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hikarry · 6 months

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Anthony J. Crowley

But with reading glasses

"Aziraphale, why do you wear reading glasses anyway? Your vision is perfect."

The angel sighs, closing his book and taking off his glasses, glancing up at the demon beside him.

"It's not about my vision. I just like them." The glasses on his hands glint in the light of the desk. "I believe you would say it's a matter of style. Feeling good with what you are wearing."

"Is that why you've been wearing the same clothes since the 40's? Because of style?"

Aziraphale chuckles, putting the glasses back on and getting up from the armchair. How his demon could be thick skulled sometimes.

"I wear these clothes and the glasses for the same reason you wear those probably extremely uncomfortable tight jeans, my dear." Crowley recoils slightly when Aziraphale suddenly lifts his hand, but leans into his touch when said warm hand meets his cheek. "Because you feel like yourself when you wear them. Somewhere in the 6000 years we've been sharing the world with the humans, we started caring about what we cover ourselves with and what little trinkets we wear to compliment said covers like they do." The smile that takes over the angel's face is warm, and yet still bastardly. "We are more like them than you would like to admit." More than both of them would like to admit, to be fair. "Anyway." Aziraphale walks past him, towards the hook on the wall where they keep their jackets. "Do you want to stop by Nina's? I'm really craving those new jelly donuts she received on monday."

Not that it matters to whatever the author is trying to write here, but they did go to Nina's and Aziraphale did have his donut along with tea while Crowley watched him in silence over the rim of his mug filled with 6 shots of the blackest expresso.

It was 2 weeks later, one day when they decided to go back down to Soho to check on Muriel and the girls, that the weirdst...? Maybe weird isn't the right words to describe it. I will let Aziraphale showcase whatever he felt by himself.

He had left Crowley at the bookshop with Muriel to go check on the Record shop where Maggie was moving some records around, rearranging the shop for the tenth time that week, with the lack of anything better to do. Truth be told, nowadays her most usual costumer was Crowley himself, who would stop by from time to time to check on vinyls he apparently needed for his endless collection. She still wasn't sure if he actually needed the records, or if that was his way of being nice.

Regardless, when Aziraphale came back to the bookshop with a Vivaldi secured in both his hands, he quickly spotted Muriel cleaning the dust off one of the shelves in the front, but no sign of Crowley.

"Muriel, my dear, did Crowley step out to Nina's again?"

She stopped what she was doing to offer him her full attention and the smile she wore 24/7 no matter the time of the day.

"No, Mr. Aziraphale. I saw Mr. Crowley walk into the backroom. Apparently he found something interesting in the box of new arrivals."

"Thanks, dear."

Aziraphale offered her a polite smile back before properly entering the bookshop and walking into the backroom, where he quickly found Crowley not sitting on his couch, as it had been the norm since the 1800's, but instead on the armchair Aziraphale used to occupy. Back relaxed leaning against the backrest of the chair, one skinny leg crossed over the other and a book opened in front of his face.

Floriography: An Illustrated Guide to the Victorian Language of Flowers

"Since when do you have an interest in flower language?"

"Since you told me fucking Wilde used to offer you green carnations every other blue moon." Crowley dropped the book, looking up at the angel. "Do you have any idea what green carnations mean in flower language? Hell, it was Oscar himself that created the stupid meaning for the stupid flower."

Uhum. Yeah. No. Aziraphale didn't hear a single word of whatever Crowley had said after he dropped the book, Instead, he dropped the Vivaldi along with his jaw, his heart beating fast for less than holy reasons and his hands tingling to touch, touch, touch...

"The bloody bastard was hitting on you!" Crowley closed the book with a bang. "I'm never sleeping for a century again." He grumbled. "Forget a century. I'm never sleeping for a whole year and leaving you to your own devices."

"My dear-"

"Sure, we were not technically officially together together back then, but, come on, Aziraphale. Wilde?"

"Crowley-"

"All this years all it took was a mediocre flower for you to fall head over heels over someone?" He put the book to the side, laying it on the small table beside the armchair, and got up. "You know who has technically been a gardener for millenia?" He waved at himself. "Me! I've been dealing with plants and flowers at least since around they put Jesus on a stick. If all it took to get your attention was offering you a bouquet every other week, you could have given me some type of hint? Hell! I should have been the one creating this bloody ridiculous flower language! I know more about flowers than Wilde or any other human that has ever stepped on this bloody planet-"

"Crowley!"

The demon stopped ranting and waving his hands dramatically, dropping them to the sides and looking at Aziraphale, who was still exactly in the same place he had been for the last 4 minutes.

"What?"

The angel waved in his general direction.

"What is that on your face?"

Crowley reached out to his own face, as if he had forgotten there was anything at all out of the ordinary in it, his fingertips meeting the temples of the reading glasses.

"Ah." He took the glasses off, turning them around on his hand. "Just decided to give these a try. Thought they would make reading more interesting."

Aziraphale had walked up to him, stepping over the record and standing a few centimeters away from the demon, taking the glasses off his hand. Crowley looked down at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion, and was about to open his mouth to say something when Aziraphale put the glasses back on his face, taking a step back and biting his lower lip.

"...Okay? Angel, what's-?"

"Get the keys for the Bentley. We are going home." That was clearly an order, which Aziraphale expected Crowley to follow without second guessing as he turned around, picked up the record from the floor, and walked towards the exit of the backroom.

"Wow, wow! Wait up!" Gently, Crowley held Aziraphale's free wrist, forcing him to stop walking and turn around to face him. "What the bloody heavens is going through your head? You said you wanted to go through the new arrivals with-"

Without any previous announcement or any type of gentleness, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's silly lil grey tie and pulled it down, so the demon's face was mere centimeters away from his own.

"I'm two second away from pushing you against that shelf and turning you into the biggest mess of our existences, but Muriel is too close and too innocent to witness such behavior." He pulled on the tie again, pulling a very still very focused and breathing very heavily demon ever closer. "So you better get in that car and drive us back home before I show you what I learned in all my years in the discreet gentlemen's club." He finally let go of the tie, allowing Crowley to straight himself up, but the demon didn't move an inch. "And don't you dare take those glasses off until I say you can." He smiled and patted his cheek. "Yes?"

The only noise that left Crowley's throat was some type of high pitched shaky little thing, before he reached out to the back pocket of his jeans and fished for the car keys.

All this to say: that's a vision I pretty much support. We need more reading glasses Crowley in the fandom.

#again apologies to my ace!aziracrow enjoyers but top Aziraphale is a necessity in my life from time to time #watching him dominate Crowley is one of my most enjoyable hobbies and i know myself enough to know that aint changing any time soon #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #good omens #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziracrow #asks #anon

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shuacore · 8 months

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barcelona nights

reader (afab) x lsm — 6.9K summary: "The music is all but static in the background, and for a moment it’s just the two of you again, drinking in the airless summer night and the sounds of other couples enjoying each other’s company. You run your thumb across Seokmin’s bottom lip, completely enraptured. His eyes are dangerously dark." —a/n: a fun little birthday present for my bffl ang <3 tags: swearing, smut (18+), probably too much plot n not enough smut, not completely proofread i’m so sorry, mentions of alcohol??, emotional and physical intimacy are my kryptonite, additional warnings under the cut

additional warnings: unprotected sex (always be safe pls!!), oral (f receiving), pet names (princess, baby, angel, etc), not very adventurous but i would do anything with him tbh

playlist 4 the vibes!!! wyoming — elijah fox a quick getaway — stephen rennicks spring 1 — max richter, antonio vivaldi puerto claridad — amparanoia bamboleo — gypsy kings since i don’t have you — the skyliners the sun is in your eyes — jacob collier tell me — groove theory

Sweat drips down the bridge of your nose as the precarious stack of books in your hands threatens to wobble. Please, for the love of God, don’t fall. The summer heat is brutal—hot and humid—and it sucks all of the energy out of you as you shuffle to the library. It had been a difficult week of research and you were finally returning your books, ready to throw them and the stress from working so hard away. A bead of sweat lingers on your brow, slipping onto your eyelid and you blink furiously, praying it stays there until you can set your burden down.

In your fervor, you walk a bit too close to the curb, your toes slipping off the edge—you feel the stack slip dangerously, and you curse out loud as you realize you’re falling, desperately clutching your books to your chest, the pavement below approaching a bit too fast when—

A hand clamps around your wrist, hauling you out of the street just as a car zooms past, ruffling your hair.

“Careful!” a male voice says, breathless. And when you get a good look at your savior, it feels like you’ve been rocketed into one of the dramas you and your roommates obsessed over.

His name is Lee Seokmin, he’s 25, an anthropology major, and he is the most handsome and charming man you have ever seen. He picks you up off the street, flashes you the most blinding smile, and then your mind goes blank. The rest is history.

So it’s no surprise to you after three years when he still asks questions like, “Do you remember when we met?” You resist the urge to scoff fondly. Always so sentimental.

It’s a warm summer evening as you sit on the plaza, observing the night life of a quiet coastal Spanish town you had come across during the day. You pause the furious digging in your purse—for something which you had forgotten some time ago—to look at your partner, whose eyes are glazed over in dreamy contentment.

“Really?” you ask, tampering down the amused look of disbelief that fights its way across your face. Seokmin hates being teased unless he initiates, even if it’s all in good fun.

“No, I’m serious,” he says, in unwavering sincerity, head lolling against the back of the bistro chair as he watches you unabashedly. Even after so many years, Seokmin’s eyes still set your skin on fire, and he looks so picturesque like this, just a little bit undone from the day’s toils and a few glasses of wine down the line. The collar of his shirt is open a few buttons down, exposing a swatch of buttery smooth skin that—after the drinks you’ve had—makes your mouth water. He looks like the last burst of fading sunlight before nightfall.

You shake your head with a small smile. “You’re ridiculous. Of course I do.”

Seokmin opens his mouth to say something else when his nostalgic reverie is interrupted by the waiter, who asks quietly if the two of you would like anything else. Your fiancé orders two more glasses of wine for the both of you, and thanks the waiter again as he finally takes the menus from your table.

It’s quieter now. The night is beginning to dwindle down, your bellies full of good food and wine, and in the distance the ocean waves wash across the rocky shores, pulling pebbles out to sea with quiet shushing sounds. The air is salty on your tongue, and you know you probably look a mess, especially after the long day of heat and humidity, but Seokmin watches you with shining eyes like you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You blush sheepishly, fingers finally finding your lipstick in the bottom of your bag.

“What?” you hiss without malice as Seokmin studies you. His cheeks are flushed, eyes shining even against the slowly dimming night light, and if you could commit an image to memory, if would be right here, right now, sitting at this table with him. Your stomach twists and you’re not sure if it’s a twinge of pain or an all-engulfing rush of affection, so instead you offer him another shy smile and replace your bag on the ground.

He shakes his head, more to himself, and says, “You’ll make fun of me.”

“Sure.”

“You’re just so radiant. All the time.”

You suck in a breath, cheeks burning and laugh nervously. Seokmin was an all-or-nothing kind of guy, which meant you got all of his affection, all the time. It was overwhelming in the beginning, seeing how devoted he could be to one person, but you had grown accustomed to the quiet deference in which he did everything for you. Compliments were near holy to him. Nothing was more intimate than your name. His actions always spoke louder than words. For a while you had been resistant to it—like you would never quite deserve all the love he had to give—but Seokmin had a way of worming his way into your heart and lodging there until his smile was the only thing you could think of when you woke up.

The waiter appears with two glasses in hand, asks once more if you need anything, before floating away again. You lift the glass—it’s a deep crimson and smells faintly sweet—and swirl the stem around in your fingers, watching the wine coat the sides of the glass with mesmerizing smoothness.

Seokmin lifts his glass and murmurs a toast. You say it back, and the glasses hit each other with a soft ding! His eyes glint at you over the rim as he takes a sip. The wine is velvet on your tongue, rich and full-bodied, and it sends a flurry of warmth down your throat.

You hum in appreciation and set the glass down on the table. Above, the stars blink into existence, mimicking the lights flickering to life around the plaza. They wash the patio in a lovely yellow glow, throwing Seokmin into soft relief. He looks a little out of it, pretty lips parted in hazy awe of the scenery around him. It’s still humid, but not too warm—just cool enough that it’s hard to tell where your body ends and the rest of the world begins. A moped passes by, its headlights bouncing off the stone walls of the buildings around you. The chatter from other cafe-goers could be white noise in the trees. In the background the sounds of sultry guitar float through the air, soaking into your skin and you sigh deeply, stretching your arms high into the air above you. It lulls you into a serene sense of calm and you close your eyes—just for a moment.

Then—“Hey, dance with me,” you hear, whispered by lips pressed to your ear, and you open your eyes slowly to see Seokmin crouched next to your chair, his hand extended in offering. He looks so lovely here, so unguarded and pleased, the same overwhelming feeling of adoration—so strong it overflows into your throat—is difficult to choke back down. You take another hearty swig of wine, feeling it sink into your stomach and turn your legs to jelly. It activates the fuzzy feeling sitting dormant in your body, lifting you out of your chair and into the plaza center with other couples swaying slowly to the music emanating across the square. It all feels so horribly cinematic you’re having difficulty believing any of it’s real.

You inhale sharply as Seokmin pulls you close to him, your bodies snapping together like magnets. His skin is sticky and warm from the summer heat as his hands brush over your ribcage and come to rest on your waist, coaxing you into a sensual rhythm of swaying hips and chests rising and falling in tandem. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you tight to his body. The wine keeps you limber—which is nice because otherwise you’d be two left feet with out it.

Seokmin tips his head to rest his sticky forehead against yours, eyes dancing with mirth in the evening light. His fingers press into the small of your back, searing through the gauzy fabric of your blouse, igniting a slow burn that sweeps through your whole body. You sigh deeply as your eyes flutter closed, taking in the sounds of soft timbales and claves bouncing off the stone under your feet, the heat from Seokmin’s body on yours, and his lips pressed against your skin, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

It’s sexy, to say the least. The laughter and conversations around you vanish until all you know is the sound of Seokmin’s breath ragged in your ear and hot on your cheek. He smells like rosemary and mint and the soap from the hostel. His lips dip dangerously low on your cheek until they brush over the skin under your jaw, sending a chill down your spine despite the heat. Seokmin smiles against your temple as your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, skirting low over the smooth expanse of his stomach. He hums into your ear—a warning—as your fingertips trail just a little higher. But you’re still in public, so you pull back just enough to smile coyly at him and smooth the hem of his shirt back down.

The music is intoxicating, the melody swelling and swaddling you in a heady daydream of nothing but Seokmin. You tuck your nose into his shoulder, inhaling deeply as his fingers dance up your spine and land lightly on the back of your neck.

“God, I love you,” he confesses, and his laughter is swallowed by your lips suddenly on his, giddy and girlish. It’s just supposed to be an innocent peck—just a quick one you could share in public—but with the wine having gone completely to your head, the music reverberating in your chest, and Seokmin’s tongue in your mouth, it’s difficult to concentrate. Seokmin tastes like the Albariño you ordered, like lemon and nectarine, and so, so sweet your knees turn to liquid. He hums in content as a soft sigh escapes your mouth, unprompted. His hands are firm on your hips, fingers lacing through the belt loops of your skirt to pull you closer. You tangle your own in the damp strands at the nape of his neck, relishing the own sounds you can persuade from your partner’s throat.

Someone catcalls in the background and you come to with a start. Seokmin’s face is rosy—from the wine or from you, it’s hard to tell—but he’s well past the point of having the grace to look embarrassed. His eyes are glued to you, drinking you in completely. You grin, hiding your face in his chest. The music is all but static in the background, and for a moment it’s just the two of you again, drinking in the airless summer night and the sounds of other couples enjoying each other’s company. You run your thumb across Seokmin’s bottom lip, completely enraptured. His eyes are dangerously dark.

“Go back to the hotel?” you whisper, mouth hovering mere centimeters away from his.

Seokmin’s next kiss is indication enough. Grabbing your purse, he throws a few bills onto the bistro table before tugging you away from the plaza. Street signs bleed into flights of rickety stairs and cobblestone alleyways into flowered medians and quiet side roads. The ocean roars in greeting as you run unsteadily back to your hotel. Street lamps blaze into life amid loud shouts of laughter from nearby pedestrians, and the fluttery feeling in your stomach only grows. The only thing that stays constant is the feeling of Seokmin’s hand in yours, firm and reassuring.

Then, unprompted, Seokmin tugs you into a hidden alcove off the street, and presses you hard against the brick wall, tilting your jaw up with his thumbs to pull you into a searing kiss. He draws in a sharp breath, groaning softly into your mouth as you sag into his touch. You feel like a teenager again, sneaking off the beaten path so you can put your hands all over each other. Seokmin is impatient—his hands dig into your hips, his mouth is on your jaw, and his body is so hot it’s any wonder he hasn’t yet burst into flames.

“Seokmin,” you gasp, nails digging into his chest, breaking away. His excitement is palpable. He groans, irritated, and tips his forehead against your cheek, still holding you tight to him like you might still slip through his fingers. You extract yourself from his grasp, a little dizzy from the lack of oxygen and pull him away from the wall amidst protests. The privacy of your hotel room can’t arrive fast enough and it feels like eons before you’re pushing Seokmin against the back of the door yourself—so hard the air is knocked from his lungs—but he grins breathlessly as he draws you close, hip to hip, chest to chest, mouth to mouth.

You breath him in, smelling the lingering traces of cigarette smoke and lavender from the night markets on his clothes. Seokmin is all teeth and all tongue, hands traveling up and down the curve of your waist, over your ass, up your forearms and shoulders. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open as he slips his tongue in once more. You dissolve in his hands like water—you’ve always been so pliant with him, so eager to please it goes straight to his head.

“Tell me what you want,” he mumbles, hand holding your jaw in place. His eyes are asking for a challenge.

But you feel needy and slightly hysterical that it’s all you can do to say weakly, “You.”

Seokmin’s breath is hot in your mouth and you have no choice but to ride the wave. This is Seokmin’s all-or-nothing, as he drags your thin linen blouse off your shoulders, popping the top button clean off amid breathless laughter so he can press more open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and collarbone. You sigh deeply, winding your fingers into the hair at the back of his head again, chasing his lips with potent desperation. Seokmin grins, canines glinting wolfishly in the moonlight. It’s difficult to see in the burgeoning darkness—nothing but vague shadows dancing on the walls—so you kick off your shoes haphazardly, stumbling until your knees eventually strike the edge of the bed. You hit the mattress with a huff!, Seokmin in tow. His hand is hot against your bare skin, palm pressed flat to your chest where your heart races.

“This is your fault, by the way,” you tease, and Seokmin feigns sympathy, except his fingers are little too far up your thigh for the sympathy to land. You suck in a breath, eyes burning as Seokmin gazes at you with undisguised want, eyes flicking around your face in a dizzying pattern—eyes, lips, cheeks, forehead, nose, eyes, lips—like it was the first time he’d ever seen you. The air grows thicker like mud, sticking in your nose and throat and you struggle to swallow, pushing yourself off the bed.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Seokmin asks, voice laced with worry. His figure is clothed in deep blue shadow in the imminent darkness. Air is sparse, and anxiety flares in your stomach, unexpected, and you press a hand to your racing heart, willing it to slow. Your pulse is erratic and you realize you’re nervous.

“Woah, talk to me,” Seokmin pleads again, sitting up. His fingers around your wrist are soft, like all of him, and it eases the sudden ache in your chest, even if just a little. You place your other hand on top of his, stroking your thumb over his knuckles.

Your voice is hoarse. “Just nervous. I don’t know why—it’s so silly.”

And then Seokmin is there, tucking you into his arms and his nose in your hair, swaying as he holds you for a moment.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You know that.”

You frown, pushing away from his chest. “No–no, I want this. Just–had a moment, but I’m ok.” You lean your forehead on his shoulder again. “I’m always ok when I’m with you.” The quiet presses in on your ears. The incessant buzzing in your fingertips fades to the background, slowing to the steady rhythm of Seokmin’s heartbeat in his chest—reliable as always, a constant you had come to memorize like the spots on his face.

“I’m right here, baby,” he whispers against your temple. “Whatever you want.”

The soft glow from the street lamps outside illuminate his features in a tranquil yellow hue. He looks angelic, always so gentle and willing, that it sucks the remaining air out of your lungs.

He settles back on the edge of bed, hands resting on your hips as he gazes up at you with adoration so tangible it makes your heart ache. You run your fingers gently through his hair, pushing the dark strands off his forehead and trace the shape of his profile with your pointer finger, down his forehead and the bridge of his nose, pausing over his waiting lips, down his chin until you grasp it in between your thumb and forefinger.

“You’re beautiful, too, you know?” you say, voice soft. And Seokmin smiles, pleased, and it lights up his whole face, sending a bolt of warmth down your throat like lightning. The crashing waves of the ocean are muffled under the sound of your heart in your ears. Seokmin is quiet, arms tight around your waist. Had it not been for the pulsing rhythm in your body, this might have been a tender moment—but the heat is still there, prodding in your stomach, building, smoldering, aching.

You want him. Bad.

With a noise of impatience, you pull his face back towards yours, curving your body to pull him in, kissing him longingly, hoping he’ll sense the desperation growing in your stomach, understand the way you need to feel him under and over and inside you. Seokmin reads you like the back of his hand—senses the tension in your shoulders—and knows that if he uses his mouth just right your last remaining shred of self-control will snap.

He pulls at the rest of the buttons on your blouse with agonizing restraint, kissing every inch of skin revealed with painstaking deference. His mouth trails down your sternum, pausing as he listens to the quiet exhales that leave your mouth. The skin on your stomach is sensitive to his touch, and you bite back a few nervous giggles as Seokmin ghosts his lips just down to where the waistband of your skirt rests on your hips. His thumbs dig into the skin there, and he peers up at you, eyes sparkling mischievously. Asking for permission. You nod, breath shallow in your throat.

“Should be on my knees for a princess,” your fiancé murmurs lowly, dropping to his knees in front of you. What had been a steady flame in your gut erupts into a hunger so strong it might consume you from the inside out. Your mouth goes dry as he gentle pulls you down to the mattress, urging you to sit.

In the same tender manner, Seokmin lifts the sole of your foot to his lips, eyes darkening as your breath quickens yet. His breath fans across your bare skin, up your ankles and your shin, before he pauses to press a hot kiss to the inside of your knee, teeth digging into the soft skin there. The static in your ears increases tenfold as his other hand pushes the hem of your skirt up to your waist. Seokmin’s mouth continues upward, stopping on the supple skin of the inside of your thighs. Hunger gnaws at your insides by now, and you tense your stomach in anticipation. Seokmin’s pupils are blown wide—impossibly dark as he takes you in—forcing you backwards, his mouth hovering just over the fabric in between you and complete bareness. Your breath quickens—waiting, waiting, waiting—as Seokmin’s tongue trails from the inside of your knee right to where your thigh pools at your hip.

And then, with a dazed smirk, he sets your foot down—not on the floor—but gently over the bulge in his pants. Seokmin leans forward ever so slightly, eyes daring. Already he’s so hard, even under his trousers and it’s all you can do to stop yourself from falling apart right there.

“See what you do to me?” he rasps, breath hitching as you press your foot down—just a little—to feel him so vulnerable under you. Your panties are soaked by now—it feels like you’re wearing nothing at all. Seeing Seokmin like this, shirt unbuttoned to his stomach, hair still styled so nicely, lips parted with desire; you want him like this, now, all the time.

“Seokmin–fuck–” you choke, the words ripped from your mouth as you feel his tongue, wet and hot over your panties. Seokmin tosses one of your feet over his shoulder as he wraps his fingers in the waistband, pulling your panties taut. The ability to control yourself is lost. You curve into his touch as Seokmin gently pulls your panties aside, and presses one last reverent kiss to the inside of your hip.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, breath fanning across your skin, “always so beautiful for me.” Then his mouth is on you, open-mouthed and scorching on your cunt, the tip of his tongue circling around your clit, tasting every part of you. You clench your fists into the sheets, gasping for air as he wraps his strong arms around your thighs to pin you down. Even still, you squirm away from his mouth, hands pushing at his head as he sends you to cloud nine. His eyes are searing even behind closed eyelids as he drinks your pleasure, watching in rapture.

Seokmin’s voice is almost inaudible over the thrum of your heart in your ears. “You like the way I worship you, baby?”

“Yes, please, yes, oh my god, Seokmin, please,” you plead, lurching upwards to curl around his head as a particularly powerful bolt of pleasure rushes through your body. He’s ruthless, nails biting into your thighs as you writhe in pleasure, nose bumping against your clit, mouth planted firmly on your pussy as your cries become higher and more desperate. It builds and builds and builds, a rope in your gut stretching and pulling until you feel like you might snap in half. The pleasure mounts as Seokmin crudely licks his tongue up your cunt, pressed flat against your skin and you release a strangled groan, fingers knotting in his hair.

“S–Seokmin, I’m—” you gasp, body tensed in anticipation.

And then he leans back, and your release fades as quickly as it appeared. Your body aches uncomfortably. The mattress sinks down on either side of you as he braces his hands by your head. Seokmin grins, tucking a few pieces of hair gently behind your ear, dragging your mouth open with his thumb once more to push his tongue past your lips. He tastes like you and he moans as you pull him in by the back of his neck, kissing him fiercely.

“You’re a dick,” you protest, shoving his shoulder. Seokmin’s smile is tender, his cheeks flushed despite his actions just moments ago.

“Hey,” he says in between kisses to your collarbone that stifle the feeble protests spewing from your mouth, “I don’t wanna go too fast.”

You groan weakly, as he shifts his knee in between your thighs. He wraps his fingers around one of your ankles, lifting it up onto his hip.

“But I wanna feel you,” you complain, looping your arms around his neck as if to urge him on. But Seokmin just shakes his head, grinning. His leg shifts again, pressing against the ache in between your thighs and you instinctively roll your hips, mouth dropping open at the touch. He places a large hand on your pelvis, pinning you to the bed.

“I’m taking my time with you,” he says against your mouth, smiling as you sag onto the bed.

He wanted to fuck slow.

And he does, touching you with feather-light pressure, building your frustration and anticipation until you’re a sweating, panting, desperate disaster in his hands—and only then does Seokmin let you feverishly remove the rest of his clothes. The desire to feel him, see him, taste him has grown so vicious you might cry. He perches on the edge of the bed again, and with shaking hands you jerk the rest of his shirt off his broad shoulders, scraping your nails down his chest to the belt at his waist. You’ve always loved Seokmin’s body—its strong, lithe build, all toned and smooth. Seokmin curses under his breath, tossing his head back in pleasure as you kiss along his jaw and down his torso. The muscles in his stomach tense under your touch, pulled taut as your lips reach his hips again. Slowly, you undo the button on his trousers, all the while keeping burning eye contact. You want Seokmin to see how much you need him.

“Let me touch you,” you whisper against his abdomen, waiting for the desperate nod, before your fingers slip under the waistband of his briefs to finally take him in your hand. Seokmin moans low and you moan with him, imagining when he would finally let you take him, how he would stretch you out, and you’d finally feel all of him.

You pull your hand back to spit, making sure to keep your eyes on him as you do, before wrapping your fingers around his length again. Seokmin’s voice is choked in his throat as you run your hand up and down his entire shaft, taking care to twist your fist around the base of his cock, delicately trailing up and around the head, soaking up every breathy sound of satisfaction that leaves Seokmin’s lips.

With palpable restlessness, you yank the rest of Seokmin’s clothes off, straddling him on the edge of the bed again. He feels the damp fabric of your panties against his thigh and groans, his fingers knitting into your hair to kiss you again, feverish and wanting. You grind down, feeling his cock hard against your pussy and laugh weakly—except it sticks in your throat as Seokmin’s nails dig into your hip, dragging your cunt down his length again.

“You want me so bad, don’t you?” Seokmin goads, hand holding the back of your head as you roll your hips up and down his length with increasing desperation. Your nails dig into his chest. He pulls your panties to the side, eyes fluttering closed as your arousal slides over his skin. The heat of the room muddles your brain, heightening every sensation. You’re already so wet, needy and willing to do anything to make the tightness in your stomach go away. “Want me to fuck you, baby?”

“Please–” you beg, “need you. Seokmin–”

His lips are crushing, destroying any semblance of thought you might have had.

“Go ahead, princess,” Seokmin groans, as you pull your panties to the side, sliding two fingers into yourself and using your arousal to lubricate his cock again. The weight of Seokmin’s cock in your hand, the sound of your fingers sliding down the length is enough to have you weak in the knees. Seokmin’s hands splay across your back, propping you up as you line up his cock with your entrance.

Your fiancé has always been a romantic, and this time is no different as Seokmin kisses you, open mouth waiting to breathe in your needy moans as you slowly sink down onto his cock. In your agitation, it’s still tight, extracting a few hisses of discomfort out of you. But Seokmin is there, soothing you with quiet shushes against your lips, thumbs stroking your cheeks as you take him all the way. He stretches you out, nice and slow, drawing the air from your lungs.

There you go, that’s my girl. You’re doing so well, baby.

His praise rolls over you like late afternoon sunlight, settling in your chest until you feel lightheaded—the love in your chest is too much to take. It feels more intimate than usual, being nose to nose with Seokmin like this, seeing every emotion flicker in his eyes, feeling his breath fan over your face as he pants. You comb your fingers through his hair and cup his face in your hands, as the fluttery, panicky desperation for a hold on reality reappears in your chest again. You gasp as Seokmin shifts farther onto the bed, nails biting into his scalp as he pulls you closer.

He can surely feel the supersonic pace of your heart against his chest and he shushes you gently, pressing his lips against your sternum.

“I–I just need you to relax, sweetheart,” you hear him murmur in your daze, hands running up and down your spine. “Just a little more.”

You nod, eyes squeezes shut as you try to swallow the trepidation in your stomach. Seokmin takes it all with grace; his voice is like honey in your ear, sticky and sweet, whispering soft reassurances. Seokmin’s love can be so strong—even after all this time—that it overwhelms you, leaving you vulnerable and defenseless. You’re not used to the devotion that even now, it sometimes takes a little to get used to, so you tuck your nose in the crook of his neck. The smell of sunshine still sticks to his skin, like a moth to a flame.

“Baby, are you still with me?” Seokmin asks, forefinger petting your cheek. “Hm?”

You nod wordlessly, breathing deeply while Seokmin watches, attentive, until you’ve finally taken all of him. Seokmin bottoms out with a strangled groan, and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, chest stuttering as you roll your hips with impatience. Even then, it’s still too much right away and you freeze, gasping for breath.

“Hey,” Seokmin says, holding your face in his hands, “we have all night. Take it slow.”

“I know I just—ah–” you whine, stubborn, as you roll your hips again—ignoring the vague hesitancy in your stomach—this time relishing in the dull ache in between your legs, feeling the stretch and pull as Seokmin coaxes your hips into a lazy rhythm. He watches closely, mapping out your body with his hands, leaving you out of breath and hazy in the head. You throw your head back as he kisses your exposed throat, mouth hot over your skin.

Seokmin rests his hand at the base of your throat—not quite squeezing—and leaves it there. The possessive glint in his eyes is enough to say you are mine. Mine. The thought alone is enough to have you falling into his touch.

Mine.

He slips the other hand lower, using his thumb to rub circles around your clit, persuading languorous moans from your mouth, watching you with sordid fascination as you respond to his every touch. You brace your hand on his knee, brow furrowing as the pleasure in your core molds into shape. It’s hot and heavy, radiating so strongly it makes your arm shake.

“Just like–that,” you whine, nails digging into Seokmin’s thigh as he fucks into you slow, gripping your ass so hard you know it’ll leave marks. He curses as you clench around his cock, urging him to go faster. But Seokmin is, and always has been, more patient than you, and he grins slowly, even through heavy-lidded eyes clouded with lust, gripping your hips tight enough to still your movement.

“What did I say?” he challenges, lips hovering millimeters over yours. You frown, protests falling on deaf ears, as he leans in closer. His lips brush yours as he whispers, “Go. Slow.”

So you try, rolling your hips, grinding down on his cock until you think you might die, until your restlessness is as tangible as the arousal dripping onto Seokmin’s thighs. He fluctuates between playing with your clit–just until you’re on the verge of release—and waiting, just long enough to keep the buzz in your body at bay. Your knees ache as you hold yourself up, feeling Seokmin’s cock slide and and out, his hands in your hair and on your ass. He edges you, daring you to come first each time you whimper you’re close, waiting until the shaking in your fingers stops just for him to continue.

You’ve never been a crier, but after twenty minutes of this, you’re certain that even a slight breeze would cause you to come undone. Seokmin’s cock rests deep inside to the hilt, his mouth is on your skin, and you know that if he moves, you’ll come harder than you ever have before.

“Baby, please,” you beg, hips jerking at every slight movement, “please–”

Seokmin smiles, and even just the sight of his pretty teeth have the tears you’ve been holding back, rolling down your cheeks like two big fat admissions of defeat. You suck in a breath as Seokmin lifts you off his cock, dropping you onto your back on the mattress. He places one of your ankles over his shoulder, pressing you down by the back of your thigh as you toss the other around his waist.

The sounds coming from your mouth are less than human as Seokmin runs his fingers through your arousal again, placating your whines with his lips. You feel like you’re about to snap.

“Seokmin, fuck me.” It sounds so ridiculous coming from your mouth you think you might cry again, but the thought is shoved away as Seokmin slaps his cock against your needy cunt a few times, pulling more animalistic cries from your throat.

“Soon, pet,” he grins, and then his cock is pushing into you again, his fingers on your clit, his eyes dark and earnest as your whole body tenses in his arms.

Your nails claw into his skin and he hisses, brow furrowed, as you drag them down his back with uncharacteristic force, but the thought of his beautiful back marked by your torment only feeds the fire in your belly. You arch your spine, pressing into him as Seokmin draws his cock back out, still much slower than you would like. He’s just winding you up at this point, seeing just how far you’re breaking point is.

Seokmin tuts, simpering as you pant deliriously under him. He leans down, brushing his lips over your cheekbone to rest his forehead against yours. You groan impatiently.

“Patience, lamb,” Seokmin urges, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, and you frown like a petulant child. Your protests are quickly silenced as he moves, pushing into you with little urgency, pulling back out with agonizing slowness, relishing in the tiny sounds escaping your tightly clamped lips. His strokes are languid as he holds you close to his body. Sometimes it feels like a challenge, to see how long you can go without indulging Seokmin, but today every sensation is amplified tenfold—the smell of his hair, the feeling of his skin, his fingers on your body, his tongue in your mouth, his cock deep inside. He holds your head in between his hands, petting your hair when you tense, whispering sweet words against your skin.

“Look at me, baby,” Seokmin murmurs, brushing the hair off your forehead. Your pry your eyes open, resisting every impulse to squeeze them shut again as Seokmin pushes into you again, this time with more heat, feeling the burn in his own body increase as you brace yourself against his shoulders. His strokes are long and deep, barely a second apart before he drives back into you to the hilt, swimming in the crude sounds of skin against skin. A chorus of moans fills the room as Seokmin finally fucks you into subspace, your head going foggy with pleasure. The sounds leaving your mouth are barely coherent—just a messy jumble of garbled syllables. Seokmin is unrelenting. His stomach is tense with the effort it takes to keep up his pace. You’ve all but given up on keeping your eyes open, instead falling openly into the pleasure that builds in your gut again.

Good girl. Just a little more, I promise. Look at you, so beautiful like this. Just like that.

Good girl.

My girl.

You want to hold on. You want to hold on as long as possible. But Seokmin’s praise washes over you like the tide, saccharine and familiar, so you come again and again, feeling insurmountable pleasure pulse through your body—white-hot and blinding—so intense it leaves you breathless and weak, as Seokmin’s voice continues to flit in and out of focus.

“God!” you plead, as an orgasm so powerful it rips your voice from your throat tears through you. Your nails bite crescents into your fiancé’s shoulders, and you jolt upward to kiss Seokmin feverishly, fingers carding desperately through his hair as he fucks you through your high.

“Where–” Seokmin stutters, jaw clenched.

So you breathe, “In me,” and Seokmin groans long and low, as he comes undone, his release hot inside you, fingers searching for yours as he heaves. His hand is clammy and you smooth your other over his cheek, thumb skating over his cheekbone. Seokmin looks ragged, hair fucked and messy, lip bleeding from where you bit him in a fit of passion. He kisses you again, hungry and desperate as if the last forty minutes hadn’t been enough of you for him. Then he pulls out slowly, frowning apologetically as you wince in discomfort. He sets your foot back on the bed, before pressing one last, sweet kiss to your pelvis. You feel fucked raw, sensitive from all that the two of you had done.

Seokmin always ravishes you like it’s the first time he gets to hold you, taking his time until the bedsheets are tangled around your limbs and you’re both utterly spent. He loves you deep into the night, until the sun threatens to peek over the horizon. The dreamy cerulean color of the sky tells you it’s far too late for you to be awake. The street noise below has become all but mute, as the townspeople slumber peacefully in their homes. It’s the birdsong that pulls you from your reverie, still bleary-eyed and a little limp, so sudden you place your palms flat on Seokmin’s chest and stare at him in disbelief. He hums in acknowledgment, stirring from his place at your side.

“What time is it?” you rasp, voice hoarse from use.

Seokmin groans, reaching for his phone and murmurs, “Almost 4:30.”

Your eyes open a few more centimeters. “It’s been—it’s been all night.”

Your fiancé flashes his usual heartbreaking smile. “I know,” he says, and groans as he turns onto his side to look at you, “but I just wanted to be with you.” He tucks his arm under his head, reaching out a hand to run his thumb over your bottom lip. You kiss the pad of his thumb, leaning into his touch. “I love you.”

It always feels like a promise coming from his lips.

You flop back onto the bed, wincing at the twinge in your ass and roll over onto your stomach, tucking your chin over your folded hands. The Spanish coast is quiet, and for a while it’s just you and the ocean and the intimate sounds of Seokmin’s even breathing as he falls back asleep.

The next thing you feel are his lips on the base of your spine, and the early afternoon sun in your eyes. You blink groggily, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand as Seokmin kisses up your back. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and you wrap yourself in the top sheet, smiling sweetly as Seokmin leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, and rolls off the bed—still naked—over to the small kitchenette. “Coffee?”

You lift your arms high over your head, stretching until your muscles feel sore and limber, sighing deeply. “Mm, please.” Seokmin nods and grabs two espresso cups from the cupboard.

From your spot on the bed, you settle back, admiring the view of your beautifully sculpted fiancé preparing morning coffee. He’s started working out again, and you see the smooth muscles across his back flex as he stretches. Your eyes trace the graceful curve of his spine to his narrow hips and you flush, stifling a nervous giggle. Even making coffee while butt-naked, Seokmin exudes an easy confidence that sets you at peace, the slope of his shoulders relaxed as he waits for the espresso to finish brewing. The aroma of coffee curls into the air and you smile to yourself, tucking your chin into the palm of your hand. How did you get to be so lucky?

Seokmin catches you staring and breaks you from your trance by kissing your temple, holding a small espresso in his hand.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes glinting with amusement. You tilt your head and just nod, scooting so he can join you on the bed again and press a kiss to his bare shoulder. Seokmin still smells like his sunscreen. He squeezes your thigh again, gazing wordlessly over the balcony at the coastline. It’s picturesque—nothing exists beyond this hotel room except for you and him.

The espresso is warm in your hands, but Seokmin’s body is warmer.

You’ll never be cold again.

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ch0k3herwithaseaview · 8 months

Text

@jegulus-microfic | feb 10 violin | words: 1425

okay so this one is long and i’m not sure if i’m satisfied with it but here it is. i hope you’ll like it <3

disclaimer: remus isn’t transphobic, he just doesn’t want to out reggie. i don’t know if i showed it the right way, sorry if it made you uncomfortable

Sirius invented him and Remus to the concert in memory of Vivaldi. James wasn’t really into classical music, but he would go anywhere for his best friend. And that’s how he found himself attaching the cufflinks to his suit on a Friday evening.

He looked good, he thought - crisp-white button up, black tie, and the black suit he bought when he started working at the law firm few months ago, suited him perfectly. His dark curls, unlike usual, were manageable today, shooker. He put some small, gold hoops into his ears, his favourite sun necklace, hiding it underneath the shirt, and the ring he got from his parents as a graduation gift. With one last glance at himself in the mirror, James left his flat.

When he walked out of the building, he immediately found Remus who was leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette. He was dressed in a brown, plaid suit with a white turtleneck underneath.

“Well, don’t you look handsome” James yelled cheekily, as he made his way to the taller man.

“Says you” Remus replied in the same flirty manner before exhaling the smoke. “Want one?” he asked offering James the pack. He took one, waiting for his friend to light it up.

“So, are you ready for the craziest night of your life?” James asked sarcastically.

“Oh, come off it. Sirius said that after the whole thing he’s going to repay us with some actual fun” Remus nudged him with his foot. Yeah, maybe you James thought to himself.

After they smoked their cigarettes and got into the car it took them just about thirty minutes to get to opera house. Even though they weren't particularly fond of the type of music Sirius performed live, they were very proud of him - maybe his parents forced him to take piano lessons when he was younger, but that turned out to be the only thing he was grateful for. He practiced even after his mother told him he was useless and will never achieve anything, just to spite her. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how he got himself a job at Royal Opera House.

They found their seats right in the middle of the room and waited for the whole thing to start.

When the lights went down and the musicians started appearing on stage James spotted an angel. No, really, the person that came next must’ve been out of this world, there was no other explanation for his beauty. He looked rough and delicate at the same time, what’s with his sharp jaw and rosy cheeks, little nose James immediately wanted to poke at and silvery eyes that seemed to read your soul.

“You wouldn’t know who the one with violin is, would you?” he whispered to Remus. The other man looked away from his fiancée and searched the stage for the person James was asking about. When he spotted him he immediately shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, um, that would be Regulus” he replied, looking kind of uncomfortable.

“Regulus… That sounds familiar, where could’ve I heard that?”

“Well” Remus started “it’s a star, so maybe that’s why you know it. Could be from Sirius talking about his brother, but who knows” he said in a hurry, like he didn’t want to acknowledge that. And James felt disturbed, because what the fuck.

“Sirius has a sister, did you forget?” he asked his friend, looking at him as if he had grown another head.

“No, he has a brother, can’t you see?” Remus replied, pointing his chin at the man on stage.

James just looked between the two of them, extremely confused. Sirius was always talking about his sister, he was sure of that. He was also sure his best friend mentioned someone named Regulus a lot of times in the past, but he never met that person, nor did he meet Sirius’ sister since she went to some fancy boarding school in Scotland. Another thing James was sure of was that he hasn’t heard about Sirius’ little sis in a long time.

Still feeling confused, James just sat there, looking at Sirius one second and at Regulus the next. He could point out some similarities between them, but he didn’t stop feeling disoriented.

After the concert was over and the orchestra received standing ovations, both Remus and James got up and went to the artists’ dressing rooms. They went into one with a sticker on the door that said ‘Black’. As they entered James came to an abrupt halt. There on the couch, next to his best friend sat the most beautiful man he ever laid his eyes on. He just starred at him with Regulus staring back. In the background James could hear his friends exchanging tender words with each other, but all he could think about was the man in front of him. His feet started moving before he could decide it himself. In a matter of seconds he was holding his hand out for the other man to grab.

“Hi, I’m James. I loved your performance” he said sheepishly, and oh my god, was he blushing?

Regulus smiled up at him, finally catching his hand.

“Thank you, I’m glad you liked it” came from the black-haired man. They just stood there, holding hands and gaping at one another. After some time Regulus cleared his throat and added “I’m Regulus, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know” James said before he could think about it. Then “Not in a creepy ‘I stalk you’ way. Sirius talks about you sometimes and Remus told me earlier what was your name. That’s how I know.”

“So, you two talked about me?” the younger one asked cheekily. James didn’t know what got into him, but his response came almost immediately.

“Yes. You know, you made such a good job out there I had to ask who are you” Regulus just smiled at that. Before he had a chance to reply, though, they were interrupted.

“Get away from my brother, you evil spawn” Sirius yelled at James, coming closer to them. That reminded him.

“Are you brothers like we are? Something like not real brothers, but you know each other so well that you might as well be real brothers?”

“His my real brother, like, from the same mother and everything” his best friend answered.

“Last time I checked you had one sister, no other siblings. Unless you were keeping him from me?”

“Yeah, no” Sirius shook his head. “I always had a brother named Regulus, I don’t know anything about any sister.” James felt confusion coming back to him at the response. He looked at all three people in the room, every one of them looking at him with raised eyebrows, and okay - was it some kind of prank?

He decided to leave it, for now. If any one of them cared to explain they would do it in their own time, he didn’t want to push.

As promised, after the musicians had changed, the four of them and two other members of the orchestra, whose names were Barty and Evan (Regular's friends), went to a bar near the opera house. They all had a good time, talking about the concert and telling each other stories about their childhoods.

After few hours Sirius and Remus announced that they were going home. Not long after that Barty and Evan, whose dynamic was at least strange in James’ opinion, decided they would get going, too. So, it was just James and Regulus now.

They sat in silence filled with some kind of tension, while still looking at each other. It made James end his beer in one big gulp. Regulus giggled at that.

“No need to be that stressed, I’m not going to bite you” the musician told him. James looked at him for a second and then decided to make something dumb.

“Hi, I’m James” he repeated his words from earlier, as he held out his hand for a second time this evening. “Your beauty made me go stupid, would you mind if I bought you a drink?” At that Regulus started laughing loudly, throwing his head back.

“Oh god, that was awful” he choked out. Then he looked at James, amusement still visible in his eyes. “I’m Regulus, nice to meet you. And no, I wouldn’t mind you buying me a drink. Just, under one condition.”

“What is it?” taller man asked hopefully.

“Never say that ever again. To anyone” Reg chuckled.

#jegulus #starchaser #dead gay wizards #james potter #james x regulus #regulus black #jegulus microfic #the marauders #trans regulus #kinda oblivious james

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