking about you.

Word count: 313

Warnings: pre/no outbreak, allusions to smut, reader is able-bodied, pet names, no use of y/n

Joel can’t sleep. He’s missing you by his side. He feels desperate, contemplating calling you up in the early hours of the night. He tells himself he should just go to bed, to tough it out.

But he can’t sleep without you, by his side with skin so soft it intoxicates him. And your scent. God, your scent. He’s hard thinking about your soft skin and your sweet scent, cock straining against his boxers. Pre-cum leaks from the head of his cock, dampening the fabric as he considers stroking himself. Sure, it would get the job done. But it’s nowhere near as good as the real thing. If he’s going to stroke himself he would prefer if you were sitting on his face, thighs enveloping either side of his head, wetness seeping out of you and running down his chin.

Or he’d want you underneath him, cunt clenching his cock, drawing his orgasm out of him. Your soft moans like music to his ears. He’d bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as his thrusts go wild, telling you how you’re such a good girl for taking his cock like this.

But his favorite position of all is when you’re riding him, your hands flat on his chest as you rock your hips and forth. The way you ride him makes the bed frame shake but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it. He always thinks to himself that if he were to die in that moment, he’d die a happy man.

Fuck it, he thinks to himself.

He rolls over and grabs the phone, dialing your number. He knows it by heart at this point.

“Hello?” you answer, sleep laced in your voice.

“Darlin’? Can you come over? I can’t sleep.”

“I figured,” you giggle. “I’ll be right over, baby.”

You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller drabble #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedrostories

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gigabyte-flare · 9 days

Text

Denim

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: Your boyfriend comes home from an assignment still wearing his gear coupled with a pair of jeans you had gotten him, the sight of him driving you wild.

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: RE4R!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Kissing, unprotected p in v, creampie, mention of firearms

A/N: This is 5000% self indulgent. I've been playing through Resident Evil 4 Remake yet again with this Special Rescue Agent mod and oh my god those jeans are so fucking sexy on him. I needed to write this to get it out of my system. You're welcome 🤣

A quick reminder that I no longer do tag lists

The door to your apartment bursts open, your boyfriend walking through briskly before closing the door behind him. You could tell from the corner of your eye he was still wearing his tactical gear and gun holster around his waist, having just come back from another grueling mission for the U.S. government to god knows where. A hint of blue draws your attention even further, your eyes now locked on the denim that perfectly accentuates his waist and backside.

“Hey, sorry I’m late babe. I had to fill out paperwork before they could let me come home. They didn’t even give me a chance to change my gear--”

Standing over the kitchen sink, you’re not even listening to your boyfriend at this point because you are way too focused on how absolutely fine he looks in the jeans you had bought him some time ago. Your mouth is hanging open and you drop the sponge you were holding into the dish water, making a subtle splash sound as your heart starts pounding in your chest. You didn’t think he even liked the jeans you got him because he had never worn them.

Until now, that is.

“Babe? Are you alright?” Leon asks, tilting his head at you and raising an eyebrow as he turns to face you.

You blink a few times, shaking your head to snap you out of your lust filled daze, returning your focus back to the dirty dishes as you fish through the water to grab the sponge, “yeah sorry! Long day…” you haphazardly reply.

“Right…” Leon says, nodding slightly before clearing his throat to continue, “let me get this gear off and I’ll come help you.”

Leon turns to walk into the bedroom, his heavy boots echoing through the apartment. You allow yourself another look as he walks off, your breath catching in your throat. It’s not just the jeans that made him look so… attractive. It’s the way the straps of his gun holster and various pouches attached to his belt hugged his thighs and how they perfectly shaped Leon’s toned backside. You unknowingly have a death grip on the sponge as hordes of less than appropriate thoughts fill your mind, causing you to bite your bottom lip.

“Stop…” you say softly; not even realizing you had said it out loud until Leon stops in his tracks and turns around to face you again.

“Hm? What’s up?” he asks before a knowing smirk begins to cross his lips as he puts his hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stammer before dropping the sponge back into the sink, “you just look really fucking hot in those jeans, Leon.”

He lets out a playful laugh before approaching you; you swear he’s swaying his hips as he walks on purpose just to rile you up, and it works. Now standing in front of you, his gloved fingers tracing along your jawline before cupping the back of your head, his fingers carding through your hair. His blue eyes boring into yours, piercing directly into your very soul.

“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice low and sultry before he leans in, burying his face into the crook of your neck, feeling his lips and tongue upon your skin.

Immediately, your knees are weak and the only sound you manage to get out is a strained whimper as he pushes his body into yours. Your hands, having a mind of their own, reach down around his waist, slipping inside the back pockets of his jeans before gripping his toned ass. Leon lets out a low chuckle against your neck, feeling it reverberate through your body.

Leon’s hands run down the sides of your body before settling on your waist. He shifts both of you away from the sink before lifting you up by your waist, setting you onto the countertop. He then lifts your sundress up over your knees, gathering it onto your plush thighs before his fingers hook around the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them off and tossing them aside.

Knowing what’s to come, you shift yourself so that you’re balancing on the edge of the counter on your backside, using your hands to brace yourself against the counter. You watch Leon start to remove his belt and holster, but you reach out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Keep it on. It’s really sexy,” you say, smiling at him.

He lets out another chuckle before kissing you deeply on the lips, “whatever you want, babe. Let me just make sure the pistol’s safety is on.”

Leon takes a step back briefly, pulling his Sentinel Nine out of its holster, hearing the click of him engaging the safety before returning it to its holster. He steps towards you again and you watch in anticipation as his fingers undo his jeans, pushing them and his boxers just enough so that his hardening length springs free. You watch his gloved hand wrap around his length, giving it a few strokes before he lines himself up with your soaked entrance.

As he slowly sheathes himself inside you, your legs wrap themselves around his waist and your hands work on removing the straps and buckles keeping his tactical vest in place. Once unbuckled, he shrugs it off himself and it lands on the kitchen floor with a loud thud, leaving him in just his tight, black athletic t-shirt. Now that he doesn’t have the bulky vest on, he wastes no time pressing himself against your body, his hips pistoning into your welcoming heat.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, soft moans escaping you before you lock your lips with his. Your pussy walls clench around his cock, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body, giving you goosebumps on your arms.

“Oh fuck! Feels so good, Leon…” you breathe out as Leon drives you towards the edge, feeling your orgasm coil in your belly, ready to snap at any moment.

“Yeah? I’m the only one who’s made you feel this good, aren’t I?” Leon asks, his tone husky and full of playful arrogance.

“Yes!” you cry out, the coil finally snapping, your release completely soaking him, leaving the telltale white ring around the base of his cock.

“Son of a bitch…!” Leon growls, increasing the pace of his thrusts inside you as he chases his own release. He leans in close, his breath tickling your ear before he whispers, “where do you want my cum, sweetheart?”

“Inside!” you whimper, your legs trembling from your earlier orgasm as your arms cling to his back, “please…!”

“You got it babe,” he replies, his hips practically hammering into your body before pressing himself as hard and deep inside you as he can possibly go, painting your walls white with his love.

The warmth of his cum filling you pulls a long and loud moan out of you, your eyes practically rolling into the back of your head and you melt in his embrace. Leon lets out another low chuckle as he wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back with both of his hands as he gives you soft kisses on your cheek.

“Remind me to wear these jeans more often.”

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #gigabyte writes

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