can i please ask for some more free use mattheo riddle?? i loved it so much, i truly liked that it was him getting used and not the other way around like the dynamic was neat
you asked for this so long ago! sorry it took so long!
more free use mattheo! 18+
free use, semi-public sex, smut without plot
Mattheo hadn’t thought past the heat of the moment when he’d murmured, low and reckless, that you could use him whenever you wanted.
It had felt so right then. Your body pressed flush against his, skin fever-hot through thin fabric, your perfume curling into his lungs like smoke, lips glossy and parted. How was he supposed to say no to that? To you?
He certainly hadn’t pictured this.
Library shadows stretch long across the forbidden section. Ancient parchment crackles faintly under his fingertips as he turns another brittle page until the book slips from his suddenly nerveless hands.
Skirt rucked up around your waist like crumpled silk, thighs straddling his lap before he can even draw breath. Your cunt is molten, slick and swollen, dragging a single obscene glide down the entire flushed length of him the second you sink. No preamble. No warning. Just the wet, sucking heat of you swallowing him to the root in one greedy drop.
A broken sound rips out of his throat.
His slacks are shoved down only far enough, belt buckle biting into the tops of his thighs, zipper teeth pressed cruelly against his skin. Your ass, soft and round and impossibly plush, slaps rhythmically against his pelvis with every downward stroke. The sound is filthy, wet and meaty, echoing off stone walls that have stood silent for centuries.
Mattheo’s head tips back against the carved chair. Sweat beads along his hairline, trickles down his temple. His mouth hangs open, panting each exhale ragged, almost a whine. Cheeks blaze crimson. Pupils blown so wide the hazel is nearly gone.
Your nails dig half-moons into the meat of his hips, arms pulled at an awkward angle half hazardly behind you as you ride him harder, faster. Every time your hips roll forward your clit grinds against the coarse hair at his base and you make this little punched-out moan that shoots straight to his balls.
He can feel how drenched you are. How your arousal coats him, drips down his shaft, slicks the crease where thigh meets groin, soaks into the fabric still bunched around his hips. The chair creaks under the relentless pace. Leather groans. Wood protests.
His hands are brutal on your hips. Fingers sunk deep into soft flesh, bruising purple already, yanking you down harder onto every thick inch. He wants to split you open. Wants to feel your walls flutter and clench when you come so hard you forget your own name.
The ancient text lies forgotten on the floor, pages splayed like broken wings.
All he can hear is the obscene squelch of your greedy cunt devouring him, the wet slap of skin on skin, your breathy little gasps every time he bottoms out, and the low, helpless groan he can’t stop making every time you tighten around him like a fist.
“Fuck—fuck—” he chokes, voice wrecked.
His hips jerk up involuntarily to meet your next drop, driving deeper, and your head falls back on a trembling moan that makes his cock throb violently inside you.
"Baby— ah fuck—slow down, princess.”
His voice cracks on the plea, low and wrecked, but you’re already much too far gone to listen.
Your orgasm you've needed all day is right there, coiled tight and electric in your lower belly, thighs screaming from the relentless burn of riding him. Sweat slicks the small of your back, beads rolling down between your breasts, catching in the valley where your shirt’s been shoved up and forgotten. You twist just enough to look at him over your shoulder and the sight nearly shatters you.
Mattheo is wrecked.
Cheeks flushed a deep, feverish crimson that spreads down his throat. Messy raven curls plastered to his forehead with sweat, a few strands clinging to dark lashes that flutter every time you slam back down. His eyes that are usually so sharp, so mocking are heavy-lidded, pupils blown to black, glazed with something helpless and blissful. That pretty mouth hangs open in a soft, broken ‘o’, lips swollen and glistening, every exhale a ragged little sound that vibrates straight to your clit.
Fuck. He looks devastating like this. Completely at your mercy, unraveling thread by thread beneath you.
So instead of slowing, you drive yourself down harder. Faster. The thick head of his cock spears impossibly deeper with every drop, kissing your cervix in sharp, bruising little taps that make your vision spark white at the edges. Your walls flutter and clamp around him like they’re trying to pull him in permanently. Wet, obscene squelches fill the dim library air every time your ass slaps against his thighs.
Your eyes roll back. Toes curl so hard your calves cramp. Heat surges, liquid and blinding. A broken cry tears from your throat as you come hard, sudden, gushing. Your release floods out in hot, slippery pulses, cream frothing thick and white at the base of his cock, streaking down his balls, soaking the dark fabric still bunched around his hips.
The second your body goes limp and boneless he pulls you to his chest to take over.
Strong hands clamp impossibly tighter around your waist. Fingers digging into already-bruised flesh as he snaps his hips up with brutal precision. Once. Twice. Again. Pounding into your oversensitive, dripping cunt like he’s trying to carve himself into you forever. The wet slap of skin on skin turns deafening; every thrust forces more of your slick to spill out, dripping down his shaft, pooling on the leather seat beneath him.
His breathing turns jagged, animal. A low, guttural groan rips from his chest as his cock swells thicker inside you, pulsing against your fluttering walls. You feel the first hot spurt coat your insides then another, and another, his release surging up his spine in violent waves. He buries himself to the hilt and grinds, hips rolling in slow, deep circles while he empties every last drop, painting your cervix, filling you until you’re leaking around him even as he stays locked deep.
His forehead drops to your shoulder. Hot, uneven breaths fan across your damp skin. His arms band around your waist like he never intends to let go.
For long seconds there’s only the sound of both of you trying to remember how to breathe ragged, trembling inhales and the faint, sticky drip of your combined mess hitting the floor.
He presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, voice hoarse and wrecked when he finally speaks.
“Next time you pull that shit…” A shaky laugh. “…I’m tying your pretty wrists to this chair first.”
You clench down hard around him on pure instinct, velvet walls fluttering and squeezing his overworked cock like you’re trying to wring another orgasm out of him. Mattheo’s lips peel back in a filthy, lopsided smirk that's half triumph, half suffering before the overstimulation hits him like a hex to the spine and his expression fractures.
“What—What are you doing?,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
Your bullshit little pout slides into place instantly, lashes fluttering, voice syrup-sweet and dangerous. “You said whenever I wanted.”
His cock still buried to the hilt, still stupidly sensitive jerks violently inside you at the reminder. You feel every thick inch of him twitch, the slit leaking weakly against your cervix as his body betrays how wrecked he already is. You roll your hips in a slow, deliberate grind, dragging your slick-soaked walls up his length and then sinking back down with just enough pressure to make his thighs tremble.
His fingers dig brutally back into the soft dip of your waist, hard enough to bruise, trying to still you. Trying and failing.
“Y-yeah…” His voice comes out shredded, cracked, barely more than a rasp. “I did, didn’t I?”
Chest heaving, sweat sliding down the sharp cut of his throat, he stares up at you like you’re simultaneously his ruin and his religion. His hands flex, slide up to grip your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as though he’s debating whether to push you off or pull you down harder.
He does neither.
Because even now, cock throbbing painfully, balls tight and aching, every nerve screaming from too much sensation. He knows he’s going to let you take him again. Knows he’ll let you use him until he’s whimpering, until he’s coming dry or crying or both.
How could he ever say no to you when you look like this? Flushed, greedy, glistening with both of your messes, lips swollen from earlier and eyes dark with the promise of more?
Summary: You’re a shy, careful Hufflepuff with little experience and even fewer confidantes. When the Marauders invite you to work on their assignment, you don’t realize you’re signing up for lessons far beyond charms.
Tags: MaraudersEra, BlackReader, Hufflepuff!reader, Innocent!reader, Virgin!reader, First time, Corruption kink, Marauders x reader, Polyamory, poly!marauders, Fluff and smut, Touch exploration, Overstimulation, Shy!reader
You’d been watching them from the far side of the pitch for the better part of half an hour, the autumn wind tugging at your Hufflepuff scarf while you waited. Quidditch practice for Gryffindor always seemed to go on forever, though maybe it only felt that way because you were standing there, gripping your books like a shield, rehearsing what you were going to say.
The Marauders — James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin — were not the sort of boys you usually sought out. In fact, up until this week, your interactions with them had been limited to polite nods in the corridor and the occasional “sorry” when you passed them in the library. You preferred your small circle of friends, your neat stack of notes, and the quiet hum of the Hufflepuff common room over their noisy, chaotic orbit.
But now you were stuck in it.
Professor Flitwick, in what you could only assume was a moment of cruel whimsy, had paired the four of you for the midterm Charms project due in just a few days. And so far, the Marauders had contributed precisely nothing except a string of excuses and an invitation to “not stress, love, there’s loads of time.”
There was not, in fact, loads of time.
So here you were, waiting until they finished flying around like madmen so you could corner them.
James spotted you first as he swooped down, broom in hand, his hair plastered to his forehead. “Oi, Hufflepuff!” he called, grinning like he’d just scored the winning goal. “What brings you all the way out here?”
You straightened your spine. “We need to work on the Charms assignment. It’s due in two days.”
Sirius, landing just behind him, ran a hand through his long, damp hair. He had at least three silver rings glinting on his fingers and that lopsided smile that was somehow both charming and dangerous. “She’s so organised it’s terrifying,” he said to Remus, who was strolling over, broom slung over one shoulder.
Remus’s mouth quirked. “Terrifying? Or admirable?”
“Both,” Sirius said, tossing you a wink.
You felt your cheeks warm but refused to be distracted. “Can we please meet tonight? After dinner? We can work in the library—”
“No, no, no,” James interrupted, shaking his head. “The library’s a death trap. We’ll just end up getting kicked out for laughing too loud.”
You clutched your books tighter. “Fine. Where, then?”
“Our dorm,” Remus said easily. “After dinner. We’ll be perfect little model students, promise.”
Something told you that “perfect” wasn’t exactly the right word for them, but at least you had an agreement.
You’re almost hesitant to knock on their dorm door later, your palm hovering just short of the wood. The seventh-year Gryffindor boys’ room is off-limits to most people, you’ve never had reason to be here, and the knowledge that you’re about to step into their space makes your pulse race.
The door swings open before you can even knock. Sirius leans in the doorway, hair loose around his shoulders, smelling faintly of smoke and whatever cologne he wears that’s sharp and warm at the same time.
“Come in, Hufflepuff,” he says with a crooked grin.
Inside, it’s exactly the kind of mess you expected: broomsticks propped in corners, stray socks on the floor, posters of Quidditch teams and scantily-clad witches stuck to the walls. James is sprawled on his bed, tossing a Snitch lazily between his hands, while Remus sits cross-legged at the foot of his own bed, a book balanced on his knee.
You set your bag down at the small desk shoved between two beds and start unpacking your notes. “Right, so—if we split up the charm components, we can—”
You get maybe three sentences into your plan before Sirius derails the entire conversation.
“Did I tell you about that girl from Ravenclaw?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, voice low and teasing. “Absolute stunner. Kept me up all night last weekend.”
Your fingers tighten around your quill, eyes glued to your parchment. “That’s… nice,” you murmur, trying not to picture anything.
“She had this way of—” Sirius starts, but James cuts him off with a laugh.
“Oi, don’t corrupt our poor Hufflepuff. You’ve never slept with a bloke before, have you?”
You freeze. The question hangs heavy in the air, your quill stalling mid-stroke. “I—We should really focus on—”
Remus’s head snaps up, his eyebrows lifting. “Wait. You haven’t?”
Heat prickles at the back of your neck. “That’s not—It’s none of—”
“Hard to believe,” Sirius drawls, reaching forward to catch a curl of your hair between his fingers. He twists it slowly, watching the dark coil spring back. “Someone as pretty as you… untouched?”
Your cheeks burn hotter. “Can we please just work—”
But James is leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with curiosity. “You must get urges, though. Everyone does. How d’you deal with them?”
You shake your head quickly, desperate to divert the conversation. “James—”
Sirius smirks. “She’s got toys, obviously. Plays with herself when no one’s around. Virgins always do.”
Your mouth goes dry. You give a small, frantic shake of your head.
The room stills. Sirius’s smirk falters just slightly. “Wait. You’re telling me you’ve never—”
James’s eyebrows shoot up. “Not even once?”
You shake your head again, looking anywhere but their faces.
For a second, there’s only silence, and then Remus lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. “Merlin’s beard.”
Sirius leans back, grin returning in full force. “That’s… unexpectedly hot.”
“Very,” James agrees, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that makes you want to squirm. “You’ve never even been curious?”
You swallow hard. “I mean… maybe. I’ve heard the girls in my dorm talking about it.”
Sirius tilts his head. “So you’ve just… never tried. Never touched yourself.”
You shake your head again, embarrassed beyond belief.
James whistles softly. “That’s criminal. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Good thing we’re practically professionals,” Sirius says lightly, though there’s a dangerous edge to the glint in his eyes.
You blink at him. “What?”
Remus’s voice is smooth, almost coaxing. “We could show you. If you wanted.”
Your stomach flips violently. “No, I—we have to finish this assignment—”
“We will,” Remus says, leaning forward slightly. “Later. Right now… maybe you should let go a little. Let us show you how to feel good.”
You open your mouth to refuse again, but the curiosity you’ve been denying for years is whispering at the back of your mind. You’ve imagined what it might be like hands on you, mouths on you but never let yourself linger on the thoughts for long.
James must see something in your face, because his grin turns slow and knowing. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve trusted us with a school project. You can trust us with this.”
The heat in the room feels suffocating.
Sirius’s fingers are brushing the hem of your skirt now, not lifting, just tracing the edge. “All you have to do is say yes.”
You hesitate, then nod — once, barely.
“Atta girl,” Sirius murmurs.
The moment his hand pushes your skirt up, instinct flares and you draw in a sharp breath. “Wait, I—”
Remus is already moving, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle, stealing the rest of your protest. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek as if to anchor you.
Sirius’s palm presses between your thighs, warm even through your panties, an experimental rub that makes your stomach clench.
Somewhere to your right, you hear James shift, the quiet click of buttons as your shirt begins to come undone under his sure fingers.
Remus doesn’t pull away.
If anything, his mouth presses more firmly to yours, the kiss deepening by slow, careful increments. It’s not rushed, not hungry in the way you’d imagined boys might kiss there’s patience in him, a measured control that makes it all the more dizzying. His lips part, coaxing rather than demanding, his hand still cupping your jaw like you’re something fragile he doesn’t want to break.
You’d expected kissing to feel… different. Wet, maybe awkward. Instead, there’s a warmth curling in your chest, in your stomach, a steady hum that’s making your knees feel strange even though you’re still sitting.
Somewhere in the background of that warmth, you register James’s fingers working their way down the front of your shirt. The soft click of each button coming undone is louder than it should be in the quiet of the room. The cool air nips at your newly exposed skin, but the heat in your cheeks more than makes up for it.
“Easy, love,” James murmurs, his voice low and smooth near your ear. “Just want to see you.”
Your breath catches. You want to close the shirt again, to keep it together — but Remus’s mouth is moving against yours with such careful insistence that you can’t bring yourself to stop him.
Meanwhile, Sirius hasn’t moved his hand from between your thighs. His touch is steady, palm warm through the thin cotton of your underwear, his thumb stroking idle, lazy patterns that make you tense without meaning to. It’s not invasive, not yet, but there’s something unbearably intimate about how unhurried he is.
“Relax for me,” he says softly, and the roughness in his voice makes your skin prickle. “Just let it happen.”
You try, but the awareness of his hand is like a pulse of its own, a steady reminder of what’s about to happen or what could happen.
James has reached the last button now, the shirt parting fully under his hands. You feel his gaze sweep over you, lingering where your bra covers the curve of your breasts. His fingertips trace along the fabric there, almost reverent, before sliding back to your shoulders to ease the shirt down your arms.
“Merlin,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you.
Remus finally pulls back from your mouth, though he stays close enough that his breath mingles with yours. His eyes flick briefly to Sirius’s hand, then back to your face. “Still okay?”
You nod, though it’s a little shaky. “Y-Yeah.”
That earns you a small, approving smile.
Sirius chooses that moment to hook one finger under the waistband of your panties. You flinch at the movement not from discomfort, but from the sudden intimacy of it. His eyes are on yours as he slides the fabric to the side, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted to. You don’t.
The cool air hits your bare skin, and you can’t stop the small shiver that runs through you. Sirius notices, of course he notices and his grin takes on something sharper.
“Pretty little thing,” he says, almost under his breath, before returning his attention to the task at hand.
He doesn’t plunge in with fingers, doesn’t rush. Instead, his thumb resumes its slow circles, only now there’s no fabric between you. The difference is startling. The touch is softer and sharper at once, every movement sending little sparks dancing low in your stomach.
You let out a sound you didn’t mean to, a tiny, breathy gasp that you try to swallow down. Sirius’s grin widens.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Don’t hold back.”
Remus’s mouth finds yours again, and it’s almost overwhelming now, the way they’re both on you at once one coaxing your lips open, the other coaxing something deeper from you entirely. James is still close, his fingers brushing along your arm, your side, tracing the edge of your bra as if committing every line of you to memory.
Sirius’s pace is maddening. He keeps his movements small and deliberate, circling slowly around that sensitive spot until your legs tense without your permission. Every time you start to tip forward into something sharper, he eases back, dragging it out until your breathing turns uneven.
You didn’t know it could feel like this, warm and fluttery and tight all at once, the tension coiling low in your belly with each slow press of his thumb.
“Breathe,” Remus murmurs against your lips, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath without meaning to. You exhale shakily, and Sirius takes advantage of the moment to press just a fraction harder.
The sound that escapes you is embarrassingly needy.
“Good girl,” Sirius says, and for some reason the words send the tension in your stomach snapping. It washes over you in a hot rush, your thighs trembling as you try to stifle the sound rising in your throat.
Sirius doesn’t stop. If anything, his movements smooth out, guiding you through the strange, rippling aftershocks until you slump slightly against Remus’s steady frame.
“First one?” James’s voice is warm with amusement.
You manage a breathless nod.
Sirius chuckles low. “Let’s see if we can make it two.”
Before you can protest, his thumb is moving again not as slow as before now, but still deliberate, still maddening in its precision. You’re already sensitive, the skin there tingling from the last wave, and the new stimulation makes you jerk involuntarily.
“It’s okay,” Remus murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Let it happen again.”
You’re not sure you can or maybe you’re too sure you can, too quickly. The second crest builds faster, Sirius’s focus unrelenting, his free hand bracing lightly against your thigh to keep you from squirming away.
It’s almost too much, but the way they’re all watching you, James’s eyes fixed on your face, Remus’s gaze soft but unyielding, Sirius’s smirk growing with every sound you make keeps you rooted in place.
When it hits, it’s sharper this time, a flash of heat and release that makes you cling to Remus without thinking. Sirius slows only when your thighs press together in reflex, easing you back down until your breathing steadies.
You sag against Remus, your head spinning, and somewhere above you, Sirius gives a satisfied little hum.
“Two,” he says simply, like he’s keeping score.
You don’t have the energy to glare at him not when your body still feels warm and liquid, the air thick with the mix of your breaths and theirs.
You’re still melting against Remus, your chest rising and falling unevenly, when James shifts beside you, sliding closer with a soft, teasing smile.
“Alright,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “I want to see how many fingers you can take.”
Your breath hitches at his words, a flush creeping up your neck and spreading through your chest.
“W-What?” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.
Sirius’s grin turns wicked, but there’s something gentle in the way Remus squeezes your hand, steadying you.
“It’s okay,” Remus says softly. “We’ll go slow. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
Sirius leans in, brushing a loose curl behind your ear. “We just want to make you feel good. Promise you’ll tell us if it’s too much.”
The nervous flutter in your stomach twists tighter, but their calm words, the way they’re watching you with nothing but care and patience, help quiet the rising panic.
James shifts again, carefully moving so that he’s directly beside you, his fingers warm as he gently parts your thighs.
“Just breathe,” he whispers, thumb brushing the delicate skin of your inner thigh. “We’ll take this as slow as you need.”
Your heart pounds as his hand moves lower, the heat radiating from his fingers making you tremble.
Then, with the softest touch, James presses the pad of one finger to your entrance.
You’re tight, impossibly tight and the sensation is unfamiliar, sharp and strange, but not unpleasant.
“It’s alright,” James murmurs, barely moving, letting you adjust to the pressure.
You bite your lip, blinking up at him, unsure but willing to try.
Slowly, carefully, he slides that one finger inside, inch by inch.
A sharp gasp escapes you, a mixture of surprise and intensity, and your hand shoots out to grip Remus’s shirt for support.
“You’re doing so well,” James encourages, fingers gentle but confident.
Sirius leans forward, fingers deftly undoing the clasp of your bra. The cool air hitting your exposed skin makes your nipples harden, and your body tenses, caught between nervousness and something deeper, something raw and alive.
He trails his fingers lightly over your breasts, careful not to rush, teasing your skin before slipping a single finger inside the cup, circling the tender skin beneath.
The contrast between James’s slow intrusion and Sirius’s teasing touch is electric, your body reacting in ways you didn’t expect.
James gently moves his finger, the motion slow and deliberate. You wince slightly, tightness wrapping around him like a velvet glove but the ache in your lower belly is growing warmer, softer.
“Feels good?” Remus’s voice is a soothing balm next to your ear.
You nod, breath trembling. “Y-Yeah…”
James, encouraged, tries to ease in a second finger.
It’s harder this time. Your muscles instinctively clench around him, tight and protective.
“Okay, okay,” James murmurs, pausing to let you adjust. His thumb strokes slow, comforting circles on the outside of you.
You close your eyes, steadying yourself with shaky breaths.
The pressure grows, stretching, unfamiliar but not painful, and the heat blooming inside you pulses deeper.
Sirius shifts, lips trailing down your neck, warm and teasing, distracting you from the tightness with whispered promises and soft nips.
You gasp softly as James gently presses the second finger further in, but it’s clear you can’t take more than that right now.
“It’s alright,” Sirius says, voice low and reverent.
Your body is a coil of tension and warmth, every nerve alive with the subtle, exquisite teasing James and Sirius are giving you.
James keeps his fingers moving inside you with a slow, patient rhythm, the barest glide in, then a small circle, barely touching the most sensitive spot. His thumb rubs gentle, feather-light patterns against your skin outside, keeping you balanced between ache and delight.
You’re so wet, it’s like a warm flood pooling beneath you, the slick heat making every touch feel electric.
Sirius, never far from you, lets his fingers wander freely now, tracing lazy paths over your bare breasts. His touch is slow and deliberate, teasing your nipples until they tighten and peak beneath his fingers.
His breath is hot against your collarbone, and every time his hand squeezes gently, you bite your lip to stop a soft moan from escaping.
Sirius’s voice drops to a low murmur, teasing. “That’s three, love. You’re amazing.”
You blink, startled at how fast your body is reacting — how quickly you’re coming apart beneath their touch.
James slips his fingers a little deeper, careful to keep the pace patient but insistent. Every slow stroke feels like a secret promise, like you’re unraveling just enough for them, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.
Your breaths come faster now, shallow and shaky, chest rising and falling under Sirius’s hands.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening just slightly on your breast, then releasing with teasing softness.
James’s thumb strokes faster for a moment, light flicks over your swollen clit, and the coil inside you snaps.
Your muscles clench tightly around his fingers, and a moan escapes you — soft, broken, utterly real.
Sirius chuckles low, lips brushing your ear. “That’s four.”
You want to protest that you can’t take much more, but the way their touch feels so deliberate, so slow and full of care it makes you want to keep going, to see how far you can fall into this sensation.
James pulls back just enough to give you a moment, then pushes in again, a little deeper this time, fingers curling in a way that has your back arching off the bed.
Sirius’s hand slides down to cup your hip, steadying you, while the other keeps playing with your breast, rolling your nipple between thumb and finger with teasing patience.
The heat in your chest builds, the ache in your belly growing sharper, a delicious tension that makes your legs tremble.
“Let go,” Remus’s voice whispers from behind you , steady and grounding.
You do.
Your body trembles violently as your fifth orgasm crashes over you, breath hitching in ragged gasps. The world narrows to the warmth flooding through you, the gentle touch of their hands, the sound of your own voice breaking the silence.
Sirius grins wider, brushing his lips softly over your temple. “Five.”
You cling to Remus’s shirt, your skin tingling, still sensitive and raw from the waves rolling through you.
James doesn’t stop.
His fingers move again, slow and sure, coaxing you back from the edge teasing, holding, building until your breath comes in shallow pants and your legs quiver uncontrollably beneath them.
“You’re incredible,” James murmurs, voice rough with admiration.
Sirius’s hands keep roaming your body, one hand sliding up your side to cup your breast, thumb circling the hardened peak with teasing patience, the other trailing soft kisses along your jaw and neck.
“Six,” Sirius says, his voice a soft purr.
Your chest tightens again, the last sparks of sensation igniting in a firestorm that leaves you trembling and breathless in their arms.
They’re not just touching you, they’re learning you, memorizing every sigh, every twitch, every flinch of pleasure and hesitation.
And you’re letting them, even as your cheeks burn with embarrassment and your heart pounds fiercely in your chest.
Because with them, everything feels different.
Safe. Sacred.
James’s fingers don’t stop. They keep moving, teasing, coaxing, and you feel yourself spiralling, dizzy with pleasure and overwhelm. Your breaths grow shallow, your body trembling in ways that feel both exquisite and impossible to control.
But suddenly, it becomes too much.
Your chest tightens, and a sudden rush of panic flashes through your mind. You try to pull away, to free yourself from their hold, but their hands are gentle yet firm, keeping you cradled and safe.
“I—I need—” Your voice falters.
Remus, sensing your distress instantly, leans in without hesitation, lips capturing yours in a soft, grounding kiss. The kiss is slow and steady, calming like a balm, pulling you back from the edge of overwhelm.
Sirius’s hand stays warm and steady on your breast, fingers moving with tender care, easing the tension rather than adding to it.
You try to focus on the steady pressure of their touches, the softness of Remus’s lips against yours, the way Sirius’s thumb circles your nipple with infinite patience.
But the waves crashing inside you don’t stop.
Your vision blurs, the room spinning gently, and your body, overloaded and trembling, finally gives out.
Darkness claims you.
When you wake up, it’s to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the room.
You blink slowly, your head heavy but strangely peaceful.
You’re in Sirius’s bed, the sheets tangled around you, the faint scent of him still lingering in the air.
Panic flares briefly in your chest, memories from the night before rushing back in a chaotic flood.
You sit up carefully, feeling the cool breeze against your flushed skin, and notice something resting on the bedside table: a parchment neatly folded.
Heart pounding, you reach for it, unfolding the note written in James’s familiar handwriting.
“Hey! we had to head out early for Quidditch practice. We finished the assignment, so don’t worry about a thing. We’ll catch up later. — J, S & R.”
You bite your lip, cheeks burning as you glance down at the parchment lying next to it — the completed charms assignment, all neatly written and corrected with their notes and doodles in the margins.
A mix of embarrassment and warmth floods through you.
Last night feels like a secret world you stepped into, one you weren’t quite sure you were ready for, yet don’t regret in the slightest.
You take a deep breath, smoothing your skirt and pulling your shirt back over your shoulders, before disappearing through the door.
summary: Your darling boyfriend brought you cake, coaxing you out of your self induced multi day study session isolation.
incl.: Established relationship, window entry because doors are overrated anyway, soft Leon, eye drops keeps your eyes alive, lip gloss, sweet soul sucking fluff, author has a bias towards RE2 Leon. Could be interpreted as an au but can be pre-Raccoon city: Government cover-up starter pack.
pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x gn! reader
warning/s: none
note/s: taglist open <3 [instructions] now why did writing this feel shorter than my previous Leon fic…
☆main masterlist☆ ☆Leon Kennedy Masterlist☆
It was a random Thursday night. You were huddled in your chair, eyes locked onto your laptop screen—the same screen you’d accidentally broken a part of last week Tuesday when you were rolling around on your bed and didn't account for how fragile it actually was. You were too embarrassed to say anything to your mom about it. You cannot look her in the eyes and tell her of your stupidity.
So now a corner of your screen was just a series of colorful vertical lines. You could still use it. You'd live. But still.
Your eyes skimmed through the pdf of your subject's book, comparing it to the notes you'd taken during your lecture earlier that day. You’ve been filling in the gaps in your notes for what felt like forever. Your eyes were dry. Painfully dry.
You blinked and winced at how rough it felt. Immediately, you scrambled for your eye drops, thankfully you remembered you had placed it in your pencil case. Small victories.
Just as you had finished placing the last drop on your eye, you heard a small sharp thud coming from your window.
Then another.
And another.
You probably should've been alarmed. Any normal person would be. But you already knew who was stupid enough to be throwing pebbles at your window late at night.
You carefully slid your window open, making sure it did not make any sound—your mom was a notoriously light sleeper.
With a stupid smile tugging at your lips, you looked down into your yard.
There he was. Your boyfriend. Wearing an equally stupid smile.
Leon S. Kennedy—your ridiculously sweet boyfriend—stood in your yard holding a paper bag in one hand and a cardboard drink carrier with two cups in the other. He had on a soft grey jacket over a navy t-shirt and black sweatpants. He looked comfortable. Cozy. Like he belonged in a warm room instead of lurking outside your window past midnight.
“It’s late, loverman,” You leaned forward, elbows on your windowsill. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought you were studying too hard, so I came bearing gifts.” Leon grinned up to you, stepping closer. He lifted the paper bag up and gave it a little shake. “Brought you a few slices of your favorite cake.”
“No way.” Disbelief in your voice—not that you didn't believe him, just that this whole situation was slightly absurd. Cake delivery at midnight? Crazy work.
“Way~.” The sass practically dripped off his tongue. His blue eyes—the same pair you love to stare at for hours on end—sparkled with mischief. “Unless…you don't want it?”
The nerve of this man. He leaned back slightly, hiding the bag and drinks behind him.
“Don't you dare!” You jolted forward, half whispering, half hissing so you wouldn't wake the entire house.
“Let me in already.” Leon grinned triumphantly. He really was a gremlin disguised in a puppy’s body. “It's chilly out here.”
You shook your head, your faux anger dissolving immediately. Gesturing for him to come up, you stepped back from the window.
He set the goods carefully on the sill before hoisting himself through. He used to stumble the first few times he did this, but after years of late-night practice it was practically second nature.
His feet landed softly on your floor—then a loud rustle of paper followed when he shifted a bit.
His feet lightly thumped on the floor but then a rustle of paper when he tried to take another step. On the floor of your room was a mess of papers, reviewers, transcripts, loose notes, highlighted and annotated to death. All carelessly strewn all over, covering a great deal of the space.
Leon nearly jumped before immediately apologising to the papers like they could hear him. He slipped off his shoes and tucked them into a rare free corner.
“Well,” He muttered, surveying the chaos, “this is a…unique welcome mat.”
“You're too energetic this late at night, Leon.” You snickered, sliding your hands into his and intertwining your fingers.
His hands were bigger than yours. Rough from officer training, Warm, though. Always warm. Like him.
“Okay, rude.” He straightened up, giving you the perfect opportunity to press a kiss on his soft cheek. He smiled at that—but then it faltered.
“…Hey.”
You blinked. “What?”
He leaned in slightly, brows drawing together as he got a proper look at you. His thumb shifted against your knuckles, almost unconsciously.
“Did you cry?”
Your brain stalled. “What? No.”
“Your eyes,” he said quietly. “They’re red. And kinda glossy.”
Oh.
Right.
You let out a small huff, half amused, half touched. “I just put eye drops in. I’ve been staring at my laptop for hours.”
His gaze flicked over to your desk, to the wounded corner of your screen with its permanent rainbow streaks, then back to you. His jaw tightened just a little.
“You scared me,” he admitted.
Suddenly your chest felt like it was hosting an intense beyblade match.
“You think I’d cry and not tell you?” You teased gently, trying to nudge the mood back up.
He didn’t immediately tease back.
“…I think you would,” he said after a second. Not accusing. Just honest.
You softened without meaning to.
“I’m okay,” you murmured, squeezing his hands. “Promise.”
“Okay,” he said quietly. Then, softer, “But if you’re not, you tell me. I don’t care how small it is.”
“Don't you worry, I will.” You couldn't help it—you grinned at him.
Leon couldn't help but stare at your twinkling eyes as you smiled. He always did so. Like he was mesmerised.
“Now then…what brings you here, kind sir?” You teased, your voice snapping him out of it.
“Oh—uh.” He shook his head lightly, smiling. “I figured you needed a study break.” His gaze drifted around your room again. “You've been holed up in here for days, it shows by the way.”
“Okay, rude,” you echoed his previous words and tone, slipping your hand out of his. “You can see yourself out if you're going to make fun of me.”
“After I came all this way and brought you food?” He grumbled, cheeks puffing out—how cute—as he grabbed the bag and drink carrier. “Unbelievable.”
“Drama queen.” You tried to stifle your laughter as you pivoted back to your chair.
“Well, excuse me for worrying about my significant other.” Leon grumbles once more as he tiptoes around the sea of papers. Trying his best not to crumple or step on your papers. He settled on the edge of your unmade bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He placed the bag and drinks on your nightstand.
“Fine, fine,” you sighed dramatically, rolling your chair closer to him. “I thank thee for thy generous concern.”
He handed you a fork and the paper container with your promised cake.
“You don't even sound thankful," He said, shaking his head, pursing his lips as he did so.
You noticed a sheen on them.
This man is wearing lip-gloss.
Probably the one you gave him last week after he'd complained his lips were ‘criminally dry’. It was a ruse he just wanted a kiss from you but you naively gave him a tube of your gloss. You mentally pat yourself on the back. You did this world a service.
“I am, I swear!” You laughed, almost unable to continue your sentence. “I'm happy you're here.”
“That's right! You should be,” He huffed, but there was no real bite to it. “I got so worried for you when you've been dnd for a while. Thought you finally fused with your notes or something.”
He made himself comfortable on your bed like he belonged in its soft sheets—in a way he did—grabbing one of your pillows and tucking it onto his lap. His shoulders relaxed, like this room was safer than anywhere else.
“You need to take a break,” he added, softer this time.
“Right, right…I do.” You look down at your lap as you peeled open the container. Inside were mouth-watering slices of your favorite cake. The sight alone made a lopsided smile stretch across your face. It felt unfair how easily he could make you this happy.
“You’re the best, Leon.”
“Glad to be of service.” He beamed at that, actually beamed—shoulders straightening, eyes glimmering like you’d just knighted him or something.
You took a generous forkful of cake.
For a second, you nearly keeled over and died right there. Days of denying yourself anything remotely joyful had finally caught up to you. Sugar hits your system like a blessing.
You made a small noise. You didn’t even try to hide it.
“The hot coco might get cold. Here.” Leon leaned forward, handing you one of the cups.
Your fingers brushed when you took it.
It was still warm—thank God. The heat seeped into your palms, grounding you. It was a nice change from the plain water you’d been forcing yourself to drink lately. You were on some self-imposed caffeine cleanse.
Arguably the worst decision of your academic career.
So now you were just raw-dogging your study binge. No caffeine. No joy. Just vibes and academic anxiety.
Leon watched you take a sip, eyes soft in a way that made your chest feel tight.
hi there!! love your work!! so happy to see you back! may I request oviposition?
Kabr0z Writes Episode 194: Down the Drain
Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!
Episodes 1-180 going out on Ao3!
CWs: Oviposition; tentacles; feral X human; loss of self; corruption; mind break; noncon; intox; aphrodisiac; gagging; oral sex; impregnation;
A/N: I do love some oviposition! And I love being back! It'll take some time to reach everyone who I lost contact with, but I'm confident we'll get there! The actual monster (and title!) for today's episode was decided by my marvellous Discord, which moots can request the link to 😁
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Something was living in your drains.
At first you thought you had rats. It's an old house, and the area was lousy with them despite the feral cat population. It's funny, you never saw so many living in the city, but you move to a tiny village out in the rolling countryside and here they are, out in force. You'd never seen so many, or had to call the exterminator so many times to refresh their traps in your loft. Not that the landlord really cared, he was just happy to have a tenant who's unlikely to smash the place up. When next door was raided and a grow-op found to be taking up much of the upper floors, he made a point of sending you a note making sure you were alright. Not much, sure, but having a pretty hands-off relationship was good for you both. You sent him rent money every month and in return he didn't bother you. But there were still rats.
You paid it no mind. The scrambling sounds only happened when you ran the water, so they were probably quite thoroughly downstream. More than likely you were just hearing echoes up the pipework. Nothing to worry about.
One evening, as you often do, you stood in the shower, enjoying the feeling of the warm water over you, soaping up your nude body, maybe paying a little more attention than you needed to around your soft tits, sliding your fingers a little more between your legs than was strictly warranted. You weren't in the mood to properly get yourself off in the shower, you might see to that later. The sounds in the pipes are louder than usual. They're putting you off your game.
What's really weird is, they sound different. Not the scrabbling of tiny claws, more a slurping sound, like drinking the last few drops of a cup of soda. You didn't notice the drain seem to clog. You hadn't spotted the cover unscrew itself from the threaded fitting. You only clocked something was up when the water was an inch deep around the soles of your feet.
By then, it was too late to run.
A half dozen tendrils were upon you. Thin, whitish, veined with pink. Something else was sliding up from the drain, a bulbous mass, crowned with ever more of the squirming limbs. By the time you had screamed, it was in the bath with you. When you tried to move, it grabbed your ankles, pulling your feet from under you. The bathtub resounded with the force of your fall, somehow you'd managed to not hit your head.
The creature was upon you, holding your legs apart. Textured ridges on the tendrils meant it held its grip even despite the soapy water making it impossible for you to try and prise it off you. Before long, it had your hands, pinning them to your thighs, keeping you sat upright as it climbed.
You screamed again as it stalked between your thighs, the football-sized body headed inexorably to your crotch. All that got you was a pair of limbs in your mouth. It tasted bitter, a thin slime coating its body. The tentacles in your mouth throbbed, pushing to the very back of your throat before spurting out a stream of cold liquid.
You choked and spluttered. The liquid flew from your nose, dribbling down your face. A little went down your throat.
Your head began to spin. Your body got hot. So hot it felt like the shower was cold. Your nippes throbbed, standing on end. You felt your cunt ache, your pulse echoing through your body as it sped up. You needed something inside you, anything at all.
How convenient.
Were your hands free before? Did it matter? You grabbed at the pale ball, pulling it up, letting it kiss your folds. Another spurt of the bitter liquid filled your mouth, but you were ready for it now, swallowing it down, feeling your toes curl. Your hips ground against the thing. Something was protruding from it. Not an arm, something thicker, stiffer, you knew what you were going to do with it.
You moaned as you slid it inside you, the tendrils so recently stopping you escaping now holding it to your body as you ground your hips against the thick organ filling you up. You barely noticed it was already leaking. Thick, lumpy fluid, like if you strained boba tea and forced it through a tube. It was sliding up inside you, depositing as deeply as you could force it.
Maybe on some level, you knew it was filling you with its young. Maybe you would have tried to resist, had you control of your mind. Now though? Your belly full, your womb stuffed, your thoughts reduced to the animal urge to do nothing but breed?
boyfriend!toji x reader | teasing | p in v | modern au | slight dom/sub undertones | 0.6k words
You held your kitten in your lap. He purred against your touch. You pinched the sides of his belly and giggled as his face contorted. “Belly full of soup.” You chuckled to yourself.
“Yeah, belly full of soup.” Your boyfriend Toji said as he used his hand to pat on your stomach.
“Stop!” You chuckled while pushing his face away with one hand. Your kitten scurried out of your hands to go commit mischief.
“Ugh, you’re always teasing me. It’s annoying.” You inform Toji. “Well,” he said leaning into your ear, “it’s adorable when you get flustered.” He whispered, lips touching your ears, sending a tingle down your spine.
“D-don’t do that. Stop doing that.” You whispered. You said it as instinct, not desire.
You didn’t mind his teasing.
You enjoyed the smile that spreads across his face when he teases you about being younger than him, when you wake up and look a mess, and when you hump him in desperation when you two are up to no good.
“Or what?” He challenges against your ear. His lips move down to the side of your neck, peppering kisses until you melt into his touch.
His hand snaked around your waist, coaxing you down to lay back on the couch. “Ya gonna stop me, baby?” He asked needlessly. He knew the answer.
In just a few minutes, he had your panties damp against your aching cunt. So when he slipped your shorts off, your breath hitched at the cold against your wet panties.
“God, you’re soaked. Off of what? My words?” He teased again. “Just touch me.” You breathed out in embarrassment.
“Don’t rush me, or I’ll leave you here.” He warned. You whimpered at his threatening words and decided to behave.
He took your hand in his. He was on his knees in between your legs that opened graciously for him.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He grunted. He pulled your hands to feel his aching bulge, flinching under your touch. “Look at what you do to me.” He informs.
You lick your lips at the thought of him being inside of you. Your lips parted slightly as you reached to take down the barrier of fabric hiding his beautiful cock from you.
It sprung up hitting pre-cum against his faint happy trail.
Your hand coaxed his shaft lightly, up and down. Occasionally, you would press the spot right under his tip that always made him groan.
“Ugh, let me please you now, baby.” He said, happy with your eager performance.
He pulled your panties to the side, his impatience not letting him bother with taking them off.
You both winced simultaneously as his thick head slipped past your tight walls until he bottomed out.
“That’s my girl.” He breathed against your face as his cock readjusted to how you felt. “Toji, I’m ready.” You signaled that he start to move in and out of you.
Your toes curled on the sides of his waist out of pleasure. Gasps, breaths, whimpers, and moans graced your lips as your body experienced bliss.
“F-fuck!” You exclaimed into his neck. One of his hands reached down to rub and lazily slap your sensitive clit. The sensation causing your moans to get louder.
Your hands planted into his black hair. Your back arching causing you to press into him. Your orgasm was building, fast.
Toji’s hips started to stutter as he felt his balls get heavy, desiring to paint your walls.
You both loudly moaned as your orgasms washed over you. Your vision clouding, your thighs shaking.
Toji’s hot breath painted the nook of your neck as he slowly pulled out. You felt both of your orgasms flow out of your pussy.
“Fuck baby.” He grunted against your ears. “I should tease you more often.” He chuckled on top of you. You chuckled back and the two of your stayed there in bliss.
Summary: Your boyfriend happens to be a foot taller than you...or Eddie is afraid to stick it all the way in, afraid to hurt you
Warnings: Minors DNI, size kink, pure smut
Pairings: Boyfriend!Eddie x Girlfriend!Reader
A/N: watching Sex and the City and couldn’t stop thinking about the size difference between Carrie and Aidan. As a 5'1 they/them I'm drooling. Literally finished this a while ago but couldn't find a good gif, I'm gonna start making my own banners
Like Eddie holding you up, your thighs wrapped around his waist, his big hands on your ass. His tongue in your mouth as he kisses you more and more aggressively until you can’t breath and your head is spinning. The way he manhandles you, impaling his thick cock inside you as he grits his teeth trying to control himself from being too rough. But his cock only fits half way and you’re clinging onto his shoulders moaning like a ghost in a haunted house.
You heave for air as his cock knocks the wind out of you. He lays you out on the bed, your hair fanning out as he yanks you to the edge of the bed.
“Fuck sweetheart” he groans looking at the way his cock disappears inside of you. His neck straining as he holds himself back.
“More Eddie, fuck give me more” you gasp, your nails digging into his back.
“S-shit baby, don’t wanna hurt you” he grunts, slowly pulling out and back halfway in. As he refuses to go deeper, his eyes already rolling back as your tight velvet walls grip onto him.
“Please Eddie” you whine, pressing the heels of your feet into his ass forcing him deeper into you. Your jaw slacks as you’re stretched open by your boyfriend.
“S-shit s-so fucking big” you moan pressing your chest into his.
“F-fuck you’re gonna kill me” he groans voice higher pitched then normal. He hisses, teeth clenched tightly as he tries to remain still. However you don’t give him the chance, you dig your feet deeper into his pale ass. Pushing him inch by inch slowly into you until his hips are flush with your ass.
Eddie knows that he needs to be the one to slow down, but it's hard when you feel this good - especially when you're moaning like that. He hasn’t even moved and yet you’re already cock drunk. You’re drooling and moaning incoherently as Eddie’s cock fits like a puzzle piece inside you, nice and deep.your pussy struggles to accommodate the stretch. Your walls pulse around him almost like it’s trying to push Eddie out.
His arms shake as he shallowly thrusts into you, little grunts leaving his lips.
“Fuck Princess, so fucking tight” he whines.
“S-shit it’s like you’re fucking choking my cock” he grunts out, looking at the slight bulge in your lower stomach every time he slides back in. The sight is enough to make him cum right then and there.
“F-fuck fuck fuck ohhhh fuck” you moan underneath him trying to grind into him but his grip on your hips tightens. You know he’s gonna leave bruises on you but you fucking love it. Love that he’s practically whimpering “princess” under his breath like a broken record, like he needs to burn the feeling and imagine in his head.
“More, Eddie please-” you whine, your pussy pulsing around him desperately trying to drag him back in. He shakes his head vehemently, his jaw tight as he grinds his teeth. No girl could ever take his full cock before and much less someone so petite.
“So fucking perfect Princess. Your pussy’s taking me so fucking good. Fucking stretching out to fit my cock baby” he grunts out starting to lose his reserve. His hips move slightly faster as he feels the burn deep in his gut.
“Made f’you Eds” you nod, eyebrows pinched together as he pulls the rubber band tighter. You flex your stomach trying to keep it together. Your moans getting louder as his his resolve starts to slack more and more.
It isn’t long until he’s snapping his hips into yours looking like a man possessed. He’s fucking feral, hair wild, pupils blown out, neck flexed. His whole body is tense as he pounds into you fast and hard completely breaking you down.
You’re more than cock drunk at this point. Babbling gibberish, writhing under him, pulling at the sheets, your eyes closed shut as you’re in your own little world taking Eddie’s thick cock.
“Jesus fucking Christ” Eddie moans at the sight of you. Most girls would’ve cried in pain, he always needed at least an hour of stretching and foreplay to get half way in and yet here you are taking it.
“M’gonna cum!” You cry, stomach flexing harder, your muscles tightening almost painfully.
“Fuck- cum on my cock, Princess,” he pants, his balls slapping into your ass, hand pressing into your stomach feeling the bulge of his cock.
“Ohh fuck- fuck- fuckkk fuckkk” you all but scream as you let go. You tremble under Eddie’s body, face contorted, jaw slacked, drool dripping down your chin. It’s like you’re high and drunk at the same time.
“That’s it Princess milk my fucking cock. Taking me so well, begging for my fucking cum” he grunts. His eyes rolling back as he clenched his jaw and comes hard. Thick white ropes paint your velvet walls already dripping down to your ass. Your pussy too small to accommodate both his cock and cum.
“Shit” he heaves, slowly pulling out not trying to hurt you further.
“I’m not gonna be able to walk am I?” You groan as he nuzzles into your neck.
He chuckles,”probably not.”
“You’re the worst” you mumble lightly nipping his bottom lip.
“Not what you were yelling two seconds ago” he murmurs against your lips. That’s dimpled grin on his face as he presses for a kiss and another and another.
Genre: Pure Romance, High Emotional Chemistry, The Art of Tango, Atmospheric Intimacy.
aestethic
Warnings: I guess just intense eye contact?(No plot,pure tango with sirius)
Summary: "Tango is our dance... Passionate, intense, like love... Like us."
Only the two of you were left, alone beneath the dim glow of candlelight, with a shattered sense of freedom.
Sirius impatiently undid the top buttons of his suffocating, pureblood jacket in a single swift motion. As he tossed it onto the edge of the sofa, it felt as though he had broken and cast away the invisible chains on his shoulders.
With his black, silken hair falling messily over his shoulders, he walked toward the antique, magically-operated gramophone in the corner of the room.
With a flick of his wand, it wasn’t the cold, distant waltz rhythms of castles that began to echo through the parlor walls, but a melody that was entirely daring, dark, rhythmic, and spine-tingling.
It was a tango. The fierce, passionate, and sensual rhythm of the streets that the aristocracy despised. As the rasping breath of the bandoneon filled the room, the violin strings stretched as if singing a lament.
Sirius slowly turned around. Those aristocratic, roguish gray eyes, always ready to set the world on fire, were fixed directly upon you.
While the hem of your night-black dress fluttered gently in the wind, Sirius closed the distance between you with heavy, confident strides, much like a predator.
When he stood before you, his signature scent—smelling of fresh leather, cigarette smoke, and the chill of a dungeon—was enough to captivate all your senses.
“You were so beautiful tonight..”Sirius whispered, his voice echoing muffled yet smooth amidst the sharp strikes of the violin.
He extended his hand toward you with inviting determination. The intense desire he couldn’t hide in his gray eyes rolled out in waves.
“Just tonight?” Your voice was just like him; a tone somewhere between silk and velvet, but with an unmistakable edge of mockery you couldn't quite hide behind your words.
The moment Sirius caught that velvety cadence, the mischievous grin on his face widened.
“May I have the honor of this dance, love?"
The moment you placed your hand between his long, veiny fingers, Sirius pulled you sharply against his torso without warning. Your breath caught in your throat as your chest collided with his broad, hard chest.
At that moment, your centers of gravity merged into a single point. Sirius placed his right hand just below your shoulder blade, right in the center of your back.
His wide palm pressed firmly through the fabric of your dress, as if absorbing the warmth of your skin. When he raised his left hand and locked his fingers with your right, your arms formed a rigid, unshakeable frame (abrazo) in the air.
The music deepened with the sharp bellows of the bandoneon. Sirius locked his eyes directly into yours..
Sirius took a decisive step backward with his left foot. Along with him, as if tied to him by an invisible string, you stepped forward with your right foot.
As your toes glided across the mahogany floor, the silk fabric of your dress rustled softly against your legs.
Sirius was in no rush; he spread the noble walk (caminata) of the tango across the parlor, bearing your weight against his chest with every step.
He took a sharp step to the side (salida). When your right foot locked just beside his left, Sirius bent his body to the right with millimetric curvature.
With this movement, your torso turned, guided by his chest. Your hips were close, while your upper bodies stretched slightly away with the intense pull between you.
The veins on Sirius’s arms, rolled up to his elbows in his black silk shirt, stood out like proof of the elegant yet unshakeable strength he applied.
The tempo of the music suddenly turned fierce; the violin strings began to weep with passion. Catching this shift in rhythm with perfect intuition, Sirius forced you into a rapid spin around him.
The moment you transferred your weight to your left foot, Sirius turned your torso slightly to the left, then to the right, with the palm on your back.
With this millimetric guidance, your toes began to trace a flawless figure-eight on the floor (ocho).
Your right foot, extending forward, brushed against the contours of his black trousers; then, your left foot traced a graceful arc backward.
With every ocho step, the silk fabric between your legs fluttered in the air, your shadows striking the mahogany floor merging into one another.
Sirius’s eyes never left yours for a single second; his gray pupils had darkened completely, reducing the entire universe in his mind down to your steps.
"Tango is our dance, Sirius..." you murmured. Your voice rose like a whisper amidst the instrumental outcry of the music.
You brought your head slightly closer to his shoulder, but you didn't break eye contact. "Passionate, intense, like love... Like us..."
When Sirius heard these words, he let out a muffled breath from the depths of his chest.
The usual rebellious, fierce expression on his features gave way to a deep, staggering admiration that only you could see.
“Like us” he repeated, his voice smooth and like velvet.
The rhythm reached its hardest hit at that exact second. Sirius placed his right foot behind your left with a sudden, sharp movement.
When your center of gravity faltered for a moment, his powerful hand on your waist supported you upward. As Sirius slid his knee slightly between your legs, you released your inner dancer.
Hooking your right leg around his strong hip, you threw a sharp hook (gancho) in the air. As your heel lightly struck the fabric of his trousers and pulled back, the same proud, passionate smile appeared on both of your lips at the perfection of the movement.
The music seemed to quiet down for a moment; slow, dramatic notes spilling from the piano keys scattered into the corners of the parlor.
Sirius used this deceleration like a death warrant. He slowly untangled his left hand from yours, but let his fingertips trace over your bare collarbone, climbing toward your neck.
His palm cupped your jaw, his thumb softly brushing the edge of your bottom lip.
With his right hand, he gripped your waist with such tight, possessive ambition that he pressed you completely flat against him. And then, with a single fluid motion, he bent you backward (dip).
As your back became parallel to the floor, the hem of your night-black dress spread across the mahogany floor like a noble river.
Your left leg remained straight and tense on the floor, while your right knee was slightly bent. Sirius leaned over you with all his stature.
His black, untamed hair fell into his face, his breaths hitting your skin from a distance warm enough to burn your lips.
At that moment, the only sounds in the room were the two of you catching your breath and the final, agonizing notes of the piano.
The silver gleam in Sirius’s gray eyes seemed to shimmer as it merged with the moonlight filtering through the windows. He was looking at you in such a way that, in that moment, it wasn't just your body bending, but all of his unshakeable Black pride.
It was a gaze that was protective yet ravenous, as if he were afraid of losing you, afraid of not being able to love you properly in this world.
For a second... or perhaps for a whole century, you remained just like that.
When Sirius saw the absolute surrender and love in your eyes, he put strength back into his hand on your waist.
Without allowing any shudder, as if defying gravity itself, he slowly, gracefully pulled you back up against his upright chest.
When your feet hit the floor, your chest crashed into his again, and you felt both of your hearts beating wildly, to the same savage rhythm.
The bandoneon opened its bellows one last time; the violins gathered to let out their final and highest shriek.
Sirius gripped your hand again and locked his fingers with yours.
This time, his steps were faster, more daring, and free, as if wanting to leave everything behind.
You glided from one end of the parlor to the other. Your turns were so synchronized, so seamless, that your giant shadows cast against the wall looked as though they belonged to a single body.
Sirius spun you quickly on your axis, your dress tracing one last large arc in the air, and with the final, most striking blow of the music, he pulled you tightly from behind, wrapping you so your back was flush against his chest.
He had wrapped both arms around your waist. Placing his hands over yours, he locked his fingers tight.
Both of you were breathless. Sirius buried his head into the warmest dip of your neck, right where your jugular pulsed.
As his nose lightly brushed your skin, you felt the deep, peaceful breath that tore from within him. As his lips hovered against your skin, he murmured in his muffled, smooth, velvet whisper:
Flambae and Robert from a universe where various peep's roles are swapped get transported to the Canon universe.
Having semi-retired legacy hero turned Dispatcher Flambae and (barely) reformed villain Robert running around would be chaotic enough to begin with, but unfortunately for everyone involved, they don't know they've been transported to another universe, and neither does anyone else. Not at first at least.
Just, please consider Swap!Flambae in an SDN shirt that is a bit too small (the top few buttons have already popped off from him just trying to move normally, giving him his normal Flambae deep V but in a corporate format) pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation with one hand while scuffing Dispatcher!Robert by his oversized shirt in the other.
Swap!Flambae: You can't seriously think anyone would let you near one of their computers just because you stole one of my uniforms. Phenomaman and Elliot put warnings up with your picture on them literally everywhere specifically about not letting your hacking bitch ass even look at the terminals.
Robert trying to figure out if it's him or Flambae having the stroke in that moment and if that was a reasonable excuse to be blushing at Flambae wearing his uniform dangling him off the ground as easily as a couple of grapes: What the fuck is happening right now?
Meanwhile I could see Swap!Robert happening one or two ways (depending on if he's solely role swapping with Flambae or if we mix in a bit of some swap with Canon Visi).
If just a straight up role swap with Flambae then I can see Swap!Robert with the burn scar on his neck from fighting Swap!Flambae years ago when the legacy fire hero busted him and sent him to jail, and his permanently crooked nose from when Swap!Robert tried to pick a fight with Swap!Flambae at the hero bar The Sardine and ended up embarrassing himself in the process (Visi and Golem are never going to let him live it down).
Swap!Robert, staring in bewilderment as the new janitor that had been peppy and dorky to the point of cringe inducing two hours ago was now confidently handing a villain off to holding: Holy shit, don't tell me you actually went and did crazy demon drugs with Mal in the bathroom after all? Shit, I thought you'd rather her out to Donar again like last time...
Blonde Blazer, confused as to why Robert looked even more messed up than usual and why he was wearing a senshi-hero-but-make-it-evil version of his Mecha Man suit: Malevola's doing what in the bathroom???
Alternatively, if mixing in a little of Visi's storyline into Swap!Robert's and doing more of a role shuffle than a role swap:
Imagine Swap!Robert stopping in the middle of the hallway, stuck frozen as half of his mind screams at him to run for the hills (for all the good it would do him) while the other half wants him to go find Swap!Flambae and try to hide him before its to late.
Ahead of him, turned away so as not to see him yet, looking as unassuming as ever outside of his villain guise, is Track Star.
Robert's previous boss. The man that he had blown Flambae up out of the sky for in order to clear his debts. The man still paying him to keep an eye out on the hero turner Dispatcher, to get in just the right position to betray the man that Robert was actually starting to care for, against his better judgment.
