#doppel francis x francis mosses

[notmyneighbor]

Special Delivery - Doppelganger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count - 3.3k

Rating - Explicit

CW - masturbation, oral sex

Also available on AO3

You’re being followed.

You’re out later than you’d intended, but there had been a lot of requests that day. Word was spreading. You were getting quite the reputation among the doppelgängers.

Imagine, a human who was betraying her own kind, making forged documents to help the invaders into DDD restricted areas.

You don’t even feel guilty about it, either, because what has any human ever done for you? You’ve been on your own since as far back as you can remember, dealt a bad hand early in life. This scheme you’ve concocted pays well. Better than any of the other less savory things you’ve had to do to supplement your income, and it came with an added bonus: you knew how to write in the alien’s language as well, the symbols you inscribe on the frame of your apartment door and workspaces guaranteeing you’ll be exempt from harm.

Maybe you could’ve done something with your artistic and linguist skills if you’d had the opportunity, but alas, this was your lot in life. Making the best of a less than ideal situation.

You deviate your course a few times, just to make certain you’re still being pursued. Yes, he’s still trailing you. You’re certain it’s male but you’re not pausing long enough to discern more than that. Well, fuck.

You take another detour. Perhaps not the best decision in hindsight. You’re further away from home now. You don’t recognize the street you’re on. There’s a delivery truck parked on the side of the road. Dairy. Should you try to hide inside? The door was open. Where was the driver? You consider your options. No one would admit you into their house at this hour, and why should they, when you’ve been selling out all your neighbors? The truck, then. Your stalker’s footsteps still sounded a fair distance away. It was your only chance at this point. Maybe you could find something to mark the symbols. If there was still time.

The step to enter the truck is high. You have to ungraciously hoist yourself inside, clinging desperately to the sides to balance your weight. Made it. Your nose wrinkles. There’s a faintly sour smell. Spoiled products. The keys are in the ignition. A feeling of foreboding washes over you. The street lamp nearby barely illuminates the interior of the vehicle. You’re afraid to go into the back. You can’t see anything you can use to write the protection phrase. Your breath saws in and out. Too loud. You’re making too much noise.

A foot on the steel step makes you whirl around. It’s your pursuer. Dressed as a milkman, but you know instantly it’s not. Replicant. Deceiver. The clone of whatever human he’s copying. He’d chosen a handsome one, though you doubt it had anything to do with appearances, more a matter of convenience. Broad shouldered. Narrow waisted. He lifts himself into the truck with practiced ease. You’re so fucked.

Dark eyes and hair. Pale skin. He blocks the light from outside as he crowds you further inside. Well, you couldn’t say you’d had a good run, but you’d done your best. You close your eyes. You don’t want to see the teeth emerge before he devours you.

“What are you doing in here?”

Your eyes fly open again. He hasn’t advanced any further. He wanted to talk? Play with his food before he ate it? Maybe he wasn’t hungry. Mabe you could talk your way out of this.

“I…I got lost on the way home.”

“You’re lying.” No malice behind those words, just an observation.

“I heard you following me. I know what you are,” you admit, then instantly regret it. Stupid girl.

“I know who you are, too. You’re the one who makes the ID’s and entry requests.”

“Business hours are Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm.” Were you seriously being flippant with a doppelgänger? You give a little chuckle to show you’re joking around, but the noise sounds more like a dying hyena, slightly panicked and hysterical.

“Those hours don’t work for me.”

“Oh.” So he was a prospective customer then? “Cash up front, half in advance, the rest on delivery. Currently working this week behind the abandoned grocery store off of Burke Street. I have to rotate the site to, you know…”

“I’ll pay extra,” he adds. “For the inconvenience of the hour and short notice.”

You lick your lips at the prospect of making additional funds. What would be fair to charge? “You need it right now? What’s the hurry?”

“Are you able to do it or not?” This now laced with irritation. His patience and good graces were wearing thin already. Best not to ire him further. You’re lucky to still be alive.

“Yeah, I can do it.”

“I’ll drive us there, then.”

“Where am I supposed to sit?” You glance around the front of the cabin. There’s only one seat for the driver.

You see his shoulders raise and lower in a shrug before he sits behind the wheel. You suppose your only choice is to sit on the floor.

“Your truck reeks,” you say, that sour smell assaulting your nostrils again as you lower yourself down.

The engine rumbles to life. “Deliveries didn’t get made today.”

“Did you…” You’re wondering what happened to the original, human operator of the vehicle. Had he suffered some grim fate? Were his remains sitting in the doppelgänger’s gut, being digested at this very moment? You shudder at the unpleasant thought.

He glances down at you. “No. I simply duplicated his form and stole the truck. You humans leave your body substances everywhere,” he says, lifting the cap off his head and tossing it onto the dashboard. “This one perspired all over that.”

That was all it took for a doppel to replicate a human. Just a little bit of something from the original. Sweat. Blood. Mucus. Probably other, even more unsavory substances, too.

It’s uncomfortable on the floor. The truck’s suspension jostles you roughly. Luckily you don’t have far to go. The driver eases behind the abandoned brick building, shutting off the headlamps. There are no functioning street lights in this part of town. You’re shrouded in darkness.

The doppel stands and you struggle to your feet, reluctantly accepting the hand he offers you to assist you to your feet. You’ve never touched one of the invaders directly before. It feels normal. Just like a human. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You’ve been working out of the manager’s office in the rear of the store. You’ve got an actual set of keys, pilfered once you’d broken into the building. Another of your talents, that. Breaking and entering. An additional skill this unfair life has made you adept at.

You’re not used to being here so late. It’s amazing no one’s realized the building is still on the electrical grid. You’re grateful for the mistake, switching on the light in the back hallway after feeling blindly for the switch. The doppel is just behind you. You unlock the office door and hit another light switch, sighing in relief. That was better. Familiar territory. No longer in darkness.

But there’s an anxious invader at your back, and that knowledge is less than comforting. You sit down in the office chair behind the steel desk and he settles into the hardbacked one across from you.

“So, um…about the fee.”

Without a word the alien digs into his pants pocket, extracting several bills from a wallet and sliding them over to you. “Will that be sufficient?”

You’re trying to keep a straight face. Where did he get this much money? “Yes, that’s fine. Do you…do you have a home address for the individual?”

Delving back into the wallet, he now produces a car registration. Francis Mosses. You recognize the area he resides in. A better part of town than the one you’re living in, but maybe someday you could change that.

Although, you’re about to make that area a lot less safe, you think, pulling the necessary tools out of the large bottom desk drawer, including a DDD logo stamp. That had been the hardest item to acquire. The rest were fairly routine.

“I need to take a picture. Do you just want to get that over with now?” He nods. “Can you stand in front of the door? It’s a good blank background.” Another nod as you stand. He closes the office door and positions himself, waiting for you to snap the Polaroid. Damn, he really is attractive. Exactly your type. You don’t even mind the little bend at the bridge of his nose or the shadows under his eyes. You take several pictures, one for the ID card and one for the entry request, with some extras just for…well, maybe just to have options if the others didn’t turn out well.

You’re not used to being watched while you work.

You typically have the doppels come back to pick the forgeries up later. These dark eyes watch your every movement like a hawk, from the way you print onto the request form to the drag of the scalpel blade around two of the photographs(they had all come out fine), carefully affixing them to both documents. You roll the stamp in the black ink pad and press it gently but firmly into each corner, waving a hand over the fresh ink to help it dry.

“You’re skilled at this,” he murmurs appreciatively, and your head lifts to meet his gaze. “I see why you come so highly recommended.”

“It’s not like there’s any competition,” you say, feeling a flush creep into your cheeks over the praise.

“True. Not many humans would betray their own kind, would they?”

Your lips press into a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t need the reminder. Was he mocking you?

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Somewhat mollified, you glance down at your work. It still looked a little moist. You need it to be completely dry before you apply the lamination to seal it in permanently.

The copycat is still staring at you. You, not the documents you’re working on. You clear your throat. “I want to make sure they’ve dried properly.”

“Of course.”

“It’ll just be a few minutes.”

“I don’t mind the wait.”

You lean back and the swivel chair creaks. Your shoulders are aching. You’d made a lot of forgeries today. Too much time spent hunched over the desk. Your eyes are a little sore, too, dry and burning. You needed a bath and maybe a snack and bed. Forget dinner. That sounded too complicated at this hour.

“You’re tired,” he observes.

“It’s been a long day.”

“I am inconveniencing you greatly, aren’t I?”

He doesn’t sound remorseful, exactly. You don’t know what he sounds like. It’s too difficult to process. You’re exhausted, that post adrenaline rush from earlier really depleting the last stores of energy. You don’t even think you’d protest if he decided to turn on you right now, taking the goods and making a meal out of you before he ran. The symbols are more of a professional courtesy than anything. It’s not like it actually prevented the doppels from physically being able to attack.

The legs of the chair he’s seated in drag across the dirty linoleum flooring, making a loud scraping sound. You watch warily as he comes around the desk, easing past a filing cabinet to reach your side.

“We haven’t really negotiated the full price yet, have we?”

Oh. Was that what was happening? He was going to stiff you. Suddenly that advance amount no longer seemed so generous. That was to be your total payment. Honestly, you should have been more demanding.

“I have more money,” he says, immediately canceling out your previous assumption, “but I don’t think that’s what you need most right now.”

“You’re right. I should be at home in the bathtub. Or better yet bed,” you add.

His hand reaches for the edge of the chair, turning you fully to face him. The abrupt movement catches you by surprise.

“Maybe what you really need is some good old fashioned milk.” His hand closes over your wrist, dragging your hand towards what you’ve somehow missed previously. He’s hard. Like full on, bulging, fit to burst out of his trousers. You should be terrified. You are scared, kind of. But turned on. Stupidly aroused because you haven’t had anyone give you this kind of attention in who knows how long. Sex had just kind of fallen by the wayside for you. There was so much else that needed to be accounted for.

You watch the hand pulling the leather strap of the imposter milkman’s belt in wonder, as if you can’t quite reconcile it’s your own doing this. Its partner joining, thumbing the button of the fly through the slot and parting the metal teeth below into a wicked grin. You shove the waistband of his briefs down and his cock springs free, flushed and thick and oozing precum. You stare at that clear bead of fluid as if hypnotized. Your mouth waters. You want it. You want to suck this creature dry.

Your tongue swipes over the crown of his erection and the doppel hums in pleasure. “Good girl,” he says encouragingly, and the praise sends heat right between your legs, your pussy tingling in response. You’re no longer thinking about your unfinished work on the desk beside you, about how dangerous it is to be alone with a doppelgänger in an abandoned building at night. You’re instead wondering how much of that dark pink length you’re going to be able to voluntarily sample before your gag reflex interrupts and he’s forced to fuck into your throat manually. Your sex throbs again. Time to stop wondering and find out.

Your lips close over the head and begin sliding over the shaft. Clean musk. A better flavor than perhaps you’d anticipated. You take a few experimental bobs, testing. He’s stretching you already. Your lips. The fat head bumping your cheeks, your soft palate. His fingers are in your hair, combing through the tresses with a strange kind of tenderness.

“So good. You’re so talented…”

You whimper a little, trying to reach more of him. There it is. That natural barrier of your body’s resistance. You struggle against it until you’re forced to withdraw, coughing and gasping, leaving a trail of thick saliva behind. You give yourself a brief respite, stroking the slick fluids over his prick. It makes a lewd squelching sound every time you massage the shaft. You can feel your arousal leaking between your legs, saturating your panties. You reach under your skirt, no longer caring about how depraved you appear. It’s a relief when your fingers make contact with your clit, dragging that wetness around the nub in frantic circles.

“That’s a good girl. Touch that pussy. It feels good, doesn’t it? So good…”

Your mouth engulfs his cock again. You roll your lips inward and massage the length in short bursts. Now relaxing and planting soft, passionate kisses on the tip. You spit on it and slurp up the liquid noisily. You like the sounds the doppel is making. You’ve never liked the men who were quiet, reserved. This invader isn’t holding back. He moans and groans and hisses. His teeth catch his bottom lip. His head tips back when the ecstasy of the blow job gets to be a bit overwhelming. And you love every minute of it. You savor every sound and gesture as you perform the obscene act while masturbating, grinding your swollen bundle of nerve endings against your pubic bone.

“You’re hungry, honey, aren’t you? Starving. I’ve got what you need, darling.” The nails of the hand you have curled around his hip dig into the cotton and polyester blended fabric of his uniform pants as you push yourself even further down his length, this time bruising your throat. You ignore the discomfort, grateful when the hand in your hair finally tightens and you feel him begin to fuck your mouth, battering the rear of that moist cavern over and over. “You want a drink, baby? You ready for it?”

You hum in agreement and he eases up, withdrawing until just the head of that thick phallus sits on the tip of your tongue. You’re panting, moaning, frantic for his release perhaps even more than your own.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” A couple of swipes along the shaft and that brief pumping is enough to send him over the edge, thick pulses of cum now spraying the inside of your mouth, pooling on the wedge of muscle his dick rests against. There’s a lot. An absurd amount. You can feel it leaking from the corners of your mouth. Bitter, but not the worst you’ve tasted. Sheer coincidence your body decides to shatter the instant you swallow that load, forcing that creamy baby batter down your gullet while your pussy spasms against your relentless finger.

“There you go, baby. Good girl.”

The milkman’s doppel bends to kiss you, surprising you with the gesture, now of all times, licking your face clean before thrusting his tongue between your lips and you crash right into another orgasm, moaning and twitching while the imposter fucks your mouth with his tongue.

Truly wrung out now, you collapse against the back of the chair, your chest heaving. The doppelgänger refastens his pants, but not before you notice it looks like he could go another round soon, and oh, doesn’t that make your cunt throb again in spite of being so recently satisfied, twice no less.

It takes great effort to smooth your skirt and your mussed hair back into some semblance of order, returning your attention to the documents that are certainly ready by now, the ink well set. The doppelgänger doesn’t return to his seat, instead remaining beside you, watching as the final protective layer is applied.

“There you go. Finished.” You glance up to see the doppel’s gaze fixed on you again, the money forgotten in his hand.

“Maybe…maybe we could work out a deal for the remainder of the payment.”

Your heart speeds up a little. “I’m listening.”

“Maybe I could make special deliveries. To your residence. For as long as it takes to cancel the debt.”

You hum, pretending to consider the offer even though you already know what your answer will be. “What happens after that?”

“We can renegotiate the terms when the time comes.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting as in you want to think it over, or…interesting as in you definitely want more?” He bends to kiss you again. Gentler this time, but no less appealing.

“The latter.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He sets the cash on the desk. “Consider that a tip then, for a job well done.”

You’re not going to argue with that. You hurriedly put everything away and lock the office again, soon finding yourself back outside next to the truck.

“Are you walking home, or do you want a ride?”

You weigh the discomfort of being on the floor in the smelly vehicle against walking home alone at an even riskier hour, where an encounter with another doppel would most assuredly not go as pleasantly.

“I’ll take the ride. But you need to clean the truck out.”

“I’ll do it in the morning.”

“The real milkman must have caught hell losing all these orders and the company car,” you murmur as you return to your former position inside the vehicle.

“Not my problem.”

“Every man for himself, right?” You can hardly condemn the attitude, given your current career choice.

“Exactly.” A flash of teeth in the darkness. He steals another kiss before starting the engine, bending low to capture your lips.

You’re delivered safely to your apartment building minutes later, personally escorted by the cloned milkman.

“I’ll bring you your next delivery tomorrow night, hmm?”

“Okay.” He’s standing so close. It takes just the slightest lean for him to kiss you again.

“Unless, of course, you wanted another advance…”

You shove the door you’ve already unlocked open, inviting the doppelgänger inside.

[ncroissant]

switch! doppelgänger francis mosses x dom! gn! reader x sub! francis mosses

summary: double-teaming the real francis with doppel! francis

wc: 1.4k

content warning: nsfw, cock can be viewed as a strap, nipple play (personal fave), throat-fucking, blow jobs, hand jobs, dirty talk, doppel francis is referred to as doppel, wrist burns, tied up francis

author’s note: hellooooo my lovelies !! here is the long awaited fanfic that will hopefully satiate everyone’s preferences from the francis mosses poll yesterday (so i'm a pathalogical liar bc the way this was just sub! francis...) i plan to write many, many more sub! francis content because i cannot imagine him any other way. hope you guys enjoy this :) not proofread, minors please dni !!

“hhGHK-”

“can’t hear you that well down there, francie. speak up f’me?” you smile devlishly, tilting your head to look down at your crotch. francis knelt there with brusied knees, sucking your cock, stroking what he couldn’t fit with two hands.

another francis emerged from behind you, chuckling at his dupilcate’s pitiful state. “is that what the francis of this world is really like? a milk delivery man during the day, then a pathetic little whore who chokes on cocks back at home?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“c’mon, use me too. i would never whine like this while suckin’ on that…” his fingers trailed down your v-line to the base of your cock. “i’m different from this loser…” he pouted, placing his chin on your shoulder, giving you a pleading look.

“m-mmnMPFH, g-GHK!” francis moaned, the vibrations shooting through your cock. he was whiny, but that’s what turned you on the most about your desperate little boyfriend.

you chuckled, gripping at his hair to make him look up at you. “don’t forget to look at me while i fuck your throat, francy,” you instructed as he nodded as best as he could with tears pricking his eyes. the look he gave you was so priceless, his mouth stuff full with your fat cock and drool dripping down his chin.

“yeah, but my dirty boy takes my cock the best,” you praised, making doppel frown. you thrusted your cock deep into francis’ throat, hitting the back of his throat every time you made even the slightest movement.

his eyes rolled back at the thickness and length of your cock, as he exhaled through his nose heavily. he felt his hands drifting down to his bulge, humping the carpet underneath.

you noticed, finally knowing what to do with doppel. “actually, i need you to take care of my needy little boy down there…” you shot francis a glare, shaking your head in disappointment. he whimpered at the action, his eyes widening with tears immediately streaming down his cheeks.

you pulled him off your cock, his saliva connecting to the tip. “haagnh…” he mewled out, his tongue still stuck out, waiting for a sweet treat. “c-cum on my tongue, please…” he begged, placing the tip of your cock on his tongue.

“such a needy boy. always wanting more than what you’re given, huh?” you tutted, grabbing your middle of your cock to tap it roughly on his tongue. he could only moan, feeling his hips shake in anticipating.

“that’s why i have him. to help me discipline you,” you pulled at doppel’s bow to tug him closer, untying it in the process. “c’mere francie. up on my lap,” you patted your lap, holding a hand out for him to get up.

he followed suit, stumbling over his feet a bit, but ultimately sitting on your lap with his back pressed against your chest. his cock was aching in his stupidly tight pants, begging to be let free. his face flushed at the sight of a very different, yet similar version of himself in front of him.

“doppel, c’mere sit on francie’s thigh,” you motioned him over, straightface. you, on the otherhand, begun to tie francis’ wrists above his head with the tie you had previously acquired. doppel obediently followed your instructions, sitting on one of francis’ spread thighs.

“w-what’re we doing?” francis stuttered, feeling exposed despite being fully clothed.

your arms looped around his body, rubbing his nipples through the fabric of his shirt. he jolted. “just punishing you,” you smiled, giving doppel a look. he quickly caught on, unzipping francis’ pants, palming him through his underwear.

your pointer finger tickled at his sensitive nub, while the other hand pinched at his already hardened nipple. francis’ weak spot was his nipples. the way he reacted when you even grazed his nipples made you want to bend him over a bucket and squeeze them until milk came out.

“o-oooH! hnnghh…w-why through my s-shirt?” he whimpered, jutting out his wet lower lip.

you gave him no response, flicking at his buds with your nails, making his arch his back. “gHK! y-you’re too, mnGHHK, rough!” he exclaimed, his brows furrowing. you loved to twist and tug at his nipples.

it was his fault for wearing such a tight uniform shirt. he was just asking to have you toy with his neglected buds that always poked out from the slightly nudge from the shirt fabric. your hands grope his chest, fingers rubbing over them quickly.

doppel wasn’t neglecting francis’ cock either. he was playing lazily with the wet spot on francis’ underwear that leaked pre-cum. it stuck to his pointer finger when he dragged it away, making doppel chuckle at his copy’s sensitivity.

“feel good, francie? squirmin’ so much, hm?” you placed your chin on his shoulder, watching the way his lips shaped into an “o”, mewling at the way you played with his perky nipples. you’d tug on one, flicking the other one quickly.

“g-good, HNGH, o-oghhh...s-so gnhh…” he could barely get a word out, lewd noises just falling out of his lips. you stopped teasing his nipples before slowly unbuttoning his uniform shirt.

doppel wasn’t taking francis seriously, stroking at a pace he thought was slow, but inhumanely too quick for francis. “human dicks are so small. you pleasing anyone with this tiny little guy, huh?” he teased, making eye contact with francis. “oh look, more pre-cum spilled out!”

francis felt how wet his cock was getting, covered in dopel’s spit and his own pre-cum. when he thought he only had to focus on doppel, your hands came back to grope at his chest. you could now visibly see the pink plushness of his nipples.

“looks like something might come out if i squeeze hard enough, right francie?” you whispered in his ear, rolling your fingers around the bud.

“same thing on my end,” doppel chimed in, rubbing his thumb over francis’ slit.

francis shivered at the thought, feeling his high come at lightning speed. the way the tips of your fingers would flick at his nipples combined with doppel’s inhumane strokes made the poor boy explode.

“ooonghhh, ‘m c-cumming soon, mmngh! HGK! c-cumming!” he bursted into doppel’s palm, collapsing into your arms. your movement slowed slightly, but you continued to flick at the tips of his nipples.

doppel took note of this, playing with the slit of his dick, playing with the foreskin. “human stamina is so pathetic. surely you’re not done now?” doppel leaned down, lapping francis’ cum with his monstrous cum.

“UGHK? i-i jus’, hic, came…hnnn…” he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks, feeling his aching tip burn. regardless of his pleads, he still rutting his cock into doppel’s mouth for additional friction.

“show me what your pretty chest looks like now, francie,” you ordered, as he puffed out his chest for you to see properly over his chest. you hummed deciding to untie him so he could give you a real show.

his wrists were red from shaking against the restraints so you pressed chaste kisses against the burns. “that’s not how you show me, is it?” he shook his head, shaking from the way doppel was sucking his dick.

francis’ fingers stretched the skin around his nipples, properly showing you the puffiness of his teased buds. he looked up at you with his fingers strewn across his chest with a teary-eyed expression.

“such a perfect boy f’me,” you praised, ruffling his locks. “so good that you can take another hour of teasing before taking my cock, right?” you grinned, your hands finding their rightful spot on his chest.

‘e-EUGH! yesyesyes…i can take it, hngh!” he nodded furiously, his hips shaking like a dog in heat.

“good boy,” you nodded, sticking your fingers into his already open mouth. you and doppel had a long night ahead of you.

taglist: @lordragamuffin

[paymechildsupport]

I've never done a request before so please bear with me🥲

I was wondering if you could do another Francis Mosses x reader.

I really enjoyed your Spouse!Reader x doppelgänger!Francis and wanted to see your take on D.D.D. trainee!Reader x doppelganger! Francis, where we get sent out to 'take care' of Francis.

Really excited to see what you do with this prompt🙏🏾

>nahhh this is a devious prompt, -- I gotchu 🙏😈🙏😈

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Does this please you, Officer?”  // Doppel!Francis x DDD Officer Reader

--Doppelgänger!Francis x DDD Reader tasked with his neutralization 🙏

-!! AFAB Reader, -- though genetalia isn't outright explicity stated -(?) -- there is room for your imagination though 😋

-!! CW: nsfw- (smut), ; Dubcon /// Hand-job; sex against a wall; degradation; implied overstimulation

A/N: the number of Francis requests are CRAZY, -- and I completely understand why, -- man's actually majestic <3.

————-

-------------------------------

...

This was not how you planned to spend your Tuesday night,— grumpy and exhausted, woken up mid-sleep by an emergency dispatch.

“Mm… hello.?” Your groggy voice speaks into the ringing phone, eyes still sticky from sleep. 

“Emergency Dispatch: Doppelgänger identified at Complex II,— repeat, doppelgänger identified at complex II,— dispatch agent, neutralize the threat”. They clicked off, leaving you alone in the dark. 

Fuuuuuuck…. 

You fit yourself to your uniform quickly, practically ripping the hazmat suit in an attempt to get inside. Stupid cheap uniform. 

Hurriedly, you grabbed your gear before rushing out the door, immediately stopping to softly tiptoe down the hall, (it would be inconsiderate to wake your neighbors at this hour).

You bolt out the complex, trying your best with the minimal light from the lampposts to groggily stumble your way to Complex II. You recall briefly the mention of a new doorman, a rookie. You figured it made sense,— poor new guy’s first day and he’s greeted by what you can assume as a particularly aggressive doppelgänger. 

Trudging up to the looming building, you approach the iron bound mechanical door. You can see immediately the shutters to the doorman’s office are closed, bits of movement visible from the gaps in the blinds. The poor dude was in shambles. 

You approach the gate, eyes locking on the figure of the doppelgänger, 

Hmm, let’s see who it is tonight…

You’re surprised to see the handsome face of your milkman staring back at you, eyes looking as dead as ever. The air was knocked right outta your lungs,— holy shit these doppelgängers were getting good. 

Clearing your throat, you address, 

“Uh,— right, sir,” you look at the doppelgänger, “I’m gonna need you to come with me.” 

He says nothing, opting to just stare. It’s then you notice the gaping hole that was his mouth, the two black chasms that were supposed to be his eyes. From afar, he’d look perfectly normal,— but in the light all the inhuman imperfections stuck out like a sore thumb 

Holy smokes that’s hot. 

“I’m going to take you with me now,” you don’t even know why you’re telling him this, why the hell were you being all nice with a doppelgänger? Sure, he was good looking,— sure, you were curious what that mouth could do—- 

But that’s besides the point. 

You approach hesitantly, hooking an arm around ‘Francis’, giving him a light tug to signify him to follow you. 

Surprisingly, he does. Without a single word or complaint. He just… stares. With those beady white pupils. It sends a delicious shiver down your spine. 

Leading him away, you look over your shoulder at the doorman who just peeked out from behind the shutters, giving him a reassuring thumbs up as you walk away with your new companion. 

“Threat neutralized,” you repeat into the bulky walky talky attached to your belt, “order complete, over”. You place it back in its compartment, continuing until you and ‘Francis’ reach the anomaly compound for all things strange and odd. 

‘Francis’ looks at the compound with horribly disguised disgust. You only chuckle grinning, 

“No no, don’t worry. You aren’t going in there…” he seems to breathe a sigh of relief— if that’s even possible—, before you finish the last bit, 

“— don’t worry, I have… other plans for you..”

——

“Strip.” 

“Excuse me?” He whirls around, taken aback. 

“You heard me, strip” 

“And why,” his eyes narrow, “would I do that?” 

You shrug, “safety protocol,-- we’re in the decontamination room,-- can’t let you in if your clothes are contaminated, y’know?” 

'Francis' is absolutely flabbergasted. 

“Oh, and for security measures someone else has to be in the room at all times, – but uh,-” you grin, “we’re a lil’ short staffed at the moment, so it looks like it’ll just have to be you and me. 

'Francis' only looks at you through narrowed eye lids, thinking, “and if I refuse?” 

“Then I’ll strip you myself” and you step closer to do just that. 

'Francis' skitters backwards to the other end of the room, back hitting the wall, “h-hey! No need for that, I’ll do as you ask…” he mutters

Chuckling, “at least you can be obedient” 

'Francis' looks away almost bashfully as he begins to undo the buttons on his shirt, fabric peeling away to reveal the pale skin underneath. His hat rests on a nearby bench

“Fully,” you purr, “I want it all off.” 

You swear you see the tiniest hint of red tinge his cheeks, and you can’t help but wonder just how advanced this doppelgänger was. Good thing you were about to see for yourself in a moment… 

The air is heavy, tense, almost, as 'Francis' slowly undoes the buckle on his belt, pants sliding down to his ankles, – his boxers the only scrap of clothing left hiding him from you. 

He wearily regards the way you look at him, not missing the growing flare of hunger behind your eyes, 

“Does this please you, officer?” his words are clipped, tension building up behind each one. Biting your lip, your breath almost catches at the way he smiles, teeth a little too sharp to be human. 

“No.” The words are thick in your throat, forcing them out a bit of a struggle, “Get rid of the rest of it, now” 

He bites his tongue, making no move to do so. In a second you’re on him, pinning his figure to the wall, bodies pressed up together. He has no time to react as you hook two fingers around his boxers, harshly yanking them off. 

“Oh.”

Free of the confines of his pants, his erect cock springs loose, tip already dripping with precum. 

“Huh.” 'Francis' can’t even turn his head your way, face hot and sweating slightly, “Who would’ve thought,” – your hands curl around him, taking him fully in your fist. His eyes fly to your face, pupils blown and dilated, staring in horrified arousal as you began to knead the hardened flesh, “--what a sick little thing you are, getting off on my reprimands, hmm?” 

'Francis' sucks in a sharp breath, muscles tensing almost to a breaking point. His entire body shook with an animalistic need. More strands of precum build up on his tip, all read and agitated. Your thumb rubs the tiny slit, coating him with the sticky fluid. You found it hilarious, – no way this freakish creature had a fucking thing for degradation. 

His mouth opens in the shape of a small ‘o’, eyes rolling back as you teasingly pull at his dick, your hands making wet squelching noises playing with the soaked meat. 

“Mm,” you hum as you continue to play with him, dumbifying the creature in your hands. His legs start shaking like a dog’s, lewd whimpers flowing from his lips, glistening with saliva and drool. He desperately thrusts himself against your hand, chasing his pleasure farther. Jerking him off slowly, immense satisfaction burning in your stomach at the way your hand milks him. Each low groan went straight to your pulsing heat, drenching your own pants. 

Panting, unfamiliar with the immense, foreign pleasure curdling through his gut, 'Francis' seems to forget the guise of his human appearance, pornograpic moans mixing in with groggy animalistic growls and grunts. Carnal desire ripples through his veins, building up in his stomach, molten hot, and threatening to explode from his twitching cock in your hands. Poor thing can’t even formulate words, getting his brains fucked out just by your hand alone. 

He gasps, right about to climax into your hammering fist when you suddenly retract your hand. 'Francis' looks at you with wide eyes, looking every bit the kicked puppy, cruelly robbed of his orgasm. 

“Hh. huh… nghu..- ga-?..”,  panting.

You chuckle slowly, “no, not yet…” 

He can only watch with teary eyes as you skillfully unbuckle your pants, sliding them off along with your underwear. You grab him by the hips, positioning him (which isn’t hard, considering the only thing keeping his shaking body up was your torso), and aligning your pelvis, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You carefully slip him into your drenched hole, gasping softly at the sensation of him.

“Hah… like I said….” ‘Francis’ can only gape as you adjust yourself, cock twitching madly inside of you, 

… “I’m not done with you yet…”

[write-tama]

"to live with the milkman."

╰┈➤ francis mosses (the milkman) x doorman!reader

sypnosis ; reader is worried because francis hasnt been seen in a week. they decide to pay francis' apartment a little visit..

containing! ; lois stilinksy, working as doorman, gender neutral pronouns, use of y/n, francis being a little sick and out of uniform, francis and reader eat mac n cheese tg :3

authors note ; this is lowkey a slowburn-- i didnt mean to write so much D: i started writing yesterday morning and just finished this morning LOL but ya its very just wholesome and soft ^^

4.12.24 | 2.7k words

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

As a doorman, you realize a pattern of people would often come and go through the apartment. You know who goes to work in the morning and who comes home in the afternoon, and you know what days they typically go out and days where they don’t.

So, I'm not totally creepy when I say I've noticed a shift in Francis’ schedule, right? He’s not one to typically go out unless he has work in the morning— which is usually Tuesday through Friday, but lately, I haven’t seen him all week.

Nothing but the worst truly went through my mind. He could’ve been eaten by a doppel, or worse, was mistaken for a doppel and was exterminated on sight! These anxious feelings went through my head as I nervously clicked my pen. I glanced at today’s list again, as if magically waiting for his name and picture to show up on the piece of paper.

click, click, click.

Through the office window, I heard the subtle steps of heels clicking against the worn tiles. Sighing, I sat up straight and folded my hands in front of desk, forcing my anxious thoughts to the back of my head in order to continue doing my job. I looked up to meet the gaze of thick magenta bangs with eyes barely visible I sort of wonder how she even navigates through her surroundings.

“Good afternoon.” She greeted, her thick lips curling into a polite smile. I nod as I took her ID and entry request through the letter box, scanning through the documents for any misspellings or misinformation. As I carefully examined the print, I notice Lois’ lips pursing into a curious point.

“You looked troubled, sweetheart.” She noted. “Is everything alright? Besides work-stress that is.”

I sighed a little, placing her card down before looking through today’s list. I checked off Lois’ picture before turning to my request checklist. “Yeah, I just.. I don’t know. Have you heard from Francis recently?” I asked, not even masking the worried tone in my voice. Lois hummed a little, as if thinking about the last time she has even seen the man.

“The last time I saw him, he looked extremely tired. Like more tired than usual. I think he was just coming home from work? He was coughing and sniffling a lot.” She recalled. “Poor boy.. He must’ve been sick for a while.” Lois shook her head. With her words I felt like a pressure had been released from my chest. Oh, good, so there is a chance he’s alive, I thought to myself. I slid back her ID and smiled.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry, I just get worried knowing that a neighbor could’ve been killed by a doppel or any force of nature of that matter.” I lightly chuckled. Lois smiled, taking her ID before looking at me.

“You should talk to him. I’m sure he could use the company right now.” Lois suggested, but through that grin I could see that teasing smile.

I sighed a little, a little grin starting to form on my face. “C’mon, Lois, that would be way too embarrassing!” I exclaimed, crossing my arms in my chair. Lois lightly giggled, raising a white glove to stiffle her laughs.

“Oh, it won’t hurt, honestly! You never know what could happen~” she said, all singy-songy. I rolled my eyes before pressing the unlock button.

“Yeah, yeah. The door’s right there.” I sarcastically replied, a big grin on my face.

“Just think about it!” She called out as she walked through the door. I shook my head in amusement, listening to the door click behind her. I locked the door and returned to my previous slouched position.

Maybe I should pay him a visit.

My shift ended around late evening. I packed my bag and slid on my cardigan before locking the door behind me and hiding the key in a place only the next doorman would be able to find it. As I walked towards the exit of the building, I thought about what Lois had said earlier about paying him a visit. I never even really attempted to go past the lobby area of the apartment building. I had no purpose to anyway. And plus, it would’ve been a lengthy process to even request a visitor’s pass due to the security. I looked over to the doorman’s office, realizing that as of now, no one is on duty. Would it be morally wrong to go against the rules of the literal job I worked in?

Maybe.

But maybe my curiosity and anxiety could take over just for this one moment.

I walked back to the doorman’s office and unlocked the door. I placed the key back in its original hiding place before entering. I made sure to lock the door behind me before taking a look around the room again. Behind the doorman’s seat, there’s a door that leads to the stairway of the apartment complex. Its main purpose was to serve as a fire escape just in case of an emergency. Eagerly and swiftly, I gently pushed the door open, making sure to not make much noise. Once I walked out, I was met with the smell of old concrete and a spiral of stairs. I sighed to myself, remembering that Francis does in fact live on the third floor.

The stairs felt endless as my shoes clicked on the hard concrete. Fortunately, I only had to take a break only two times. I was finally at the end of the stairs, my legs tired from the endless climbly. I pushed the door open and was greeted with a typical carpeted hallway with blinding yellow-white lights that nearly burned my eyes. I sighed before trailing through the doors, looking at each number plate in order to locate the right room.

“Room 02, room 02..” I hummed to myself, just like how I would while scanning through files. After turning a corner, I was finally able to locate Francis’ room. I raised my fist to knock at the door, but the soft, soothing sounds of piano muffled through the wood. I stopped in my tracks, feeling as if my knock would disturb the perfect flow of the keys as I’m sure its song filled the apartment with grace. I waited for the keys’ song to slow to an end, the melody slowly fading out of the air and a sigh following its silence. I couldn’t help but smile, and sure this gave me enough proof that Francis was in fact still alive, but.. Something about his skills on the piano made me even more intrigued by the man.

I gently knocked with my knuckles, but making sure I was firm enough for the knocks to even be heard. From inside, I heard a chair scrape against wooden floorboard before footsteps steadily approaching me. A couple locks were undone before the squeak of the door filled my ears. I looked up and there Francis was— his eyebags were relatively darker and he was still in sleep attire with a baggy set of pajama pants and a fitting white tee.

“Oh— uh, (y/n)—” he said a little shocked to see me. I smiled a little, tilting my head at him.

“You shouldn’t have opened your door so fast. I could’ve been a doppel, y’know?” I advised. I heard him suck air through his teeth as he realized his rookie mistake.

“Mmm.. I’m sorry..” He mumbled, making me raise an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ve been worried about you since I haven’t seen you in a while. I just.. Wanted to check if you were okay.”

Francis raised his eyebrows in surprise. It made me wonder if anyone else but me paid him a visit due to his absence. We lingered in silence for a minute. he stared down at me as I stared up at him.

“..May I be invited in?” I requested, breaking the silence. Francis blinked his eyes a little, as if he had been lost in thought previously.

“Mmm.. ID and entry request, please?” Francis teased, smiling a little. I scoffed, immediately catching on to his wittiness.

“Ha ha, very funny, Mr. Mosses.” I sarcastically replied, rolling my eyes. His grin grew wider, clearly amused by reaction. He stepped aside from the door, allowing me to enter. I walked in, bag still clutched to my side as I took a look around the apartment.

It was humble but quaint space. The ceiling lights were off and frankly looked like they were never used, however, his lamps illuminated a soft warm orange on his furniture. He had a small box TV and dull red couch with a small round coffee table planted in the middle. Huddled in a corner was his old piano he must've been playing earlier. Francis closed the door behind me, making sure to lock it as well. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.” He apologized, quickly rushing to his couch where clothes scattered over the armrests. He went down a small hallway I assumed to be where his bathroom and bedroom was. I took off my shoes and placed my bag on the table that sat next to the door before sitting myself on the couch.

I sighed a little, almost drowning into the soft pillows. It almost made me question why he would be struggling with sleep if he has a couch as comfortable as this. I could see a bit of his kitchen from sitting on his couch. It was a decent size with counters on one side and the appliances on the other. It seemed like he had something on the stove cooking as well.

Francis walked in shortly after and took his seat on other end of the couch, keeping a distance between the two of us. I brought my knees to my chest while hugging his couch pillows. I looked at him for a bit, trying to figure out myself as to why he hasn’t been out recently. Not only was his dark circles were more apparent, his hair was a little longer and messier. He looked paler than usual as well. Francis turned to me, a curious look on his face.

“Is it apparent..?” Francis asked. I furrowed my eyebrows, a little confused on what he meant.

“Hm?” I hummed in response.

“That I’m coming down with something.” He chuckled slightly. I shrugged a little, leaning back on the couch cushions.

“I mean.. Your hair is messier.” I smiled, admiring the frizz on the top of his head. Francis quickly glanced up before running his fingers through his hair.

“It’s not that messy..” He sighed.

“Well, I wouldn’t know. You always got that milkman hat on the top of your head.” I laughed. I glanced over to the kitchen again, realizing that steam was coming through the glass lid. “I think you might want to get that.” I suggested, nodding my head towards the stove. He hummed a little before getting off of the couch and heading towards the kitchen. I watched as he reached the top of the cabinets, stretching up with ease. I couldn’t help but stare at his broad shoulders to his slim waist defined by his white shirt.

“Hey, I made mac n’ cheese if you’d like a bowl.” He offered, his voice immediately cutting through my daze.

“Oh— uh, yeah of course. I was about to get dinner after I got off my shift but here I am.” I chuckled. He nodded before grabbing another platter to make my own plate. I sat patiently on the couch before noticing the remote on the coffee table. “Hey, can I turn on the TV?” I asked.

“Hm?” Francis hummed from the kitchen. “Mmm.. Sure. I don’t mind.” He shrugged before turning back to his task.

Something about this felt so.. Safe.. And homely. I felt comfortable, despite me never even being in Francis’ apartment before. It felt familiar, and I couldn’t lie to myself and say that this is the most peace I’ve felt since the news of doppelgangers came out. I picked up the TV remote and flicked it on, browsing through the channels before find a movie we could idly have in the background.

Francis came out of the kitchen, holding two bowls with forks in each. This time, he took his seat much closer to me before placing my bowl on the coffee table. “Thank you.” I politely nodded. I took the bowl and started to eat. Honestly, to my surprise, the food was actually pretty good for a man who worked day and night. I was enjoying the comfortable silence between the two of us as we enjoyed our dinner together— something I barely saw myself seeing tonight.

“Hey.. (y/n)?” Francis mumbled quietly.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I replied, taking another scoop of the creamy mac n’ cheese to shove in my mouth.

“Why did you.. Come here?”

Something about that question made my heart skip a little. Why did I come here? I mean— I came here to make sure he was okay. That’s my job as doorman. To make sure all of the neighbors are safe and alive. But even when I heard him through the door, clearly shown to me that he is still breathing, I stuck around anyway.

Why did I come here?

“Well— I uh..” I trailed off a little, sort of lost to where I should even begin. “I was just worried about you. That is my job, no?” I said, clearing my throat. I kept my eyes on the screen, a little embarrassed to even face him.

“Mmm.. I don’t entirely believe that.” He hummed. “You could’ve called.”

Oh, fuck, yeah no— he’s right.

Ugh, Lois!

You set me up!

“That’s true..” I chuckled. “I guess you caught me.”

“Mmm..” He mumbled. He placed his now empty dinner on the table before folding his hands in his lap. “So..?”

I took a deep breath, feeling my heart beat fast inside my chest and a warmth creeping up my whole body. I placed my bowl onto the coffee table as well, and finally mustered the courage to look at him in his eyes.

“Francis..” I mumbled. He leaned in a little closer, as if he wanted to lean into my words and trusted them to embrace him.

“I.. I just.. I think I like you..” I trailed out. My head felt cloudy as a tingling sensation danced all over my skin, feeling like a little kid during recess confessing to her elementary school crush. “I've liked you.. Ever since we met. I never really said anything because I felt like you weren't necessarily interested in a relationship.. But Lois and Rafttellyn would always point out how you would look at me and I just—!”

A strong hand placed firmly on my cheek— so cold against my blushing face— pulled me in to meet those soft lips of his. I was completely silenced and wide eyed, but I knew what he was telling me. Everything in those pink lips told me that everything was going to be okay, and he liked me just as much..

I fluttered my eyes closed, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling myself closer to his chest. The TV buzzed in front of us, sputtering incoherent actors cracking jokes and delivering their lines. Our finished bowls of dinner were scattered on the table, but it was easy to tell the food was delicious for no piece of macaroni was left unnoticed. I pressed harder against his lips, letting the thought of breathing slip my mind.

If this is what it's like to live with him—

To spend our evenings chatting

Eating dinner on his couch

Watching TV while enjoying each other's presence

Then maybe I could get used to this.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

tagging ; @crybabies-heart @shypizzaperson @your-local-oc-maker @spearsillustration @mochi46106 @seraphlin @glxyaaandromeda (some ppl i tagged either bc they followed me on my old acc and just some ppl who interacted with my past content and just thought they would be interested in this fic :3

thank you so much for reading and reposts and likes are always so, so appreciated <3

[dilucs-princess]

The sweet taste of milk

Pairing: Doppelganger Francis x afab reader

words: 1,147

warnings: fem!reader (no pronouns but fem anatomy), sub!Francis, slapping, unrealistic sex (no prep), slight mommy kink, overstimulation

reblogs > likes

@b-ella-donn-a

Francis Mosses was on his knees, staring up at you. You have no idea how you got in this situation, peering at him through the window. "Please," He breaths, clasping his hands together. "Please let me in.. I-I'll be a good boy... I'll serve you so well, miss, please..."

You could only watch, mouth hanging open in shock as you watch Francis. Was it Francis? Was it a doppel? You weren't even sure but the way he was begging was so beautifully and so needy, you had to rub your own thighs together.

Your hand reached towards the open button and Francis basically sobbed with relief, crawling his way towards you. You could tell he was so, so needy! You couldn't help but laugh as he crawled into your office.

He sat back on his knees, a cute little bulge forming at the front of his trousers, you reached your foot out to press down on it gently and he keened, choking back a desperate moan.

His disguise was starting the slip. Sharp teeth and a long tongue, red eyes, rimmed with gold. You grinned.

This is what you wanted. You gestured the poor doppelganger to stand up. "Strip," You commanded. And he did it as fast as his shaking and trembling hands allowed him. He folded his shirt and trousers, placing his hat and bow tie on top.

He was left in his boxers and shivered when you licked your lips. "Delectable... Truly, a pleasant sight to behold.." You murmured, standing up. You clicked your fingers and pointed to the chair, he rushed over to sit down.

'What a good boy..'

You chuckled, shaking your head as you ran a hand through his hair and he leaned into the touch. You leant down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, kissing across his jaw and slowly down his neck and chest.

You moved to straddle his lap and he gasped when your body made contact with his hard dick. Even through his final layer and your clothes, he desperately rutted up but you slapped him and he stopped immediately. He sobbed softly, he was so desperate for release! He needed to cum so bad - and you hadn't done anything!

A soft chuckle left you at his pathetic state and you lowered your head to wrap around his nipple, gently sucking on it whilst your other hand went to tug and pull at the opposite one, leaving him writhing and whimpering under you. You hummed with a raised eyebrow as you pulled back, swapping your mouth and hand with a happy smile.

Francis was panting, gripping your hipws tightly, he was trying so hard not to move his hips, he didn't want to get hit again, he was a good boy! He bit back another moan, he was sure his fingers were causing indents in your skin.

He threw his head back when you began to grind against his cock. Small whimpers left his lips and a small cry when you got up off of him. He looked back up but sighed happily when you began to strip, quickly standing too discard his last item of clothing.

You raised an eyebrow, chcukling when you saw him sitting down quickly too, wrapping a hand around his dick. He moaned softly, slowly stroking himself, squeezing his eyes shut. You tsk'ed quietly, cupping his chin, your thumb swiping across his lip. "Gonna cum already? You're not even inside me yet!" You laughed, humming as he took your thumb in his mouth.

Francis was like putty in your hands, so desperate and needy for you, allowing his hand to pull away from his dick as you straddled him, the tip of his dick rubbing against your pussy.

He cried softly, whining when you took your thumb out of his mouth, quickly taking one of your breasts into his mouth, suckling desperately on your nipple. You smiled, he was so cute! How could you ever deny him anything?

"Mommy, mommyy, please.." he whimpered against your skin and you just smiled, slamming down onto him quickly, all at once.

Both of you moaned out in unison and you smiled at the slight stretch, though you couldn't wait for your turn to fuck him instead. You allowed time for you both to adjust as his hands went to hold onto your hips, slowly rubbing circles into the skin before you slowly lifted yourself up and dropping down again.

Francis' breath was hot against your neck and skin, his moans breathless and desperate as he whimpered and whined as every pull of your soft walls against his rock hard dick. He knew he wouldn't last long, he had been desperate for ages.

His fingers were digging into your skin, his eyes glued to your cunt as one of your perfect hands went to rub at your clit. He whimpered and tentatively replaced your hand with his. He smiled up at you nervously but it all disappeared as he saw your blissful expression.

"Mmm, Miss. 'm so close, wann' cum so bad!" He whined, burying his head in your shoulder. You smiled, nodding as you continued to bounce on his cock. "Cum, cum inside of me, darling, you're okay," You replied with a smile, clenching around him desperately.

He nodded, gasping for breath as you continuously clenched around him, rubbing your clit with more vigor, collecting some click to aid in the lubrication.

He moaned so loudly as he came that you had to shove fingers in his mouth. He didn't care, so desperate as he gagged on your fingers, eyes fixed as he cum spilled out of your beautiful pussy.

His eyed widened and he whined as you continued. "Mmf-" He tried to speak but just gagged beauifully around your fingers instead. You smiled evily down at him. "You really think you could just cum and forget about me? Stupid boy.." You laughed as he cried from the overstimulation.

You allowed your head to tilt back, thrusting your fingers into his mouth as you continuously bounced on his cock, increasing your pace as you felt yourself get closer and more and more desperate.

"Fuck, close, Francis, been such a good boy! So good for me, cumming- oh god, i'm cumming, Francis- fuck-!" You cried out, reaching out to blindly grab onto him as your pussy tghtly clenched aorund him and your body spasmed.

Francis gasped and cried as he came again too, the praise and stimulation was too much for him. You smiled as you slowly came down from your high, wiping his tears away gently.

"Sh, sh, you're okay, baby boy, it's all good. You did so well.." You promised, cupping his cheek gently. Francis looked up at you, eyes still watery as he hid his face in your chest. You just smiled and held him close. "Good boy... Well done.."

[myahs-delulu-palace]

Human or Doppel…?| That’s not my Neighbor| Francis Mosses x F! Reader OneShot

———————————————————————

After another stressful day of work as a doorman, [Name] reaches her apartment and go inside, she finds Francis sitting on the sofa reading a book. [Name] remembers buzzing him in earlier but can’t help but get a little paranoid now…what if he was being a really perfect doppelganger? Just waiting to strike…she starts to tense up a bit at the thought.

Francis takes his eyes off his book once he realizes [Name] came home, but he could tell something was off already.

"Mmmm Darling? Is something wrong?" he asked when he saw her staring at him.

[Name] snaps out of her trance. "Oh uhm…nothings wrong, just tired from work today…those doppelgangers are a lot of work…" [Name] didn’t want him to know what she was actually thinking…if she did, and if he was actually a doppelganger…she’s be fucked even more early…

Francis sets his book aside and gets up. He slowly walks towards her. She can smell a milky smell from him. He wraps his arms around her waist. "Mmmm…Are you sure everything is alright? You have a serious look on your face."

[Name] forces a smile as she looked at her husband’s tired eyes.

"I’m sure, I’m fine honey…" she was obviously lying, a whole ass fetus could tell she was lying…[Name] was a really bad liar when she’s nervous.

Francis could see through your forced smile. He was starting to worry. "Mmmmm…You don’t look fine darling. Are you sure nothing is wrong? I’m getting that feeling that you have been having doubts about me being a Doppelganger..."

[Name] froze…'fucking hell…how did he figure it out so quick!?' she thought to herself. "What…? What uhm…what makes you think that…?" She was still tryna lie even though she was caught so easily.

Francis noticed her sudden change in behavior. This confirmed his suspicions. His expression softened as he tightened his arms around her. "Darling....the past few days...I could see it in your eyes. I could see that you have been having doubts about me. Am I wrong? Please don't tell me.....you think I'm a Doppelganger..."

[Name] looks at him for a bit deciding whether or not to tell him the truth…Francis sensed her hesitation and gently lifts her chin up. He gently looks into your eyes and softly says.

"Darling, please.....don't be afraid to tell me the truth. I can tell you have doubts about me. I know that there are many Doppelgangers out there and you have encountered them at work. Darling...please tell me the truth. Is that...it? Do you think I'm a Doppelganger?"

[Name] sighs and nods her head finally admitting it. "I’m sorry Francis…it’s just…this job and these doppelgangers…they’re getting to my head…these doppels are getting smarter and smarter and it’s making me paranoid…"

Francis sighs as he gently rubs her back. He kisses your forehead and holds you tightly. He whispers into your ear. "I understand Darling. I understand your fears about the Doppels. But I promise you one thing. I swear to you, that I'm not a Doppelganger. I'm real. I'm not a fake. I'm a real man who loves you. I'm your husband..."

[Name] sighs as she lays her head on his chest for comfort, she was glad her paranoia was wrong…she really needed to relax right now after this stress…

Francis can tell that she was overwhelmed with everything. He rubs his fingers through your hair gently and speaks in a soothing voice. "Why don't you forget about your work for the time being and just relax. I'll make you hot cocoa with chocolate milk just the way you like it, sound good?"

[Name] lifts her head up to look at Francis in his eyes again. "Yes, thank you Francis…I’m lucky to have you…" Francis softens with a smile as he continues to stroke her hair. He leans in and gently kisses [Name]’s forehead. He breaks away with a soft chuckle.

"Mmmm....I'm lucky to have you too Darling. I'll be right back with the cocoa okay?" [Name] nods as Francis let her go, she walked to the living room and sat on the couch waiting for her dear husband to come back.

In the kitchen, Francis mixed the hot cocoa. As he mixes the cocoa on the stove, he hums a tune to himself.

Five minutes later, Francis brings the mug of cocoa to the living room. He walks over to the sofa where [Name] is sitting. He sits next to her and gives her the mug. "Here you go Darling. Fresh hot cocoa for you with extra chocolate milk. Just the way you like it.

[Name] takes the hot cocoa carefully and blows on it a bit before drinking it, it tasted sooo good! Francis made the best hot cocoa. “This is making me feel better already, I love you Francis…thank you again for comforting me…”

Francis smiles softly as he watches her drink the hot cocoa. He wraps his arm around her waist and brings her close to his chest. "Mmmm...I'm so glad. Glad that I could reassure you. I'll always be here for you whenever you are feeling nervous. I love you so much Darling...I really don't know what I would do without you in my life...You're everything to me."

Francis' words made [Name] blush as she cuddled next to him on the couch and continued to drink her hot cocoa, they remained next to each other the rest of the night…

———————————————————————

I just thought, “this will make a great fanfic! :p” and now here I am on the toilet writing this out. Hope you enjoyed reading! I’ve been dying to make a “That’s not my neighbor” story and I finally made one! I would’ve made a twist ending but decided to just go wholesome if that’s alright. Maybe I’ll make an alternate ending…

[milkmanxreader]

Solace in the Milk Man

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓇼🐚☾☼🦪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

This is a fanfiction blog.

Francis "The milk man" Mosses x reader

Fem!Reader

Peaceful AU/No doppels

SMUT/NSFW AHEAD (eventually) A lot of angst too.

SLOW UPDATES (probably)

This'll also be posted on Wattpad eventually, once it's finished here, I'll put the link here when it's up. Maybe on ao3 eventually too

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

[s1m0nth3swag]

Requests and Master list;

Rules for Requests;

I don't write gore or anything overly kinky. Nor do I write Dead Dove Content, I'm just nit the person for it. I don't write Character x Character, only x reader. I mostly write GN Reader, but I am willing to make it gender specific if requested so (unless a Character is canonically queer and wouldn't date the requested gender).

I write Fluff, angst and smut, though again, smut only for Characters canonically 18+. Otherwise I am willing to write anything specific for comfort etc. (Then I even make exceptions for Gore or themes of death etc.)

You can request Characters from Fandoms that I haven't listed, just be aware that my writing of them may not be as good as my other stories.

You can always come into my DMs to yap about the fandoms I'm in (please I'm begging)

#simon yaps | for silly thoughts and small updates

Requests currently OPEN

Fandoms;

Lockwood & Co

Resident Evil

Spiderverse

That's not my neighbor

Dead Boy Detective

The Sandman

Masterlist;

LOCKWOOD & CO.:

• GN!Reader Movie Night

Anthony J. Lockwood;

• X GN!Reader

THAT'S NOT MY NEIGHBOR:

Francis Mosses;

X GN!Reader (Smut)

Headcanons

Dom Francis (GN!Reader | Smut)

Asking Francis for milk (fluff)

X Chubby Reader (Smut)

X Male Reader

X troublemaker Reader

Doppel Francis

Period Comfort (GN!Reader | Fluff)

RESIDENT EVIL:

Leon S. Kennedy;

Leon S. Kennedy x Male Reader (Fluff)

Scenarios (Fluff)

Drabbles (Fluff)

Leon x Reader x Jill (Fluff)

Jill Valentine;

Jill x Reader x Leon (Fluff)

[notmyneighbor]

back alley - doppel francis mosses x female reader

part 2

words | 4.5k

rating | explicit

cw | minor blood kink/pain kink/breeding kink/sex

ao3 link

taglist | @purplemys @soonyoung-park @blendingmixer @kpopslur @xxxsecuritybreach @nyxinashes @sleephereicome @vurivuri @beardedblizzardexpert @pissybritchess @unicorngirly1 @umiwu @msdevil333 @tojiscumsock @mariaflor873 @kuroonavirus @xxthatoneartistxx @aannyytthhiinnggg @nothing-to-see-here09

Every other human in the city is trying desperately to keep the doppelgängers away, yet here you are, inviting one into your apartment.

You’re suddenly wondering if you’d tidied the place properly before you’d left that afternoon for work. If there was laundry on the floor or the bed was unmade or there were dishes in the sink. Not that you weren’t a clean person, but sometimes you slacked a bit if you were in a hurry, especially if you’d overslept. It seems silly to be worried about making a good impression on the invader. You doubt such things matter to him. But they matter to you.

You reach for the light switch as soon as you enter the living space and close the door, securing the deadbolt behind you and your guest. You’d made it home at last. No further encounters with the DDD. No neighbors around to see you smuggle the doppel inside. You’re safe.

Your eyes immediately are drawn to the imposter milkman’s bloodstained shirt. You’re lucky no one had seen you on the way home. There’d be no explaining that injury away.

“I’m going to need you to take off your shirt so I can wash it. And, uh, your pants as well,” you add, noting some of the blood had also leaked there, probably during the frenzy of your ‘sex against the alley wall’ session. Your body feels sticky, dirty, tacky from the coats of cum and saliva and blood you’d been doused with. You need to bathe desperately. “You should just take everything off and get in the shower. The bathroom is this way.”

The imposter milkman nods, following you. It’s a tiny space. Crowded, with the two of you occupying it. You brush against him as you move to turn the shower faucet on, letting the water run. It takes time to heat up. The plumbing is old, the pipes groaning in protest. At least the water pressure is decent.

The invader begins unbuttoning his work shirt, wincing when he reaches the layer of the undershirt below, the thin material clinging to his skin where it has adhered with blood. A fresh stream weeps from the corners of the stitched wound. It’s difficult to discern accurately with all of the crimson stains, but it seems as if most of the loops of thread you’d used to suture the laceration shut are, in fact, still intact.

You watch the doppel unfasten his pants and you’re surprised when a fresh bloom of heat radiates between your legs. You shouldn’t be staring. You can’t look away. You want him.

His face lifts and his eyes meet yours. “Are you showering with me?”

You nod. You feel so warm. Almost feverish. You have a doppelgänger in your bathroom. Soon to be naked in your shower. With you.

The invader doesn’t mask his desire as your body is revealed. You shed you dress and bra and panties, peeling down the nylon stockings last. You stand bare before him, letting him drink the sight of you in. His hungry gaze drags across your flesh. It takes tremendous restraint not to touch him, to not simply ignore the filth covering you both and just crush yourself into the alien’s arms. Instead you enter the shower and he follows. The first touch of the water on your skin is refreshing. You linger beneath the spray, soaking your hair, letting it pelt your skin. The doppel stands behind you, waiting patiently for his turn.

You trade places in that cramped stall, reaching for the bar of soap on the shallow ledge affixed to the tile wall. Of course the alien can bathe himself, but you want to do it. An excuse to touch. You lather until you’ve worked up a good amount of suds with a wash cloth, then begin working it over his chest. There’s a sparse patch of dark hair between his pectoral muscles, a thin trail down his abdomen leading to his groin. You spend the most time scrubbing around the injury, trying to be gentle.

“You can press harder.”

His voice is a low rumble, barely audible as it competes with the spray of water.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

The irony of that statement isn’t lost on the doppel. The condition of his phallus isn’t lost on you, either. So much for needing rest.

”I like you touching me.”

You remain silent, your eyes shying away from the insistent organ lifting near your hands. At last you leave the wound behind and move towards that needy cock of his, massaging soap and water over it. You hear the little choked sound of pleasure he tries to stifle and it makes your pussy throb. Beneath the dark curls that nest at the base of the shaft you cup the scrotum drawn taut. You feel the sudden urge to taste them, to lick and suck at all the forbidden places, but you deny yourself for the moment, shifting your attention to his thighs. There is some blood stubbornly caked there that you want remove. His posterior is clean but you want to touch it anyway, dragging down his spine and massaging across his buttocks.

The replicant pulls the soapy cloth from your fingers, letting it fall to the tiled floor, where it slaps wetly beside the drain. He reaches for the bar of soap and repeats the process of collecting a mass of suds out of reach of the water, then coats your torso with them, generously lathering your breasts. Your nipples instantly harden beneath his touch, appreciating the attention. He’s at your hips now, nudging for you to turn around and face the wall. The tail of your damp hair is pushed to one side, the doppelgänger’s mouth near your ear. “Are you still afraid of me?”

“Yes.” You feel his cock nudging the cleft of your buttocks. You do still fear for your safety. You fear for how much you want him, too. You can taste it at the back of your throat. It aches, like the cunt that drools, desperate to be filled again.

“I’m not going to harm you.”

His hand slips between your thighs. You whimper as his fingers make contact with your clit. He passes through the folds and prods your vaginal opening gently. The soap is nearly gone now, diluted by the water cascading over your body. This is no longer about bathing.

“I want to breed you again. Would you like that?”

You’re still sore. Your skin stings where the abrasions you’d sustained against the brick wall earlier are. Your pussy feels swollen, tender as he prods it.

But you want him to fuck you again. You like the sound of being bred. Animalistic. Primitive. Being fucked from behind like a dog. Filled with cum that is incompatible with your fertile womb. At least you think it is. You don’t know, and that’s part of the thrill, too. You want that monster to pump you full again. You manage to gasp out your acceptance right before he pushes you against the tiles. You can feel the head of his prick dragging over your buttocks, the pressure as he searches for the opening and then he’s back inside of you for the second time that evening.

You moan and he joins you in that sound of pleasure, gently thrusting in deeper and then withdrawing slightly. His fingers dig into your deltoid. You’ve got water running between your parted lips. His hips kiss your ass again. Still sawing gently in and out. The other hand hasn’t ceased circling your throbbing pearl. Strange that an alien lover is more considerate than any man you’d ever been intimate with.

“Harder,” you beg, surprised when the words leave your lips. Your hand slaps out to brace yourself when he complies, the sound of wet flesh meeting repeatedly filling the air. His hand abandons your arm and covers yours, his lips on your throat. Easier to cross the bridge to orgasm, now that you’ve been over it once tonight already, your body melting and quivering, until you feel you are all liquid, around you, inside of you. The breath of the imposter milkman stutters against your ear, and good timing, that—the hot water is cooling, the supply exhausted. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, hngh…” A new wetness fills you, the invader’s cock shooting streams of hot release into your womb.

The temperature of the water is unpleasant now, driving you both to leave the stall. You hastily shut the faucet off and the doppel drags the curtain aside. You grab one of the bath towels off of the rack mounted on the wall, handing it to your companion before securing your own.

You can still feel the seed he’s gifted you leaking out between your thighs, and you save this place for last, dragging the terrycloth fibers over the flushed area that is more sensitive than ever. You’d been pounded good, and you’d enjoyed every minute of it.

The crumpled, bloodied clothes piled on your sink remind you of the task you’d originally intended on performing. There is still the wound to tend to.

“I have to fix your stitches. You can sit here.” You gesture toward the toilet and he settles on the closed lid. “You really need to be careful of strenuous activity from now on,” you reprimand gently as you kneel down, examining the torn threads more closely.

“I believe you were the one that said to go harder.” The mimic sounds amused as he sprawls a bit so you have better access to his lower abdomen, unfolding and stretching out his torso for you. You begin to hum, some melody from the radio that’s always on for the customers, trying to steady your nerves. You thread a new needle. The suturing process isn’t quite as terrifying as it had been the first time, when you’d had to contend with the overshadowing threat of the DDD searching for the invader, when the doppel had been a scary stranger.

What was he now?

“Okay, all patched up again.” You don’t have a first aid kit, something you should probably invest in. For now there are just simple adhesive bandages covering the most compromised areas along the laceration. At least the bleeding had slowed. The added compression of the dressings you’d applied should help it stop completely soon.

“You’ve missed your calling, I think.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur shyly at the compliment. You begin to gather your things together, preparing to stand up but freezing when you feel his hand reach out, tucking a loose strand of wet hair back behind your ear.

“Pretty,” he says, the backs of his knuckles grazing your cheek.

You’re not accustomed to the praise. Sure, a customer would flirt every now and again, but it wasn’t serious. This feels deeper, somehow. Raw appreciation. The alien found you physically appealing. If you saw what he truly looked like, would you feel the same? You swallow thickly. “Your clothes won’t be dry until morning. Do you…do you want to spend the night here?” You can scarcely force the words out. You’re terrified of the prospect of him staying. Exhilarated as well. You’ve never heard a single positive thing about the doppelgängers, but this one kept defying those preconceived notions at every turn. Is it really possible you just happened to meet the only decent one in the bunch? Were there others like him?

“Do you want me to stay?”

A good question. Yes, you think you do.

Another nervous gulp. “Yes. Do you, um…do you sleep?”

His lips curve gently upward. “Yes, we sleep.”

“I guess…I guess a lot of living things do. That was a stupid thing to ask.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t know anything about you. Your kind, I mean. Well, or yourself, either. But you seem to know so much about humans.”

“It’s key to our survival here. We can’t exist if we can’t convince you we’re one of you.” He pauses. “I’ll answer questions if you have them.”

You push yourself to your feet. “I don’t know what to ask,” you reply honestly. “Or, more like, where to even begin.” You open the mirrored medicine cabinet, removing a bottle of hydrogen peroxide to help remove the bloodstains from the imposter milkman’s uniform. The tired brown eyes look curious as you pour the liquid over the stains, the reaction immediate as a pool of foamy bubbles erupts over the surface of the fabric. Then you submerge each article of clothing one by one, agitating the garments between your hands in a mixture of soap and water.

It occurs to you then that there is nothing for the replicant to slumber in. You’re not even sure where he’s going to sleep. The couch? Your bed? The last unvoiced suggestion has your heart pounding.

Suddenly you feel the doppel’s body warm against your back, pressing against you. You’re frozen, immobile, a deer caught in a car’s headlights, a rabbit gone limp before its predator. His fingers drape across the spaces where your neck and shoulders meet on either side. Just a slight movement and they could be wrapped around your throat, wringing the life from you body. Instead he begins massaging you, the pads of his fingers digging firmly into the knotted muscles.

“You’re so tense. You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“I’m trying to. It’s difficult. Every instinct is telling me I should be afraid of you.”

“As I keep telling you, I have no intention of harming you,” he breathes against your ear. “If that’s what I truly wanted, I could have done that already.”

You shiver at the feel of that warm air passing over your skin. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“Is there room for me in your bed?”

Technically yes, there is. But it hardly seems proper.

You’d fucked him in public. You’d fucked him again in your shower. Was there really any shame left in you?

“Yes,” you answer out loud, your eyes meeting his in the mirror.

“Would you prefer I sleep elsewhere?”

“No.” Your face turns to the side slightly. He’s still speaking close to your ear, the sensations of his breath and lips tickling your skin in the most sensual way. He pulls your hair to one side and kisses your neck softly.

The doppel’s hands slide down your arms, from the top all the way down to your hands still submerged in the soapy basin of water. “Finish this. You’ve done enough work for one day. I want you next to me.”

Your stomach flutters at his words. You hastily finish laundering the clothing, wringing it dry and then rolling the items in one of the used bath towels to remove excess moisture. You then drape them over the shower rod, kicking the towels against the side of the stall to help with any water that might drip onto the floor overnight. The cap and bowtie you decide to leave on the counter.

Exhaustion hits you then. You feel like you’ve run straight into a wall. It had been such a long day; an even longer night. The constant rush of adrenaline, the fluctuating hormones of your fear, your desire, leave you drained of energy. You don’t have any appetite. You just want to lie down.

You don’t know how you’re going to sleep, with a doppelgänger beside you.

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror after you pull a nightgown over your head. Your lips look a little swollen from so much kissing. Your pupils are blown wide. Your hair is in complete disarray, still uncombed, now resting in damp, messy tangles. You stare at the image of the flushed young woman standing across from you and hardly recognize it as your own. You hurriedly brush your teeth and comb through your hair. I have a doppelgänger waiting in my bed. You keep repeating the thought in your mind. Madness. Insanity.

You find the milkman’s copy reclining against the headboard, propped up on pillows, looking very relaxed and comfortable. As if it is the most natural thing to be resting in a human’s bed. You sit on the edge of the mattress, leaning over to switch off the bedside lamp before lying back, your body stiff.

The box springs creak as the doppel changes positions, sliding down beside you. He strokes your jaw, somehow finding it in the darkness. His mouth nudges against yours, his tongue prodding yours open. He tastes like mint, from the toothpaste you’d lent him. A more comforting flavor than the metallic one you’d sampled earlier. Your heart is fluttering wildly, like a hummingbird’s blurring wings. “Thank you for letting me stay,” he says softly when your lips part for air. “I like being with you.”

“I like being with you, too,” you whisper. Your body turns, tucking against his. His arm wraps around you, his fingers stroking your hair. You can hear his heartbeat, at first as fast as your own, gradually slowing, relaxing, lulling you into a sleep you’d thought you’d never attain.

***

You awaken to shouting.

It’s still dark. You feel the doppelgänger stir beneath you.

Someone in one of the apartments nearby, for certain. Men’s voices. Your hear DDD! called out with authority. They’re after a doppel. You prop yourself up, reaching for his mouth, fingers clamping over his lips you find blindly in the inky shadows. “Don’t say anything. It’s the disposal team.”

You feel him tense. You try to breathe more shallowly. If they came here, they’d kill him. Imprison you for harboring the fugitive. Maybe worse. You don’t know. Humans never sided with the aliens.

Until now. Until you’d committed that very act.

It seems they’ve found the imposter they’re searching for. Gunfire. You feel the doppel flinch, face jerking against your fingers. A single scream. You cannot tell if it belongs to a man or woman, earthling or invader. Loud footsteps. A door slamming. Then silence, eerie and thick.

You let your fingers slide from the doppelgänger’s lips. He inhales and exhales through his mouth, each drag loud and shuddering. “You’re okay,” you say soothingly, aware of how strange it seems, comforting one of the invaders. “They’re gone.”

The air exchange still sounds rough, labored. You feel for his face, stroking across his cheek. He traps your hand swiftly, surprising you. Your lips meet.

Breathless for another reason now, as his mouth works against yours. Tongue impatient, violent, frenzied. You can’t get enough, frantically mashing those wet, panting openings together.

His fingers scramble clumsily for the hem of your nightgown, a pleased sounding sigh hummed when he realizes you hadn’t bothered putting panties on. The digits stroke your external genitalia, still tender and sore from earlier. You inhale sharply and he immediately pauses. “It’s alright. Don’t stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. What if you were on top? Might be better for the stitches, too.”

“Okay.”

You climb onto his lap. His hands stretch up, stroking over your stomach and massaging your breasts. You reach for his prick, lining it up with you entrance, teasing before swiping it through the slick, massaging it through your lips and over your clit, then bringing it back to the opening of your canal. You let your hips begin to drop. The stretch of your swollen tissue burns. You ignore it, grinding down, then rise up. Repeat. Again. And again. There’s still that raw ache inside, but it’s pleasurable, too. You bend to capture his lips, rocking in gentle motions against his erection.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He sucks your bottom lip, fingers brushing at the cascade of your hair falling forward.

For a time you continue the lazy drag back and forth, sheathing and unsheathing. You’re exhausted, but your body is still craving more. You kiss him and straighten, really pressing down now, properly impaling yourself. His hips lift to meet you, driving him in even deeper. You’re trying not to make too much noise out of respect for your neighbors, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. He seats a hand on your hip and your fingers lace through the other one. The coil inside of you tightens, winding tighter and tighter as the pressure escalates. It’s there, maddeningly close, just out of reach.

“Cum for me,” he whispers, the command issued between gasps of pleasure. It’s exactly what you need to hear, sending you hurtling into bliss. Your body spasms around him, granting you a glimpse of ecstasy with each tremor.

Your nails rake down his chest. His hand clamps over your wrist, shoving your fingers towards the abdominal wound. It feels sticky again. He’s bleeding.

“Press. Hard.”

“What?” You think you’re confused in your post orgasmic state, the lack of sleep addling your wits.

“I want you to…need…” Your hand is shoved deeper against the cut. “Please.” The word tears from his throat.

You shake your head, even though he can’t see you in the darkness. “No, I don’t want to hurt you, I…” A thumb prods against your mouth, slipping between your lips, and you taste the doppel’s blood. You don’t know what makes you lick that pad, dredging for every trace of that sinister liquid caked against the whorls. Can hardly believe when you give the invader what he wants, your hand digging into his marred flesh, the flesh you’d just repaired, would have to mend again when this was over.

“Oh, fuck…” His hips snap up, ramming against your cervix and you feel something molten painting your insides. Your face drops back to his and you kiss him roughly. He tastes like salt now. You’re both sweating. Covered in perspiration and cum and blood once again.

Your legs are aching, trembling as you dismount, his arms bracing you until you’ve successfully found a space to tuck into. You rest your head against his chest. “We have to take care of this,” you say quietly, your hand caressing just shy of the injury.

“We will. Just stay here with me a moment.” You feel his head shift, his lips kissing your hair. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” You’re not sure if you are. You don’t know how to describe what you’re feeling. The violence of what you’d just done. The sensuality and intimacy of it. You feel as if you are caught in a vortex. You cannot resist the doppelgänger, cannot deny his needs. Your own needs. The want fills you to overflowing. Your body has reshapen internally, molded to accommodate him. Allowing him to mark you. Claim you. Strengthening the bond of the contract between you. Deepening the debt.

You bathe a final time. Sew your doppel back together. Change the bed sheets. Tumble into his arms and finally, finally rest.

***

You both sleep late into the afternoon. It’s nearly time for you to go to work. You get ready hastily, your routine watched closely by the imposter milkman. Your fingers sink into his hair at your door. You don’t want to part. You wonder what he will do for the remainder of the day, when he is not at your side. You don’t know when you will see him again. You share a long kiss goodbye. Then your paths diverge in front of the apartment building. You want to look back. You want to follow him. There is a new kind of ache in you. Longing. The fear forgotten.

The diner is crowded today, keeping you busy. You make many mistakes. Delivering orders to the wrong customers. Messing up at the cash register. The owner has always been kind to you, but you can see his exasperation. You tell him you didn’t sleep well. It’s obvious you haven’t. You have shadows under your eyes to match the imposter milkman’s now.

Even the longest shifts must eventually end. It is time to shut down for the night. You hear ceramic crash to the floor in the kitchen, followed by a curse. The dishwasher has dropped a plate again. A frequent occurrence. You hear the sound of the front doors opening—you hadn’t had a chance to lock them just yet—and you begin speaking without viewing the patron. “I’m sorry, we’re closed. We reopen at five…” Your voice trails off. It’s the doppelgänger. Your doppel.

He smiles and you feel the familiar swirl in your tummy. “Hi,” you greet softly.

“Hello.”

“Hey, is the dustpan out here? I need to sweep…oh, hi, Mr. Mosses. Didn’t think to see you here at this hour.”

The smile slips from the mimic’s features. Your hands freeze midway through wiping down the counter. It had never occurred to you that someone might recognize the replicant, mistaking him for the original.

“You…you know him?”

“Well, sure. He delivers to the neighborhood.” The youth doesn’t seem to pick up on the sudden tension in the room, introducing the two of you. You realize you had never learned the name of the man the doppel was impersonating before this.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mosses,” you respond politely, your brain firing on auto pilot.

“Francis, please. The pleasure is mine.”

“I guess you wouldn’t have met before since you don’t work first shift. Oh, here it is.” The teenager retrieves the object he’s been searching for.

“I’m going to make something for Mr. Mo—Francis,” you say, shooting a glance at the imposter that you hope he understands. He sits stiffly on one of the cushioned stools lining the counter, carefully folding his hands in front of him.

“Sure. See you around.” The false milkman nods, attempting another smile before the youth disappears back into the kitchen.

“Just stay there. We’ll be done soon. I’m always the last one to leave,” you murmur quietly before entering the kitchen. You know the doppelgänger isn’t going to be interested in the sandwich and glass of milk your prepare, but you have to provide something to make the encounter seem innocent and natural. You’re relieved when the boy finally leaves, calling out a final friendly farewell before exiting. You lock the door behind him, feeling a burst of relief.

The doppel spits out the bite of the sandwich he’d been chewing, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “No offense, but we don’t share the same palates.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just needed to make it look normal, you know? Are you hungry? Do you want—”

“—I want you.” The false milkman’s cap is lifted and tossed on the counter. He slides off the stool and you lead him into the kitchen, barely clearing the door before the doppel grabs you and captures your lips. You drape your arms around his shoulders, a little squeak of surprise emerging when he lifts you and sets you on the counter.

“Should I call you Francis?”

“Call me anything you want. I missed you,” he breathes, nipping at your bottom lip.

“I missed you, too,” you confess against the side of his neck. He smells like your soap, like your shampoo. His skin is lightly stubbled, new growth emerging. He hadn’t shaved earlier. “Are you going to sleep over again?”

“Yes.” His arms tighten around you.

You sigh contentedly. You’d worry about the consequences of these decisions later. The risks of being involved like this with a doppel can be dealt with another time. For now, it’s as simple as you wanting him.

“Let’s go home.”

[notmyneighbor]

That’s Not My Neighbor Francis Mosses/The Milkman Fanfic Masterlist

Let Me In (completed) - Doppelganger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Doorman Female Reader

Word Count - 40k

CW - explicit sexual content, body horror, minor blood and violence, pregnancy

Tumblr Chapter 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4 ~ 5 ~ 6 ~ 7 ~ 8 ~ 9 ~ 10 ~ 11

AO3 Chapter 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4 ~ 5 ~ 6 ~ 7 ~ 8 ~ 9 ~ 10 ~ 11

Bonus - Spotify playlist courtesy of @pear-18 here

Back Alley (completed) - Doppelganger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Waitress Female Reader

CW - explicit sexual content, minor blood and violence, minor blood/pain/breeding kink

Tumblr 1 ~ 2

AO3 1 ~ 2

A New Neighbor (ongoing) - Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Babysitter Reader, Francis Mosses x Nacha Mikaelys

CW - explicit sexual content, cheating

Tumblr Chapter 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4

AO3 Chapter 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4

Special Delivery (completed) -Doppelganger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Document Forger Female Reader

Word Count - 3.3k

CW - explicit sexual content

Tumblr

AO3

Scarlet Milk (completed) - Doppelganger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Telephone Operator Female Reader

Word Count 5.2k

CW - explicit sexual content, blood drinking

Tumblr

AO3

Sway (completed) - Doppelganger Lounge Singer Female Reader x Francis Mosses/The Milkman

Word Count 4.2k

CW - explicit sexual content

Tumblr

AO3

In the Dark (ongoing) - Izaack Gauss x Francis Mosses

CW - explicit sexual content

Tumblr Chapter 1 ~ 2 ~ 3

AO3 Chapter 1 ~ 2 ~ 3

R&D (ongoing) - Yog Sothoth x Doorman Female Reader (TNMN Nightmare Mode)

CW - explicit sexual content

Tumblr Chapter 1 ~ 2

AO3 Chapter 1 ~ 2

Here Is the News (completed) - Doppelganger Izaack Gauss x Doorman Female Reader

CW - explicit sexual content

Tumblr

AO3

Resistance (ongoing)- Doppelganger Francis Mosses x DDD Secretary Female Reader (TNMN Nightmare Mode)

CW - explicit sexual content

Tumblr Chapter 1 ~ 2

AO3 Chapter 1 ~ 2

My other fanfiction collection blogs:

FNAF | Dead Plate | Alien Stage

[notmyneighbor]

Scarlet Milk - Doppelganger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Word Count - 5.2k

Rating - Explicit

CW - sexual content, blood drinking

Also available on AO3

fanart by kaworinx

Your eyes flick to the clock mounted on the wall. Your morning shift at the telephone exchange was almost over.

“What number, please?”

You scan the switchboard for the correct sequence, removing and plugging in the jack to connect the call seamlessly. The next number requested is for a different exchange and you transfer the call with barely a delay.

At last it’s time to set the headset down. Your work as a telephone operator is done for the day.

Business in the telephone exchange office had really picked up since the war, and had increased further still after the DDD began their operation to help identify and weed out the invading doppelgangers. It’s the perfect time to work, getting as many hours as you need and stowing away the extra funds for a rainy day.

You ride a bicycle to work since your employer isn’t far from home. A little rougher going in the winter months, but now it was spring, the weather warming up nicely, the budding trees and renewed verdant color in lawns further signs that the seasons were changing.

You’ve barely left the city behind and entered the suburbs before you run into trouble: a sharp object, perhaps a bit of glass or metal, has punctured one of your tires. You slip off the bike seat after coming to a bumpy halt, now forced to walk alongside the bike the rest of the way home. You think there’s a repair kit lurking somewhere in the house, you’re just not entirely sure where.

You spy a milk delivery sitting near the front door of one of the houses you pass, still remaining unclaimed at this late morning hour. A small blue and yellow bird perched on the rim of one of the bottles is startled by your presence and temporarily abandons its assault on the foil lid before it regains its confidence and returns, the beak breaching the barrier so that it can drink the rich cream that has risen to the top. Clever, naughty thing. You’d shoo him away but you know it or one of its brethren will just return anyway. You had to be careful nowadays, leaving something like that unprotected.

You had to be careful nowadays, period.

You spy the milkman’s truck further up the road, the driver near the tailgate, lifting his cap and dragging the back of a pale wrist against his perspiring forehead. The rear of the vehicle is empty, the goods inside all distributed for the day’s route.

Your pace slows as you draw closer, nodding a greeting to the man. You don’t recognize him. Maybe a new hire for the dairy company. The other driver had been getting older. Maybe he’d finally retired. At least, you hoped his sudden absence was for that pleasant reason and not something more sinister relating to the doppels. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” His voice is warm and friendly. You see his eyes focus on the deflated tire, then back up to your face. “Flat tire, huh? Need a lift?”

“Oh, no, I can manage, thank you. I’m nearly there.”

“I’m heading that way. There’s no reason to tax yourself.”

You shake your head. “Really, I’m fine.”

He shrugs. “Alright, then. Get home safe.” You watch as he seals the back doors and returns to the driver’s side, climbing up and settling behind the wheel. You suddenly feel foolish. The man was just trying to be kind, surely. He starts the engine and eases back onto the road slowly, decelerating to a meager crawl to keep pace with you, calling to you through the open window. “Last chance to change your mind.” He smiles. Handsome. He has such an honest face. Weary eyes. The early mornings no doubt leaving those inky shadows on ivory skin. He must be eager to be home now that his job was completed, yet he was still offering to help.

In spite of your earlier caution, you find yourself feeling it would be rude to decline again, and you accept the milkman’s offer. “Alright, thank you. I promise it’s not far and then you can be on your way. I’m sure you want to get home.”

The truck halts, the breaks squeaking slightly. Your bicycle is lifted effortlessly and stowed in the back. There’s no seat inside save for the driver, so you remain standing, bracing yourself against the rear of the cab awkwardly. At least you don’t have far to go.

“Anyone at home to help you with that flat tire?”

“No, I live alone,” you admit, then silently curse yourself. You shouldn’t be volunteering that kind of information, even if it was the truth. Your brother had left you with the inherited house after he’d moved in with his new wife last year, still disappointed that you hadn’t found someone yet, disapproving of your decision to choose to live independently in such strange, dangerous times. Now you’ve just revealed this vulnerable fact to a stranger. A male stranger.

“The birds have been at your deliveries again,” you say, searching for something to fill the sudden silence.

“So I’ve seen. They can’t resist the cream. Interesting story about that. It’s only one particular species, have you noticed?”

“I haven’t, actually.”

“They had no trouble before they started sealing the bottles, but even after the lids were implemented they persisted until they found a way to get inside. Taught the others how to do it, too. Adaptation and evolution are necessary for survival.”

“I suppose you’re right. This is my house here,” you point and the driver slows and stops, parking the truck along the curb and shutting off the engine.

“Let me give you a hand unloading the bicycle.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.”

“No problem.” The milkman stands. Suddenly the cab of the truck feels very small. He’s positioned so that he’s blocking the doorway, making no move to head to the back where your bike is being stored. The smile on your features slides off like melting ice cream on a summer day.

No. He couldn’t be.

Your heart begins to beat rapidly. The smile he offers doesn’t quiet touch his eyes this time.

“Actually, I’ll just um…I can get it. Thank you for the lift.” You try to ease past him, thinking to make your escape through the rear of the vehicle instead, but he slaps out an arm to bar your path, crowding you against the steel frame.

“We’re adapting, too. Evolving constantly. Getting better and better at blending in. Finding new ways to breach your homes and sate our hunger.”

“Please don’t kill me.” As if the doppelganger would have mercy. You feel tears pooling in your eyes. How foolish you had been, walking into his trap. Why hadn’t you trusted your instincts?

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway. See, it’s occurred to me to take a page from those birds’ books, so to speak. Sample the sweetest, most nutritious part. And let the rest of the meal live on, thereby providing an endless supply, rather than gorging on one human in a single sitting, then being forced to find another. We’ve already seen what happens when we indulge too voraciously. It’s why we were forced to visit your planet, after all.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Your blood. That is what I desire. A sample each time, and then you go about your daily life as usual. A fair deal, isn’t it? Certainly a better offer than most of my kin would give you.”

“You want to…to…” You can even bring yourself to utter it out loud.

“Drink your blood, yes.”

“Like a vampire,” you whisper in horror.

“Something like that.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I consume you right here and now.”

Two tears spill over your cheeks. The doppel clucks his tongue. “There’s no need for that. It’s really a very obvious choice. The sooner you agree, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair for the remainder of the day.”

“Is it…is it going to hurt?”

“Not as badly as me tearing you apart with my claws, I assure you.” His features soften, and that impression of how handsome the original man he’s copied must be strikes you again. “This doesnt need to be violent. It will go easier for you if you don’t resist.”

You swallow thickly, trying to summon courage. “How do you know I won’t just call the DDD?”

“Because that would be a very, very foolish thing to do. And I think you are smarter than that, aren’t you?” His nostrils flare slightly and he inhales deeply. “I’m getting hungry. Do you agree to my terms or not?”

“What guarantee do I have that you’re not just going to kill me anyway?”

“None, other than my word.”

You could almost laugh. An invader asking you to trust him. To allow yourself to be fed upon until…when would this conceivably end? “How long will I have to do this for?”

He shrugs. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“Many things. How many others will supplement my diet. How much I decide to take. This will end whenever I say it ends,” he adds in a growl, and you shudder.

You close your eyes. “Alright. Just get it over with.”

“Not here. Wouldn’t want the neighbors to see, now, would we? Hop on down and I’ll deliver your bicycle. Then we can go inside and…have a little snack.”

You wish your neighbors would see your plight, but there’s no one to help you. The elderly man across the street was probably well into his morning nap. The young couple next door both worked. The housewife who lived on the other side was undoubtedly busy with chores, the children at school.

The doppelganger leans your damaged bike against the fence, following you up to the door, waiting for you to unlock it.

So. You really were going to invite him inside after all.

Normally you’d be fixing lunch at this time. Maybe doing some housework yourself. Now you set your keys in the trivet dish by the door and tuck your shoes neatly beside the frame, watching the doppel shut the door behind him.

“Come here.”

You’d taken a couple of steps further into the hallway and his voice makes you jerk to a halt. You warily turn back.

That smile again. Your stomach flips nervously as you move to stand beside him.

He makes a little hum of sound, pleased you’re being obedient and cooperative. Your hair is already pinned up, your throat exposed. Assuming that was where he was going to bite you. The thought makes your breath hitch and you close your eyes again, willing the moment to be over.

You feel the heat of his breath as he leans closer to your neck, hear another deep inhale. His lips graze your skin in the barest whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces a line down the side of your neck and then there is pain, sharp and fast, your body reflexively trying to pull away but his arms fasten around you, clutching your body against his.

“Relax,” he urges you again, his mouth lifting just long enough to issue the command to you before it returns and you feel the suction, the wet heat, that terrible drag of your life force pulled from the vessel beneath the skin. A little moan accompanies that gesture, sending vibrations as the alien savors the taste of you. Your fingers curl in his work shirt as you’re pushed back against the door. If there had been anyone there to see, it would have looked as if you were a young couple in the throes of passion. But there is no one witnessing this act. It is just you and the doppelganger.

“Enough,” he murmurs, his face revealed once more, no longer supping from your throat. You reach for the wound, surprised to find your hands coming away clean. No blood. Just scabbed puncture marks you can palpate with the pads of your fingers.

He’s breathing heavily. It had been hard to stop, maybe, fighting that natural instinct to kill and ravage. The dark eyes are bloodshot, a pair of fangs visible before they’re retracted again, the red haze gradually clearing as he continues staring at you. His appearance returns to that of the milkman he’s impersonating and he finally steps back.

“Tomorrow,” he says, a promise, a threat, before he exits, leaving you trembling, your fingers still cradling your neck. You hear the truck’s engine rumble to life.

Tomorrow.

***

He visits again the following evening.

You don’t know why you’d expected the doppelganger to be at your door at any particular time. Your anxiety has been peaking in anticipation. Dreading the next feeding. Still wondering what’s to stop him from just killing you anyway.

The marks he’d left had been surprisingly tidy. Easy enough to conceal. You’d struggled at work that day, your normally nimble hands and sharp eyes faltering more than once, your performance lacking. Your supervisor certainly noticed. You’d been spoken to. A warning.

Maybe you should take the next day off. Maybe you should…

A knock at the door interrupts your musings and you look up from the novel you’ve been attempting to distract yourself with.

He was here.

The temptation to phone the DDD is there again. But it would take them time to get here. You’d certainly be destroyed for your breach of contract long before the disposal team arrived.

You open the door.

He’s still wearing the milkman’s uniform, although this time he’s shed the cap, revealing the thick wavy brown hair that had been hiding beneath. Wordlessly you step back to make room for him to enter. Your eyes are on the floor now, suddenly shy. You hear the door being closed.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes lift and you gaze at the doppel through your lashes. Surely he could hear how elevated your pulse is. Did that entice him, that rapid flow of crimson liquid?

The mimic moves behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against him. Fingers guide your head to dip to one side, a gentle nudge before his lips are at your neck again. The same side as before. They press more firmly this time. The stripe he licks reaches all the way to your ear lobe. A whimper escapes you. It feels good, even though it shouldn’t.

The sharp pair of the monster’s cuspids pierce your throat. Another choked sound escapes you, this one a blurred mixture of pain and pleasure. The fingers resting against your abdomen dig in. His other hand is braced against your chin, manipulating your head, keeping you in position while he takes what he desires.

You clutch at the hand on your stomach. You think you’d faint if you didn’t have him at your back. There is something hard pressing against you there, another need digging into the cleft of your buttocks. Arousal. Your cheeks feel hot. There are no longer teeth sunk into your neck but his mouth is still there, laving and caressing the injured flesh. Soft, wet kisses planted. “So sweet,” he breathes against your ear. “Your scarlet milk is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

He departs minutes later and you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you get ready for bed, wondering why you’re not more afraid.

***

The milk delivery truck is parked outside your home when you arrive there the next afternoon.

You lean your mended bike against the picket fence. There are people outside. Someone is raking leaves from last autumn. Children are tossing a ball back and forth. The doppelganger has a bottle of milk in his hand, the tips of his fingers clutching it by the neck. He’s leaning against the outside of the truck.

“Come inside,” you hiss, not trusting him not to make a spectacle right there and then. He smirks at your invitation, following you inside.

There are sunspots in front of your eyes. It was so bright outdoors. The interior of your house is darker, cooler. “You should be more discreet,” you mutter, your hands rubbing together restlessly. Nervous. You’re so nervous.

“No one is paying any attention. They didn’t care when I took the truck. They hand the goods over willingly. It’s made finding other…donors…so simple. Your kind is so oblivious to what’s right in front of them.”

“How many other people are you…?” The idea of the imposter operating as a milkman making deliveries as a guise to shield his true purpose of seeking more sources of that sinister meal he craves twists your stomach in knots. Worried. You’re guilty over what’s happening to your neighbors. Not necessarily your fault, but you knew about it, and you allowed it, participated in it…

“Not many. Discretion is best, we agree on that much.” He tips his head to one side thoughtfully. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous?”

“Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite treat.”

“I’m not jealous,” you reply defensively, perhaps a little too much vehemence behind the words. Was there some of that mixed in your emotions as well?

“You should let me give you a ride home one of these days,” he murmurs.

You frown, your reverie dissolving. “Why?”

“Because,” he drawls. Not an answer. His upper eyelids drip languidly as he sets the bottle on the kitchen counter. The foil lid is soon demolished into a crumpled ball. He drives a middle finger into the cream gathered at the top of the bottle, scooping out a dollop of the thick substance. “Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“This is the best part, isn’t it? You humans seem to enjoy it. Open,” he commands again, and this time there is a bit of a threat there, the easygoing teasing suddenly disappearing. His eyes darken and your lips part obediently. The digit pierces those borders and drives straight back across your tongue, your eyelashes fluttering, surprised, the brisk invasive movement catching you off guard. Your mouth closes reflexively over the offering and the wedge of muscle presses his finger against the top of your soft palate, the pad brushing past the ridges to find the smoother flesh as he offers you a taste. Your stroke across the joint of his knuckle, then the nail bed as he slowly withdraws back through the tight ring of your mouth, finally emerging with a soft popping sound.

“Good?” The word is croaked out hoarsely. Your heart jackhammers as you nod. You watch as he repeats the gesture in his own mouth, brow furrowing over the taste as he considers the flavor of the cream. “I prefer you instead.”

The doppel’s lips touch your throat. You can’t stop the needy sound that escapes. “I won’t see you for a few days. Need to let your body rest and replenish. You’re of no use to me without the proper nutrition.” He nips your ear lobe. “So I’m going to stay a little longer today. Prolong things. I’m sure you don’t mind.” His hands have found the bottom of your skirt, lifting the hem. There are curtains on the windows but anyone standing close enough outside could look in and see what’s happening. Your cheeks burn with shame, that rush of heat further elevated because some part of you wants this. His fingers snake beneath the waistband of your panties and dip between your legs, swiping through the arousal leaking from you to collect a sample.

He licks them clean. An appreciative hum. “Now this, I really enjoy. Why don’t you hop up here.” You never get the chance because he lifts you first, setting you on the edge of the counter. Your skirt is flipped back impatiently again, your panties dragged roughly down. And you allow it. You allow the manhandling of your clothes, your body, manipulated into balancing precariously on the edge before he pulls a chair from under the kitchen table over and settles into it, his fingernails lightly scratching against your thighs before he parts them and buries his face into your sex.

Your head tips back and you bite your bottom lip as the doppel explores the sensitive pink flesh, enthusiastically swirling his tongue over the folds and your clit before pushing inside you. The hands curled around your thighs are changing, the nails digging in no longer the replicated human’s. The tongue violating your canal seems to lengthen, expanding. You’re afraid to see and yet you want to watch, your fingers burrowing into his hair. Bloodshot eyes, the doppel’s easing through, yellow tinged, pupils now sharp, narrow, a flash of teeth before his mouth shifts impossibly wide, more than a human jaw could ever accommodate, sucking at your clit while still fucking you with his tongue. A monster is ravaging your body and your only thought is MORE. The wedge of muscle curves inside you, tapping in staccato movements against the shallow secluded shelf of hidden pleasure and it sends you over the edge immediately, keening and shaking as he continues sucking and stabbing until you can’t stand it anymore, your legs trying to close, the hand that had been pulling him against your pussy now trying to push him away.

He finally surrenders, mouth parting reluctantly from your sex. You’re on fire, every nerve tingling in your extremities, at your center, where the pulse is strongest. A satisfied grin, a flash of sharp teeth aligned in a row, before the imposter milkman stands, kicking the chair back so hard it knocks over. His fingers sink into your hair and he jerks your head back, grabbing one of your hands and pressing it over the bump in his trousers. You fumble the fly open, dragging his needy erection through the flap of his briefs. It’s large and hot and your hands seem too small, too delicate to stroke that engorged organ properly.

“Milk it. Make me cum.” His lips hover before your own. You wonder why he hasn’t kissed you on the mouth yet. Would those razor slivers of bone slice you to ribbons? The morphed tongue strokes the angle of your jaw. Your hand is working in harsh, jerky movements. Clumsy. You’re panting with fear and desire. You can’t reach his mouth at this angle so your lips find his throat instead, the patch of skin just above the fastened work shirt and knotted bowtie. He growls and bellows as your fingers finally, finally seem to have adapated, smoothing a gush of precum over the sensitive crown. Large as it was, his prick still felt human enough, so perhaps it was the same, or perhaps he still had yet to reveal its true nature. A moan now hummed against your throat, this soft and pleading noise the polar opposite of the menancing sound he’d emitted moments before. Teeth scrape your neck. The veins in his cock bulge against your hand. He’s so swollen, so ready to erupt. Fangs begin to dig into your flesh. Only a pair. He’s shifted appearances again, protecting you somewhat. You wonder how much of a struggle it is to keep it in check, during the height of something like this. The teeth descend further and you feel the suction as he pulls your blood into his mouth just as a hot spill of seed bathes your hand. He leans forward and your free hand reaches back to brace yourself, sending the milk bottle onto its side, mirroring the white flood that now coats your skin. He sucks and it aches and it feels like a second orgasm building inside of you.

At last, at last he draws back, and it is a human’s face you see, with shadow smudged eyes and mussed hair and swollen lips. The urge to kiss him flares anew but he backs away. You’re suddenly aware of the dairy product that’s spread across the counter, sinking into your clothes, spilling over the edge and dripping onto the floor. The doppel rights the chair he’d tipped over earlier. Clothes are straightened into some semblance of order.

You’re normally relieved when he departs. Today you find yourself clutching his sleeve as he reaches for the doorknob. Something has happened between you two, besides the obvious. A new kind of intimacy blossoming, satisfying other, more primal needs. Adapting and evolving like the doppel had said, perhaps.

“I’ll see you soon.” Not tomorrow. He’s already told you that. An anemic blood supply will not satisfy him. You’re more lightheaded than you’re letting on. He’s taken so much already, but you still want to give him more. “Soon,” he repeats. Then he’s gone.

***

In the dream, you’re in your bed, trying to achieve a slumber that won’t come. You toss and turn restlessly. Get a glass of water. Use the restroom. Flip your pillow over to the cooler side. Shift the covers. It’s no use. You can’t sleep.

You’re thinking about the doppelganger.

About that smile, that warm breath and wicked mouth and wet tongue. His body pressing against yours. Tasting you. Cumming in your hand. The vampiric kisses. It should be terrifying, knowing he holds your life in his hands, your fate determined by the whim of an alien creature.

The replicant is back.

You sense him before he even taps on the glass of the French doors that lead from you bedroom into a private garden area in the back yard. You recognize that shape behind the gauzy curtains that shield the glass, flinging back the comforter and sliding out of bed. The cool air wafts over you as you open the door. You’re only wearing a thin nightgown. You shouldn’t be dressed like this in front of him. You shouldn’t be doing any of the things you’ve been doing with him.

His palm settles warm against the side of your neck. His mouth touches yours for the first time.

Heat pools in your sex. He tastes like metal, copper heavy on your tongue. There is the flavor of tart wine and something smokey as your body is pressed down onto the bed. Your fingers siphon through his hair. You can feel his erection again, demanding somewhere near your own groin. His hips cant slightly and you both moan softly.

The hem of your nightgown is slid up the length of your thigh. You can feel the sharp points of the claws that tear your panties from your body, a casual display that leaves you gasping. A faint jingle of a belt moving and the whine of the metal teeth of a zipper parting and then his cock is shoved into your slickened entrance.

The tongue that twines around yours feels foreign now, the doppel revealing more of his true form. Long and thick, like the prick that’s invading your pussy. Your brain in its dream state has no sense of shame. There is nothing but desire, hot and wet. The front of your nightgown is sliced through, the fabric easily parting beneath the sharp claws that have replaced human nails. Your breasts are kneaded as the sound of lewd slapping fills the air, wet noises from your joined mouths, from the cock pounding into your dripping cunt. Had he been hungry? You’d been starving, you realize. Craving this. Undeniably wrong but oh so right.

“Bite me.” In your waking state, you’d never issued such a request. Only in dreams could you be bold enough. Your fingers clutch the nape of his neck, encouraging him as your knees dig into his ribs. You gift him your blood and he gifts you a load of something thicker, creamier, milky shots of cum spurting deep inside of you. There are stars in front of your eyes, fireworks, bursting lights in the darkness. He kisses your mouth and the tang of your own lifeforce is strong there. His teeth are still sharp. He hasn’t changed back. You kiss him again anyway.

***

Your eyes open.

It’s raining. You can hear the soft patter of it against the roofing shingles above. Your heart is hammering wildly. Your entire body is drenched in sweat, your panties soaked with something more carnal. You fling back the sheet and blanket much as you had in the dream, padding barefoot into the adjoining bathroom. You need a shower. You feel soiled.

You wish the events of the dream had really happened.

It’s been five days since you’ve seen the doppelganger. The water of the shower spills over you, pelting you gently. You drag the bar of soap over your body. There is something thick and wet between your legs, the fluids of your arousal a different kind of wetness than the spray of water. Your clit is swollen. You wish for his fingers, his tongue. You circle the raised bundle until your body trembles, until you’re forced to lean against the shower wall for support.

You shut off the faucet and towel yourself dry before pulling on a clean nightgown. You burrow your face into your pillow and think of the mimic’s smile until sleep reclaims you once more.

***

A week has passed. Now you think something must be wrong. The doppelganger’s delayed absence can’t be intentional.

Perhaps the DDD had gotten to him. Someone had seen something, called. Maybe not all his ‘donors’ were quite as willing as yourself. A hot flame builds inside you. You are jealous, after all.

It’s raining on the night he finally returns. Later than he has ever been. The water has soaked his skin, his clothing. There is only the living room lamp on to illuminate your view of the alien creature, looking so pitiful standing there, a drenched figure with tired eyes and dark hair plastered flat against his head, the rainwater spilling over the sharp angles of his cheeks and nose, over the gentle curves of his lips.

He steps inside and closes the door. Your breathing is harsh, rapid. A match for his own. “Where have you been?”

“Did you miss me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. His voice drags against you skin like velvet. “No.”

“Liar.”

You reach for each other at the same time. Your fingers knot into the saturated fabric of his work shirt while his close over your upper arm, crowding you back against the door. “Where have you been?” You repeat again, your voice gentler this time. “I thought the DDD had gotten to you, I…”

“You were worried about me.”

“Yes,” you admit reluctantly.

“You missed me.”

“Yes.”

His thumb briefly strokes one cheek. “I missed you, too.”

“Why don’t you ever kiss me?”

“I do. Quite a lot, in fact. In many places,” he adds, smirking a little, some of his customary teasing emerging.

“You know what I mean. On the mouth.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because,” he says, and for a moment you think he won’t answer you properly again, dodging the question, but then he continues, “that means something very, very different.”

“Different how?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes.”

The doppel’s lips press against yours. Closed at first. Then they divide and your tongue darts between them, granting you your first taste of the invader. Nothing like the dream. No bitterness or metal or sour flavor. No smoke or ash. Just clean, pure, natural.

“Do you understand now?” His gaze traps yours. Human pupils dilating. You know what really lurks beneath. You like both.

“No. Show me again.”

A faint smirk. Then the doppelganger’s mouth captures yours once more.

[notmyneighbor]

resistance | doppel francis x female reader

part 2/?

words | 5.3k

cw | explicit sexual content

ao3 link

taglist | @jazminetoad @uhnanix @fangwh0r3 @zenxvii @mistrosa

You don’t sleep much that first evening with the doppelganger in the next room.

You glare at the alarm clock and shut it off before it has a chance to sound the next morning. Might as well start getting ready for work. You enter the shower before the water has a chance to run warm, thinking maybe the shock of the cold will make you feel more alert. After that brisk cleansing you return to your bedroom, glancing down the hall on the way by, clutching your bath towel tightly around you, but you don’t hear your guest stirring yet.

You get dressed—deciding on a dress today, might as well start with the summer wardrobe now—then prod your skin as you frown at your appearance in the mirror. You’ve got bags under your eyes to match Francis’ this morning. Well, you’d just have to hope the puffiness would resolve later. Concealer will have to do for now.

The replicant seems to have had no such trouble sleeping, you discover as you enter the living room. His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling evenly in a slow, gentle rhythm, one arm draped lazily over the side of the couch, fingers brushing the floor, blanket in a rumpled mess across his midsection. You’d never guess in a million years that this slumbering person was really a doppelganger, a monster hiding inside the disguise of a man.

You begin making a quick breakfast in the kitchen, starting with the coffee maker. It isn’t long before your new roommate appears in the doorway, blinking drowsily and digging the heel of one hand against his eyes. It’s such an oddly human gesture. So…normal.

“Good morning.” You’ve finished pressing the paper filter into the machine, spooning a heap of coffee grounds inside, the water already measured and poured and the glass pot sitting on the burner. You normally only make a single cup for yourself, and you’ve no idea if the doppel will be interested, but you decide you’ll make it and offer it anyway.

“Mmmm,” he hums, dragging a hand through his mussed hair. You wonder if any of these mannerisms belong to Francis. Just exactly how much are these doppels able to replicate?

“You didn’t have to get up this early. I just have to go to work.” You point to the coffee maker. “Want a cup?”

“I guess. I’ve never had it before.”

You get another mug down from the cupboard, drumming your nails nervously on the counter while you wait. Francis’ clone is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching you, and it’s making you feel self conscious. You try not to stare too much at all that bare skin he’s flashing.

At last the machine hisses and sputters and begins dripping brown liquid and the aroma of brewing coffee fills the air.

“That smells good,” he murmurs.

You fill his mug three quarters full. “I don’t know how you take it. I mean, you don’t either, obviously, if you’ve never had it before.” You add a spoonful of sugar and pour some cream in and stir, handing the mug to the doppel.

He takes a tentative sip. “Bitter,” he says. “And hot.”

“More sugar, then. You’ve got a sweet tooth, I think. And let it cool for a minute before you take another sip.”

He frowns over the term you’ve used and you elaborate. “It means you favor things that are sweet. Prefer them.”

“Mmmm.” He still looks drowsy. It’s amazing how much he sounds like his human counterpart. Francis Mosses was a man of few words. Stop comparing him to Francis. To humans. He’s neither, you remind yourself.

“Have a seat at the table. It’s just going to be cereal and toast, I’m afraid. I don’t typically cook before work.”

You watch the imposter milkman slouch into the same chair he’d used the previous evening. How strange it was to see a man occupying your kitchen like this. Well, not a man; a male, you suppose, recalling your silent reprimand from moments before. Dropping down, spreading out. He takes up room, the way only one of that gender can. Dominating. The table looks so much smaller with him sitting at it, elbows resting on the Formica table until he moves one arm to lazily scratch at some itch on his chest, the thin white shirt rumpling and shifting. Speaking of clothing…

“I’ll try to find you something else to wear this weekend. I checked the tags on your uniform already. Washed in the sink and hung up to dry in the bathroom. I know it’s not ideal, but for now…”

“Thank you.”

You fill two bowls with cereal and add milk, cutting up the last of the strawberries from the pint in the refrigerator and slotting another pair of bread slices into the toaster after the first set is finished and buttered, setting everything in front of the doppel, along with a spoon and a much sweeter cup of coffee. He takes another hesitant sip, then nods. “Better.”

“There’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. Or you can make a sandwich.” You’re not sure if he even knows what that is. You suppose it’s a little cruel to make him eat the remains of last night’s dinner cold, but there’s no way you’re letting him use the oven.

The doppelganger eyes the red seeded fruit sliced over his cereal curiously, lifting one free and munching thoughtfully. He hums appreciatively and you add that to your mental list of things he likes. Why does it matter what he likes?

You finally join him at the table, the rest of your meal ready. “What are you going to do all day?”

“I don’t know yet. Just lay low and wait for you to return, I suppose.”

“And then what?”

He’s making short work of the cereal, you notice. Toast, too. Maybe you should offer more. Maybe he needs larger portions. Why are you being so hospitable?

“Then you teach me another recipe.”

“Alright.” You take a bite of buttered toast.

“No vegetables,” he adds.

You smile softly. “They’re good for you. Maybe we can find some you’ll like.”

“Then more cake?” He sounds hopeful.

“It’s gone, but we can bake something else. I only made a small one because I wasn’t expecting company.”

He nods, finishing the rest of his coffee.

You fiddle with the handle of your spoon, trying to think of something else to say. “Were there other doppels there with you? Inside the DDD building?”

“Not that I’m aware. I wasn’t looking, though. I just got out.”

“Did you kill the men?”

He lets his utensil drop, striking the side of the now empty ceramic bowl loudly. “What do you think?”

You lower your eyes. It had been easy to pretend, for a moment there, that he was peaceful. That this was normal. How convincing and manipulative these beings are, you think. How terrible.

“What would you have had me do? I didn’t ask to be taken.”

“I know,” you mumble, wishing you hadn’t mentioned the topic to begin with.

The remainder of breakfast continues in silence. You bring the soiled cups and dishes to the sink, glancing at the clock on the wall. Definitely time to leave for work. You’re running a bit behind, actually. You’re not used to having a second person here to wait on, doing double of everything. The doppelganger follows you to the front door.

“I’ll be home around five, if there isn’t too much paperwork. I’m not planning on staying as late as I did yesterday.”

“Imagine if you hadn’t. Then I wouldn’t be here right now. I’m sure you’re wishing now that you’d left sooner.” There’s a layer of acidity there that he doesn’t bother masking.

Your eyes meet his. “You murder humans. Eat us. How else do you expect me to react?”

“Your kind slaughters animals. Do they deserve it?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Animals are bred to be consumed, for us to survive…”

“And do they not deserve a chance to survive? Do they not have a right to exist as much as you? Don’t answer, because I can see it clearly. You think they’re of lesser value than humans. Just like the doppels.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” the mimic retorts bitterly.

“Listen. I don’t know how long you’re going to be hiding out here, but I’ve been trying to be kind to you, accommodate you, and it would be nice if you could return the favor.”

The replicant’s hands, curled into fists, abruptly relax. “I’ve been trying,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Try harder. I’m leaving now. Remember not to make too much noise. Don’t go outside. I can’t be held responsible for what’ll happen if you do.” You shut the door behind you with more force than necessary, realizing your hands are shaking. Infuriating, how judgmental the copycat is. As if he had any right to be, when he’s imposing on you, putting your life at risk.

You’re mad at yourself, because there were moments, last night and again this morning, where you had found yourself enjoying his company, and that admission is something you can’t bare to fully face and analyze the implications of right now.

***

Your shift passes by without a single mention of the doppelganger’s escape the previous evening.

Indeed, if you didn’t know any better, you’d never have guessed anything had happened. The guards still nod courteously as you flash your badge before entering the facility. The standard pair, no additional forces in sight. Everyone else in the office seems calm, focused on their work.

You struggle to feel the same way. There’s a fugitive doppelganger waiting for you when you get home. You can’t stop thinking about him. About your last conversation. He’d been upset. You had, too. You’re not sure if he’ll have cooled off by the time you return.

You try to ask casually in the breakroom if anything interesting had made the news, if anything new was happening at work, but no one provides the information you’re feeling around for. So the story was kept secret, then. Too risky for the DDD to admit they’d lost a captive doppel. Maybe too difficult to explain why he was there in the first place.

Why had they taken him? Why did they alter his memories? Were there other doppels here, too? Being captured and experimented on? To what end?

Your fingers stumble on the typewriter’s keys. You’ve made so many errors today. The wastebin is loaded with crumpled drafts. You find your mind wandering again, your fingers stilling completely. You don’t even hear the phone on the first ring, relying on successive attempts to finally break through your reverie.

You’re no nearer any answers to your questions by the end of your shift. You just find yourself asking more and more. Spreading and multiplying, virus-like. Replicating like the doppels.

The trip to your car is uneventful tonight. Now you’re headed back to the apartment building. To the fugitive you’re concealing.

There’s a doppelganger in your home, and you’re not nearly as upset about that fact as you should be.

***

The day drags by.

The doppelganger isn’t sure what to do once he’s showered and dressed in clothes that are still a little damp, truth be told. The television that humans seem so fascinated with holds no interest for him. He paces the hallway and tries to plan his next course of action. He’s escaped, a free agent, but he’s left without intact memories. He’s not sure if there’s any way to recover them, but if there is, the DDD is the only means to that end.

He can hardly stroll back inside to inquire. Which means possibly putting you to work, seeing what you can discover. Risky, of course. Just like you allowing him to stay here is risky.

He’d been harsh with you that morning. He doesn’t regret it, exactly; he thinks you needed to hear the words, realize the truth behind them. But he’d rather not have had you depart immediately after the argument. It makes him feel…something. He’s not sure what. You make him feel a lot of things he’s not familiar with; has no terminology, lacks definitions for.

He knows he’s been forbidden to enter your bedroom, but he feels that is meant more for when you’re present, for privacy’s sake, so he finally enters in the early afternoon, partly out of boredom, partly out of curiosity. The dresser is littered with objects. A tray full of jewelry, a decoration that baffles the mimic nearly as much as the makeup you wear. There are bottles of various perfumes that he samples, finding most of them to his liking. It reminds him strongly of you, your presence, and he wishes you were home, instead of in that wretched DDD structure.

A wooden hairbrush, the bristles stiff but soft, several threads of your hair visible between them. He watches the way the light filtering in through the windows catches on the strands, turning the handle this way and that. He knows the feel of it, having touched you however briefly the previous evening, securing the loose hair that had spilled free. Silky soft, and fragrant.

Your robe hangs on a hook over the closet door. The doppel takes a handful, lets the fabric brush his injured cheek, inhaling your scent. He knows he’ll also find it in the pillows on the bed, but he doesn’t dare disturb that neatly made furnishing, exiting the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

There is not much else that interests him in your home; little to occupy his time with. He rifles through the mirrored medicine cabinet. A razor. Something he doesn’t require, as his appearance is all an illusion. His face will never grow hair, because Francis Mosses does not have facial hair. He will never need the tousled brown mane to be trimmed, because the length it is at is exactly the same length as the milkman’s. His eyes will always appear tired, because the third floor resident he’s cloned has perpetual smudges beneath his own orbs. The doppelganger stares at his reflection, and for a brief moment, he lets the image shift slightly. The teeth sharpen and yellow, the eyes streak with burst vessels, the lids become red rimmed. You would not care for his real appearance, he is certain.

The milkman’s image is restored. He wanders back to the living room to sit on the couch, waiting for your return.

***

You unlock your apartment door and ease it open, seeing that Francis’ clone is seated on the couch. No disasters, then.

You hurriedly shut and lock the door behind you, stepping forward just as the doppelganger rises and moves toward you. Your handbag is set on the console table.

“How was your day?” The morning’s conversation is still fresh in your mind. The anger on both sides. Your tone is cautiously neutral now, trying to feel things out.

“Boring. Lonely.”

You feel a little ache in your chest at this admission. You don’t know what to say. He missed you, specifically, or just didn’t like having no one else around?

“Did anyone mention me at work?”

“No. Not a word. It was just like any other day.”

“Don’t you find that strange?”

“Yes,” you admit. “But that doesn’t necessarily prove anything.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I do. I just can’t reconcile that an organization created to protect us would be involved in some sort of devious experiments on the very creatures they’d promised to destroy. I tried to wrap my brain around it all day, and I just couldn’t make it make sense.” You pause. “You’re lonely? Do you have family, or…?”

“Not that I recall. Again, much of my memories are full of holes. This place is empty without you here.”

You swallow, processing that sentiment. So he did miss you. “I don’t want to fight with you,” you say softly.

“I don’t either.”

“Truce?” You hold out your hand and he looks at it curiously. “You shake on it. It’s an agreement. A promise, to keep things peaceful between us going forward.”

“You said never to touch you.”

“I’ll make an exception for this.” His fingers touch yours, threading between them instead of gripping them. “No, it’s meant to be…” Your voice trails off as you stare at that pairing, not drawing back, allowing yourself to be entangled with those warm, human feeling digits. You know they’re not real, and yet they feel it.

“Your heart is beating fast again.”

“I know.” You reluctantly drop your hand. “I should start dinner.”

“We,” he corrects.

“Yes. We.”

***

The doppelganger hadn’t been bragging. He is indeed a fast learner.

Already moving around the kitchen with a comfort and familiarity that’s surprising considering it’s only his second day here.

“You need to crack an egg. You hit it against the side of the bowl, but—” Too late. The doppel smashes the fragile item firmly against the rim and the shell shatters, pieces falling down into the bowl, the yolk running in a slimy trail down the side. “—Not too hard,” you finish, wincing. “It’s okay. We’ll try again. Wash your hands first. I’ll pick out the shell.”

When you’ve finished removing the slivers from the batter as best you can, you select another egg from the carton, handing it to him. “We’ll do this together so you can see how much force to apply. It’s a swift, firm stroke, but very precise, so you’re breaking it open as cleanly as possible to extract what’s inside.” Your hand covers his poised near the rim of the bowl. “Like this.” You guide his hand downward. There is a soft cracking sound, and then you maneuver his hand over the mixture. “Release, gently.” You feel his fingers shift and the jellylike yellow center drops down, the clear, sticky protein filled fluid oozing just behind. “Perfect. You’ve got it.” You smile, turning to face the doppel, and your breath hitches. He’s staring, not at the food he’s preparing with your aid, but at your face, with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Rich milk chocolate eyes, a delicate fringe of lashes on their borders. Full lips slightly parted, breath rushing past. In and out. His hand is so warm.

“You can…you can just drop that into the wastebasket.” You force yourself to release his hand and he obeys your command, the moment dissipating.

***

After dinner and dessert, you both sit on the couch. The television is playing softly in the background but neither of you is paying attention to it.

He’s staring at you again. You can feel it. You change positions and squirm, trying to relax and get comfortable, but it’s impossible. He’d slept here last night. His head cradled right where you’re sitting. Sprawled out. Growing warm during the evening, shoving the blanket down. Long limbs shifting.

You clear your throat. You have to stop thinking these thoughts. “Why don’t we play cards?”

Francis’ clone looks at you quizzically and you jump up, grateful to be kept busy for a few moments, distracting you from the copycat’s gaze as you rummage in the tv cabinet to retrieve a deck. You don’t play often, just an occasional game of Solitaire, but you think the imposter just might enjoy something like Crazy Eights.

“Come with me into the kitchen. We need a flat surface for this.”

You sit at the table and the doppel joins you, watching as you slide the deck free of its container and begin shuffling the cards, dividing the stack and then fanning the edges, then sliding them back together. “Want to try?”

He nods and you guide him through the process. He gets it right on the second attempt, his fingers deftly interweaving the cards.

“Good. Now the game we’re going to play is called Crazy Eights. The goal is to get rid of all the cards in your hand. The first person to do so wins the game. To begin with, we each get five cards.” You deal them out, continuing your instructions. “Leave them facedown for a second. The rest of the deck gets placed here. Top card flipped…okay. Three of spades. That means that if it was your turn right now, you’d need to play another card that is either the same suit, matching this symbol here, or else has the equivalent number value. If you don’t have either of those available, you must keep drawing from this pile here until you find one you can play. With me so far?” He nods. “Now the only other thing you need to know is that the cards with the number eight on them are special. If you place one down, you’re able to declare what suit you want your opponent to play next. We’ll just do a practice run so you can see how it goes, then we can play for real.”

It doesn’t take the doppel long to figure it out. He’s smart, you think. Really clever. Adaptable.

He has to be, you remind yourself silently. That’s how they survive.

You play two rounds, then switch to Rummy, then Spades, then show him Solitaire, something to keep him occupied while you’re at work. You try to conceal a few yawns and the doppel notices.

“You’re tired.”

“It’s been a long day. And I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Because of me.”

“I was nervous.”

“Are you still nervous?”

Yes, you think. But for very different reasons now. Aloud, you simply state that you are.

You place the cards back in the box and leave it on the table. It was time to get ready for bed.

***

The doppelganger makes up the couch while you take your shower.

It’s a simple task that leaves him wanting for things to do to keep him occupied while he waits. His eyes keep glancing to the hallway.

He’s thinking of how it had felt, threading his fingers through yours. Having you hold his when you’d been cooking together. He’s enjoyed this evening with you. You’re the enemy, the one he’s meant to destroy, to conquer, and yet…he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to harm you.

Francis’ clone sits and then stands again. He can’t. He simply can’t tolerate waiting here. He walks down the hall, waiting beside the bathroom door, listening for the sound of the water running, waiting for it to stop. There. Some rustling. Drying off. The sound of the lock turning, and you emerge, looking startled to find him standing right outside.

“Francis.”

He feels odd when you say that name. Partly pleased, because it means he is convincing as the true man. Perhaps a little jealous, too. He wonders if you find the original attractive. A little flare of jealousy at this. He wants to be the superior version. The preferred model.

“I’ve already made the couch up.”

“Oh. Good.” You adjust the height of the bath towel wrapped around you a little higher, concealing more of the curves of your breasts. “Well, I’m finished in the bathroom, so I guess I’ll say goodnight now then.”

“Goodnight,” he says, reluctantly stepping aside to allow you to cross the hall. The bedroom door closes. He stares at that door for a long time, imagining you preparing for bed, your body naked before…

No interest in anything of that sort, isn’t that what he’d promised you? So why is his body reacting this way? The replicant strips and enters the shower, still damp from your recent one, and each stroke of lathered hands over his skin seems a cruel tease, an unsatisfying supplement for what he really wants. He wants your hands touching him, especially���

His breath hitches as he strokes his growing erection. Here. Urging to mate. Sensitive, hot, flushed, hard. Your pleased smile when he does something correctly, the lesson learned. The lines of bone leading to your shoulders, visible even earlier, in the v neckline of the dress you’d worn. Just now, those shoulders bare.

He presses his palms against the wall of the shower, head bowed, letting the water cascade over the nape of his neck. Those lips. He covets those most of all. Those soft looking, pink wedges of flesh. Gates to the warmth and moisture within.

He leaves the shower, aching, unsatisfied. Brushes his teeth like you’d demonstrated. He doesn’t care for the mint flavor, but he does like the clean sensation in his mouth. Combs through his hair. Thinks about you brushing through yours. Those silky strands. Torment.

The mimic returns to the living room, switching off the lamp as he goes. He can find his way in the dark now. He lies down and crosses his ankles, staring up at the void, the blanket shoved at the other end of the couch by his feet. He’s only wearing the briefs. He’s too warm. He shuts his eyes and they snap back open.

You hadn’t locked your bedroom door.

***

You didn’t lock your bedroom door.

You’re thinking this after you’ve gone to bed, lying there suddenly not able to sleep, in spite of how tired you are.

You’re not even sure if leaving the door unlocked was intentional, that’s the crazy part.

Perhaps some part of your subconscious had been at work, providing opportunity, should the doppel be interested.

Be interested in what? You know. Of course you know.

You rest a hand on your chest and feel how hard your heart is pounding. He surely hears it. How can he hear it?

The sound of the doorknob turning makes you hold your breath. You close your eyes and try to keep still. Pretending to be asleep.

A slight creak as the door opens, a click as it shuts. Bare feet sinking into plush carpet. Pausing by the side of the bed. You know he’s there, even with your eyes closed.

“I know you’re awake,” he says softly. “Your heart wouldn’t be beating that fast if you were sleeping.”

“It might if I was having a nightmare.” You can’t help but try to defend yourself just a little. One last measure of resistance before surrendering to the inevitable.

“Is this a nightmare, do you think?”

“No.” You sit up, easing your legs over the side of the mattress. Pushing yourself to your feet. He’s right there. Beside you. You can feel the heat wafting from him.

Your hand reaches out blindly, finding his. Fingers tangling together in the darkness. “Touch me, Francis.”

“I’m not supposed to touch you, remember?”

“You’re not supposed to come in my room, either.”

You can picture him smiling at that, a little smirk. “You left the door unlocked.”

“It was an accident.”

“Was it?” His index finger slides along yours.

“No. It wasn’t.” You turn and his hand shifts, reaching up blindly to sink in your hair, his fingers trailing down your cheek and stroking your jaw. They define collarbone and shoulder and then curve around one breast. Down to your hip and then you take control of his hand again, guiding it beneath the waistband of your satin pajama bottoms.

You whimper, biting your lip when he first grazes your sex.

“No panties. Did you forget those, too? Another accident?” His fingers glide between your lips and you gasp.

“No. Not an accident.”

“You want this.”

“I do. I do want this, Francis. Oh…” He’s brought the dewy slick of your arousal back to your bud, drawing a circle, teasing the hardening flesh out of its hood.

His nose bumps your cheek, trying to find your mouth in the darkness. There. Your stomach somersaults as his lips crush against yours. He moans at that touch and you think it is the most sensual thing you’ve ever heard. Just absolute helpless pleasure and desire. You can taste your toothpaste as he strokes your tongue. Another stomach flip at this sensation. Your nails dig into this shoulder. He’s still massaging your clit as he explores your mouth, until it makes you quiver too much and you sink back onto the bed, reaching for him, urging him to follow.

You feel the weight of his knees pressing on the mattress, sinking down, braced on either side of you. Hands reaching beneath your top to massage your breasts as you struggle to get your pajama bottoms off, lifting your hips and scraping them down over your buttocks. Francis’ clone tries to help, still kissing you, still trying to explore your body while helping divest you of your clothes, everything made more complicated because neither of you has turned on a light. You laugh a little at the absurdity of it and he pauses midway through tossing aside the top you’ve finally removed in a joint venture, the bottoms already shed.

“What’s amusing?”

“Just…doing this in the dark. You can put the light on, you know.”

“But that would mean moving away from you,” he counters. He’s at your throat now, planting wet kisses there. “Besides, I don’t even know where it is. You shouldn’t have worn something so complicated. What you had on last night would have been much easier to remove.”

“You’re right.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He reaches for your hand, laying it on his chest and pushing down. You feel the lean torso of the imposter milkman, the slightly coarse texture from body hair between his pectoral muscles and then again leading down in a stripe to the waistband of his briefs. He keeps pushing, at a slower pace now, and you feel his prick tenting his briefs, hard and demanding, and a little damp spot of pre cum saturating the fabric.

Another moan of sound. You move back to the elastic band and help him shove the underwear down over his hips. Not much past that level, but you don’t think it matters, because you’re both too impatient now. Your legs are spread and he’s found his way between them, sliding his erection across your mound, over your sensitive nub and down to your entrance.

He begins to thrust inside and you drag in a harsh rasp of air at that feeling of being stretched, filled. The doppel leans and pushes further in, down and down until he’s fully buried inside and his mouth is back on yours, his fingers lacing through the hand you have resting limp somewhere near your face.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hips lifting slightly, cock easing out before he pushes back inside.

“Where did you learn that word?”

“Where do you think?” He nips at your ear.

“I never taught you that.”

“No. I don’t know where I heard it. But it seems appropriate. That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Fucking,” he pants beside your ear after another several thrusts. “Mating. Breeding…”

“Francis,” you gasp, both at his words and the sensation as he pumps in and out of your pussy.

“You feel so good,” he sighs, nuzzling your cheek. “So warm, so tight, so wet…hungry for me, hmm? What a pretty thing you are, so sweet…” His voice fades as he begins pounding into you in earnest, setting a more rapid, intense rhythm. Your pelvis rolls to meet him, knees digging into his ribs. You suck his bottom lip and squeeze the hand that you’re clutching, urging him on. He tastes like salt now, perspiration mixed with soap and musk all lingering at his brow, his cheek, the side of his throat.

Everything is growing tighter inside you, coiling, pressure building. Your bodies slap wetly together and he batters that special aching spot deep inside. He breathes your name and it sounds reverent. Overwhelmed. Back to cursing, primitive and filthy and vulgar, and you drink it from his lips, whisper it back to him. There. It’s happening. Unwinding and shattering around him, becoming boneless, soft, limp as the echoes wrack your limbs, waves that drag at the cock invading you, pulling him under with you, spilling seed, breath hotly huffed above your lips, a little noise of wonder, a groan, the fingers tightening in yours, holding on to you, keeping anchored, until he finally slips free, drops next to you, wet and panting, still tethered to your hand, in the darkness.

[notmyneighbor]

resistance - doppel francis mosses x female reader

part 1/?

words | 4.4k

cw | eventual smut, no explicit content in this chapter. post nightmare mode lore reveal setting.

summary | You work as a secretary for the DDD, a well paying job that offers you an extra sense of security and safety.

Until you meet a doppelganger on the run after work one day, an imposter that defies everything you’ve ever known about these monsters and makes you question whether the organization that employs you isn’t the real deceiver.

taglist | @jazminetoad @uhnanix @fangwh0r3 @zenxvii

ao3 link

You’d seen a doppelganger once.

Not up close; but nearby, from the balcony of your apartment. It had been raining earlier that evening. There were puddles of water everywhere, reflecting the light of the streetlamps, mirroring the clear night sky. A beautiful, peaceful scene, until you’d noticed the vans bearing the DDD logo approach the lone figure walking below. You’d instinctively stepped back into the interior of your living space, keeping to the shadows. The cleaners, as they are called, had blocked the doppel’s path with their trucks, with dozens of men clad in yellow hazmat suits. You’d heard boots splashing, shouting. Then silence. There is never any gunfire. You still don’t know how they dispatch of the replicants. But it is always neatly done. There are never any bodies. No lingering evidence. The suited men had departed as fast as they’d arrived. You’d stepped back onto the balcony to peer at the street below.

You could no longer see the stars reflected there, the pools of rainwater scattered.

***

The doppel’s eyes open.

He can’t see the faces of the humans that took him—they’re still encased in the hazmat suits that both protect them from being replicated and shield their identities. They’re standing a short distance away, hovering near the side of the room, making way for yet another human, this one not disguised, no gear encasing him. He approaches and immediately the doppelganger does not like him. There is an arrogant swagger to his walk, a cruel glint in his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses. The replicant tries to move, testing his bonds, and finds he’s been completely restrained.

The cocky man wearing the loose fitting, unbuttoned labcoat reaches the captive doppel and rakes a hand through his dark hair. There is a badge on a lanyard around his neck, bearing the DDD logo and the name Dr. W. Afton. “You almost made it inside. You’re a dead ringer for Francis Mosses. So what did you forget? Missing documents? Bad forgeries?”

The doppel frowns, his struggles slowing as the man addresses him. “Neither.”

“Where’s his paperwork?” This now directed at the two suited figures. One hands him a clear plastic bag where the clone’s ID card and entry request had been confiscated and stored inside. The doctor snatches it from the gloved hand and extracts both items, studying each before tossing them and the bag on a steel table nearby.

“These are flawless imitations as well. So I’ll ask again: Why did you get caught?”

“I don’t know.”

Afton sighs. “Do you have any idea how much money has been invested in this program? How much time and effort, how much sacrifice? It makes the Manhattan Project look like child’s play in comparison.”

The doppelganger doesn’t understand what the researcher is lamenting. He has only a rudimentary understanding of human finances. He has no idea what project he’s referring to. But he can read body language well enough, and he recognizes the anger and frustration that is bubbling just beneath the seemingly calm exterior.

“Now we’re back to square one. If you can’t even infiltrate an apartment building, how the hell are you going to invade enemy lines? Damn near worthless,” the man in the labcoat growls.

The doppel grits his teeth, renewing his attempts at escaping his bonds. He doesn’t like humans on principal, and he especially doesn’t like the one standing in front of him, insulting his kind. He wouldn’t even waste time eating him; tearing him to pieces would be satisfaction enough. He tries to shed the human disguise he’s adopted to reveal his true form beneath, to have sharp teeth and claws at the ready, alarmed when he’s unable to do so.

The doctor smiles, and the doppelganger freezes again. It is not a friendly gesture. “You’ve been given a suppressant, so don’t bother trying to change back. As for the other…I understand now. You’ve got a temper. That’s why you failed. If you’d been able to control your emotions for a few moments longer, you would’ve achieved your goal. Well, that can be adjusted. Maybe you aren’t a complete failure after all.” He turns towards his two suited coworkers. “Wipe him, and then I’ll have the team make the necessary adjustments and we’ll send him back out.”

One of the pair nods in acknowledgment and Afton departs from the room, the hem of the oversized white coat fluttering behind him. The doppelganger doesn’t know exactly what he’d meant by ‘wipe’, but he has a sneaking suspicion, and it fills him with a cold dread. Memory erasure, perhaps. His artifically created mind once again a blank slate, a naked canvas to work on. He won’t remember any of this.

He’s trying to escape for a different purpose now, attack no longer his priority, but it makes no difference. Something metallic is shoved against the side of his neck, there is a hiss of sound as something discharges, shooting into his circulatory system, and then his vision goes dark, granting him passage into oblivion.

***

You’re working late.

You don’t mind as much as you might otherwise have, because you are earning overtime. There are more and more sealed documents for you to file every day; more and more people to contact. The doppels were spreading like a virus, in spite of the efforts of the organization you’re employed by.

By now the fear is something that still lingers, but people have grown somewhat accustomed to it, going about their daily routines. Just as life had gone on during the most recent world war. Beyond your control, so your only choice was to adapt to the new normal. To men leaving and dying to protect freedom, to preserve the lives of their countrymen. Waiting for an end. Hoping for victory. It wasn’t so different with the doppelgangers; it was just that the fight was on native soil now, with both doppels and humans fighting for survival and supremacy.

You don’t recall exactly when the government run organization had come into existence; only that the DDD had mobilized fairly quickly after the news of the replicants had spread. The details had always been vague on where the doppelgangers had come from, but the general consensus was that they’d invaded from another planet. You’re not sure you believe that, but it’s also difficult to accept that there are monsters capable of wearing the face of a friend or family member, so maybe that explanation was as good as any other.

Regardless, you’ve done your secretarial job for several months now, with the added bonus of residing in a DDD guarded building. There are no guarantees of safety, of course, but it does make you feel a little more secure. The building you work in is massive; you’ve never even seen most of its interior. You’re simply relegated to an office near the entrance, one that is openly guarded, with men carrying actual weapons. Another level of safety. You’ve never witnessed an incident, never seen any type of a break in, save one overzealous news team that wanted to come in for an exclusive scoop, but that had only happened once. You’ve since seen interviews on television, prerecorded, likely scripted. Stating facts that everyone already knew. Most things still shrouded in secrecy.

Still, the DDD is keeping you safe and at the end of the day that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? You stow the last folder and switch off the desk lamp. Your work is finally finished. It’s time to go home.

You nod to the guards on the way out as you exit the building, settling your handbag over your shoulder, your ID badge tucked away, car keys in hand. It’s a beautiful evening, the season just edging towards summer. You’ll need to switch out your wardrobe soon, exchanging sweaters and wool skirts for cooler blouses and flowing dresses. The employee parking lot is a massive affair, extending far past the structure you’ve just vacated. There are still a large number of vehicles parked there. The building operated around the clock.

You finally reach your car and insert the key into the lock, momentarily distracted as you’re contemplating what you’re going to make for dinner when you get home, when you hear a voice, a low, masculine rumble, directly behind you.

“Go around to the other side and unlock the door.”

You turn to see a familiar face crouched down between the cars. The handsome, perpetually tired looking milkman from the apartment building you both live in.

Except it’s not him. Not really. You don’t need to see his ID card or entry request to know it. There’s a look in his eyes that his placid, real counterpart doesn’t have.

This is a doppelganger.

You glance past him back at the building. You’re nowhere near the entrance. No one else is around at the moment. You’re on your own.

You carefully thread the keys on the ring clutched in your hand between each finger so the jagged metal edges peek between the spaces, your fist tightening. Not the ideal weapon, but it was all you could come up with on such short notice.

“Sure,” you say, turning slowly. “I’m happy to give you a lift.” You attempt a smile, your arm striking out.

Utter failure. You’ve scratched his cheek, but that’s all. The doppel stands upright, looming over you, one hand absently touching the injury, the beads of ruby dotting his fingertips regarded for a brief moment before his eyes glare at you. “Don’t try that again, or I’ll kill you right now.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You need me to escape.” It’s beyond foolish to try to barter with a replicant, but you’re feeling strangely brave. “I doubt you know how to drive a car.”

“I’m a fast learner,” he growls, grabbing your upper arm, and some of your bravado vanishes. “Unlock the other door, and maybe I’ll let you live.”

“Fine. I’ll do it.” You try to shake him off but his grip is like iron. You have no choice but to let yourself be maneuvered to the other side of the vehicle, completing his request.

“Don’t do anything but get behind the wheel. If you try to make a run for it to get help, I will kill you.”

“I understand.” He releases you, settling inside the car, and you loop around, hoping someone will make an appearance and come to your rescue. But there’s no one. Not a soul. You sit down and shut the door, slotting the key in the ignition.

“Where are we going?”

“Where do you think? The apartments.”

You shake your head. “What is it with you doppels and that building? I don’t understand why it has such a rep—” You hear an alarm, audible even inside the car, your words abruptly halted. Your eyes meet the mimic’s.

“They’re looking for me. Drive, now.”

“They know you’re here?”

“Drive,” he says again, his fingers clamping on your arm again. “Or—”

“—Yes, I know,” you interrupt. “You’ll kill me. I’m going. I need my arm to shift gears.”

The imitation milkman relaxes his grip, allowing you to reverse the car out of the parking space and out of the lot just in time before you see a flurry of activity behind you: armed guards and men in hazmat suits, prowling around between the parked automobiles.

Francis’ doppelganger slinks further down in his seat, swiping absently at the cut you’ve inflicted, his eyes warily focused on the passing scenery outside the windows.

You debate about just going to the police, but again, you’d be gambling with time. You know how swiftly the doppels can kill. You’re not even sure if regular bullets would be effective. In any case, you’d probably never make it out of the car. Your only chance was behind you, growing further and further away the more distance your car traveled. So close. You’d been so close to rescue.

“So what were you doing lurking around a DDD facility?” You start to lower the driver’s side window, but his hand is gripping you again.

“Don’t touch anything. Just keep driving.”

“I was just trying to let some fresh air in.”

“Don’t,” he repeats again. You nod and his fingers drop from your upper extremity. “I don’t know why I was there. I woke up, and I escaped. I don’t remember all the details. I think I was given something to make me forget.”

You squirm in your seat. “Wait, you’re saying you came from inside the building? It doesn’t make sense. The DDD kills doppels. It doesn’t collect them.”

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “It’s like parts of my memory have been erased. I can’t remember how I got there.”

“How did you get out?”

“They didn’t check all the restraints when they were transferring me. One of them was loose. Pretended to still be knocked out. They believed it. That’s all I needed.”

“But the security. You couldn’t have just waltzed out.”

“That’s what they were expecting, yes. Guarding the doors. Not the roof, though. Stairs on the outside made it easy.”

“The fire escape,” you murmur. There had to be a rather sizeable distance between the top floor and the roof, but perhaps the doppels weren’t bothered by such things. It was clever, really. He was resourceful, if nothing else.

Your palms feel sweaty against the steering wheel. “So what’s going to happen when we get back to the apartments?”

He glances over at you. “What do you think? I’m going in.”

“And then what?”

“And then…I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stay there for awhile. Plan my next move.”

“I doubt Francis is going to want a doppel roommate.”

“He doesn’t have to worry about that. I’ll be staying with you.”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s crazy! I’m not going to harbor a fugitive doppelganger.”

“You can go about your daily activities. I won’t interfere.”

You’ve reached your destination. You park the car, killing the engine. “You’re not even going to make it inside the building without…paperwork,” you say the last softly as he withdraws documents that have been tucked into one pocket.

“You know there’s something strange going on inside that building.”

You hesitate. You’ve never doubted the organization you work for; and yet, this replicant, belonging to a species who exists solely based on its ability to deceive, seems sincere, as foolish as that sounds. They could be the words of a desperate creature, but they don’t feel like that. The dark eyes that watch you look guileless.

He could have torn you to pieces already if he’d wanted to. He could still do it right now, but he’s making no violent moves against you. So that couldn’t really be his goal.

Your surprise yourself when you nod. “There are going to be rules. Boundaries. I’m not going to walk out of the shower and have you perving on me,” you mutter.

His lips twitch, his features softening, reminding you more of the human he’s trying to imitate. “Believe me, I have no interest in anything of that regard. I’m simply looking for a place to shelter.”

“If the doorman doesn’t let you in…”

“They will.”

“You can’t go in there looking like that.” You dig a packet of tissues from your purse, handing him several. “You’re going to have to spit on it, try to scrub some of the blood…yeah, like that.” The scratches are still there after he runs the moistened material over his cheek, but at least it’s no longer streaked and spattered in crimson. “I guess that’s going to have to do. You ready?”

He crumples the stained tissues inside his fist. “I’m ready.”

***

The doppelganger knows the documents are going to pass effortlessly.

The real question is whether the doorman is going to buy his act. He has to explain the cuts on his face now. Any deviation of appearance is an immediate red flag.

You’ve got a bit of a spark in you that’s surprising, he thinks. He hadn’t been expecting you to try to defend yourself, as pointless as that activity had been. You might be employed by that hated organization, but you’re not completely blindsided by their authority. There’s a slight tinge of doubt, and he’s begun worrying that crack open a little wider.

You’ve already gone through, and now it’s his turn to pass inspection. He presents the documents and readies a smile.

“Out late, aren’t you Francis?”

“Long route today,” he replies, forcing his fingers to remain still, his claws sheathed.

“I hear that. Work hours get longer every day, but I don’t seem to be getting any richer.” The doorman slides the card back through the metal slot at the base of the window as the false milkman smiles indulgently. “What happened to your face?”

“Oh,” he says. “One of the new houses on my route has a very unfriendly cat. I made the mistake of trying to pet it. Won’t try that again.” He gives a self deprecating chuckle and the doorman winces in sympathy.

“You gotta be careful. You never know these days. Thing could be rabid. Don’t even need to worry about the doppels; got enough trouble with everything else. Cats,” he mutters, pushing the buzzer to grant the doppel entrance. “Hope you have a good evening, Francis. Get some rest. You look like you could use it.”

“Will do. Have a good one.” The doppelganger walks casually through the entrance and sighs when the door shuts behind him. You’re waiting by the elevator, arms folded across your chest, looking nervous.

“You made it through,” you whisper in what sounds like a mixture of disbelief and awe.

“I told you. Now let’s get to your apartment before we run into anyone else.”

You press the button to call the elevator and the doors slide apart. The doppel follows you inside. You reside on the top floor, at the end of the hall. He glances down the length of that corridor while you fumble the key in the lock. At last the door opens and he ducks inside, heaving another sigh of relief. Safe, for now.

You set your handbag down on the living room couch, watching as he walks around the apartment.

“Sure, make yourself at home, have a look around. Geez,” you mutter.

“It’s small,” the copycat observes, noting there is a single bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen in addition to the living room.

“It’s all I need. I’m single.” You sound a little offended.

The replicant twitches aside the drapes covering the sliding glass doors that lead onto a narrow balcony. He peers similarly out of all of the windows.

“What are you doing?” Exasperated, now.

“Checking for points of egress. In case of an emergency.”

“Oh.”

“It’ll do,” he declares, tossing the milkman’s cap on the kitchen counter and scrubbing his hair.

“Glad it meets with your approval.” You pause. “I could have ratted you out to the doorman, you know. I might not have survived, but he would’ve been safe behind the barrier. He’d have called the DDD.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Your lips part but you seem hesitant to speak. “I don’t know.” You inhale deeply. “So, about those rules.”

“Yes?”

“My bedroom, off limits. You’ll sleep on the couch. Or hibernate or whatever you do. I don’t know.”

“Agreed.”

“No answering the phone or the door. No using the stove. I don’t want you burning the place down. And you can’t make a lot of noise. I don’t want anyone knowing you’re here.”

“I don’t want anyone knowing I’m here, either. See how neatly our goals align?”

“Whatever.” You drum polished nails on the counter. “You can’t go in the bathroom when I’m in there, either. I’ll be locking the door.”

“Fine.”

“Do you even take showers? Bathe?”

“Of course. We do everything you humans do. Nearly.”

“Right.” Your fingers still. “Well, I don’t know, I guess that’s everything I can think of off the top of my head. I’m going to make dinner. I don’t know what you eat.”

“We have preferences, as I’m sure you do. Meat is obviously most favorable,” he says, his grin wolfish. “But anything will suffice for now.”

“Fine.” You reach for your apron, tying it around your waist before washing your hands. You begin rummaging around in the cupboards and regierator, then turn back to face him. “You’re not going to just stand there and watch me, are you?”

“What else am I supposed to do? How am I going to learn?”

“I’m not a culinary instructor.” You glare at him, then sigh. “You can cut vegetables, I guess.”

“You trust me with a blade?” He raises an eyebrow, then laughs at your expression, an honest gesture of amusement. “That was an attempt at humor. I’m not going to use a knife on you. My claws are likely much sharper anyway.”

“That wasn’t funny. And that’s not reassuring.” A strand of hair falls loose across your cheek as you arrange things on the counter, and he impulsively reaches for it, securing it behind your ear. You look sharply at him. “New rule. Don’t touch me. Ever.”

“Alright,” he agrees.

***

The doppelganger is not, as it turns out, a fan of vegetables.

He makes short work of the meatloaf, though, and even seems to enjoy the dessert you offer, a piece of the cake you’d made the evening before.

You’ve never had a visitor to the apartment, not once. This is the first time the other chair across from yours has been occupied. There’s a definite tension between the two of you. You don’t trust your guest, but you suppose he doesn’t really trust you, either. You’re natural born enemies, both capable of causing each other's demise, just in different ways.

After dinner the doppel surprisingly helps you clear the table and tidy the kitchen. You wonder how much of it is just a game to him; a kind of self challenge to better imitate natural human behavior. You offer him the use of the shower first but he politely declines, insisting you should indulge before him. It’s more than a little nerve wracking, knowing that creature was on the other side of the door, locked or not. You knot your robe tightly over your nightgown when you’ve finished washing. You don’t have anything clean for him to wear. Something you’ll have to try to figure out tomorrow.

You drape a sheet over the couch and tuck a spare pillow into a fresh case from the linen closet, adding a throw to the end in case he needed it. You have no idea, absolutely zero clue why you’re even doing this. It was so, so dangerous.

You hear the doppel’s footsteps in the hall. He’s wearing just his undershirt and briefs, and you look away, cheeks flushing. “You’re all set up. I’ll shut the light off on my way by.”

“Thank you.”

You blink. Gratitude. Not something you’d expected. You’re more baffled than ever. This replicant defies everything you’ve ever known about the doppelgangers.

“Goodnight, Francis. Do I call you Francis? I don’t…” Suddenly you’re backpedaling, thinking you’ve made an error, possibly insulted him.

But the doppel doesn’t seem upset. “Yes. That’s who I am, now.”

You stare at the smudged undereyes and the crooked nose, every detail of your milkman neighbor so perfectly replicated. “That’s who you’re pretending to be,” you clarify softly. “Make sure you keep that cut on your cheek clean, so you don’t get an infection.”

”Wouldnt that be preferable? If I met my demise, without you even having to lift a finger?” You frown, remaining silent. “You look better like this. Natural, without all of that paint on,” he murmurs, his hand lifting and then dropping sharply as if he’d needed to remind himself about your rule not to be touched.

”There’s nothing wrong with wearing makeup. It’s expected. Professional,” you add.

”If you say so. I still prefer this instead.”

”I’m not doing it because you like or don’t like it. That’s irrelevant.” You don’t know why the comment is making you react so strongly.

The imposter shrugs. ”Of course.”

The sudden silence stretches and you turn away. Even after you’ve shut the lamp off, you feel his eyes watching you retreat down the hall.

***

You wake up thirsty.

You lean over and switch on the lamp on the nightstand, squinting at the clock. Only one in the morning. You still had a long night ahead.

You try to swallow. Dry as the desert. It’s no use. You need a drink of water.

You shift the top sheet and swing your legs over the side of the bed, then rise and pad over to the door, trying to turn the lock silently, keeping your footsteps stealthy. You don’t want to wake the doppelganger up.

You’re able to find your way in the dark, keeping a hand on the wall, then feeling for the kitchen counter, fingers automatically shifting to count the cabinet doors until you reach the cupboard with the glasses. You softly open the door and lift the faucet, filling the glass. You’ve just taken your first sip when you hear the doppel’s voice from the living room.

“What are you doing?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I needed some water.” You enter the other room, finding the milkman’s clone standing in front of the sliding doors, one edge of the drapes held back, peering outside.

“You shouldn’t do that. What if someone sees you?” You switch the lamp on and he drops the curtain, his gaze now focused on you.

Suddenly you realize you’ve neglected to put your robe on. You’re only wearing a sleeveless nightdress, the material thin and flimsy. You fold your arms in front of you, taking random sips of water, trying to act casual.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Because you are incredibly noisy. I could hear you in the other room down the hall.”

“I was trying to be quiet.”

“And failing.”

You can’t help but feel a bit insulted. And it’s silly, really. You aren’t the uninvited fugitive alien-monster-thing staying in someone’s home. “Well, I’m going back to bed now. I won’t bother you again.”

“I didn’t say it bothered me.” He pauses. “Your heart rate is elevated.”

“What?”

“Your pulse. Fast, like this.” He begins tapping rapidly against his forearm, mimicking the rhythm.

“You can’t possibly hear that.”

“I can,” he insists.

You swallow, finding your mouth is dry again. “I’m going back to bed now.”

“Goodnight.”

You think you hear him tapping again as you shut off the light.

Or maybe it’s just the echo of the real one, throbbing in your own ears.

[notmyneighbor]

Back Alley - Doppelgänger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count 5k

Rating Explicit

CW - minor blood/injury, fluff and smut

Also available on AO3

The end of your shift. The quiet part of the evening.

Nestled downtown in the oldest part of the city, the diner you’re employed at as a waitress caters to DDD members and civilians alike. The final patrons have already filed out the front entrance, a pair of glass front doors with shiny chrome handles. You begin the process of closing the establishment for the evening, starting with a final wipe down of all the surfaces in the dining area while the young man that washes dishes works his way through the last batch of soiled utensils and plates and cups. You count the money in the register and gather the receipts, placing everything on the owner’s desk in the tiny office in back of the restaurant.

The adolescent has finished the washing in the kitchen and finds you putting leftover food scraps onto a plate, a snack for the stray cats that dwell in the alley behind the diner. He rocks on his heels, the apron he’d been wearing already removed and now anxiously wrung between his hands. “Did you want me to wait, or…”

You smile softly. “No, that’s alright. I’m just going to set this out and bring out the trash and I’ll be locking up. Go on home. Be safe.”

Needing no further encouragement, the youth darts from the kitchen. You shake your head ruefully, gathering the ends of the plastic bag in the kitchen’s rubbish bin together and knotting them. Balancing trash in one hand and the plate in the other, you manage to open the heavy steel door at the rear of the diner that leads to the alley.

Normally there are several strays to greet you as soon as you open the door, accustomed as they are to this nightly routine.

Tonight it takes you several moments to locate one solitary form after you’ve lobbed the bag into the dumpster and closed the lid, retrieving the plate you’d set by the back door.

You spy one of your usual clients hovering near the stockade fence further down the narrow passageway, a raggedy looking gray tabby with a torn ear that’s normally the friendliest of the bunch.

“Hey there. What’s wrong, you’re not hungry?” You walk forward a couple of steps, crouching down and holding out your empty hand, making little affectionate sounds to lure the animal closer.

In the distance you hear voices shouting. Not uncommon in the city, but you’re still wary as you straighten, leaving the plate on the ground.

The cat, still hunched by the fence, issues a warning growl.

You turn and see a shape moving from the opposite end of the alley where it divides into the main road, the hair on your bare forearms rising, the skin goose pimpling.

You whirl around, already making for the open door at your back, that slice of light inside a beacon that’s frustratingly so close and yet so far.

You don’t quite make it.

A hand reaches the door before you do, slamming it shut. It becomes a wall at your back as you shrink against it, recoiling from whatever just closed it.

No, not whatever. The strays knew what it was. Now you know, too.

A doppelgänger.

This one dressed in the uniform of a milkman, though his outfit had seen better days. Spattered with blood, you cannot find a single patch of the white shirt that doesn’t bear some trace of scarlet droplets. Shouting again in the distance, though this time it sounds closer.

You open your mouth to yell for help and a hand instantly clamps down over it. The doppel is breathing heavily. It must be the DDD pursuing him. Without the light of the diner’s interior, you can’t see much of the creature’s replicated features in the night shrouded alley. You wonder why he hasn’t killed you yet, your heart hammering like mad.

“I’m not going to hurt you. If you help me, I’ll do something for you in return.”

He was trying to bargain? Bad idea. Doppelgängers were notorious liars. By definition of their very existence they had to be masters of deceit. He must have been desperate if he was making this offer. Definitely being chased by the disposal team officers, the likely source of the shouting you’ve been hearing, the details of the situation coming together in your mind.

You can’t imagine a single thing the invader could offer you that you’d desire.

“I’m going to remove my hand. We’re going to go inside. You’re not going to make a sound. Agreed? Nod if you understand me.”

Wide eyed, nostrils flaring, you move your head, signaling your acceptance of his terms. What choice did you have?

The barrier over your mouth lifts and you’re pushed aside, firmly but without malice, the heavy door wrenched open. You’re shoved inside and the door is quickly shut again.

“Is the front door locked? Lights off?”

You nod, swallowing past a panicked lump in your throat as you take a couple of steps back away from the intruder.

The male copycat sighs, shoulders visibly sagging with relief.

He’s still hiding.

Still wearing the visage of the human he’d duplicated, a tired looking brunette male probably in his early thirties with tousled chestnut hair, shadowed under eyes, a long nose with the slightest bump along the bridge—an old injury that had never healed quite right, perhaps—set above thin lips.

The arm that’s been tucked tightly against his side the entire time, never once in use to restrain you or open the door, you realize, now lifts, exposing a gash across his lower abdomen, rent right through the fabric and severing the flesh beneath.

You’d incorrectly assumed the blood had been from a struggle with the original milkman he’d replicated, not from the alien himself. You suck in a deep breath, wincing as your eyes linger on the injury. “What happened?”

“Got cut jumping the fence.”

“That’s going to need stitches,” you observe as he drags the shirt’s hem free of his belted pants, hurriedly thumbing the buttons open and shrugging out of the garment, thrusting it into the garbage bin you hurriedly point to. The undershirt is similarly stained, but this he leaves in place, merely lifting the edge to better expose the wound.

His eyes meet yours. “Can you do it?”

“I mean, I’m not a physician. All I have is the sewing kit I keep in my purse to mend tears in an emergency. You need to see a doctor, go to the hospital…” Your voice trails off. Of course he couldn’t. He’d be killed instantly.

“Get it.”

You hesitate. Were you really going to risk helping this foreigner?

“Please,” he adds through gritted teeth. Perspiration beads his forehead. You wonder if he hasn’t already been exposed to something that would prove infectious later on. Not really your concern, though. You just needed to survive until you could get away from him. Somehow.

“Alright.” You don’t spare any more time debating about what the right course of action is. You grab one of the clean dish rags from under the kitchen sink and your purse stashed in the bottom desk drawer in the office.

The doppelgänger’s eyes remained fixed on your every movement, watching as you soak the wash cloth in warm water and pull the sewing kit from your purse, the fingers threading the needle shaking. You drag one of the chairs from the dining room for him to sit on, kneeling on the linoleum beside his seated form.

You hesitate again. You really didn’t have the appropriate kind of materials for this. Should you have heated the needle to try to sterilize it first? Was there even time for that? Would it be easier just to attempt to cauterize the area? Somehow you don’t think the invader would be keen on the idea of getting burned, even if the intention was to aid and not harm. “I don’t know that this is going to work, but I’ll do my best. This is going to hurt,” you caution.

“Worse than being cut open?” He asks bitterly.

“No, I suppose not.” You begin washing around the cut, scrubbing at the dried blood, trying to clean the edges of the laceration. It’s still weeping blood but the flow has slowed, the body’s natural clotting process coming into effect. The milkman he’s replicated is on the leaner side, with little softness in the abdomen you’re cleansing. “Why can’t you just replicate the skin again? Make it intact?”

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s penetrated through the outer layer. You humans are so fragile. It doesn’t take much to tear through…” He lets that thought remain unfinished.

You shiver, thinking of how, were circumstances different, he would’ve torn you to shreds without a second thought, murdering you at best, devouring you at worst. You can’t help but wonder if the doppel will turn on you once you finished patching him up.

“Okay, I’m going to try to start sewing.” Your heart is still thudding rapidly. Your eyes narrow in concentration as you pierce the skin, hurriedly seeking the adjacent flesh to sling the thread between, then drawing it taut. You’re feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded. You tell yourself you’re not piecing a person back together. Urging yourself to pretend it was something else. Mending a torn shirt. A ripped stuffed animal. Anything but the gruesome sight before you.

At last the task is completed, the pale skin sutured together. You sit back on your heels, heaving a raspy sigh, your hands clasped tightly together in your lap, willing them to stop trembling.

“You’re skilled,” the doppelgänger murmurs, looking over your handiwork, probing the closed incision gingerly. It is a rather impressive job if you’re being honest, a neat line of even stitches despite your shaking hands.

“You’ll need to keep this clean so it doesn’t get infected. And you can’t move around too much. I don’t know how well that thread will hold.” You gently push his questing digits away, applying gauze and tape from the first aid kit in the office to cover the wound and he eases the ripped undershirt back down.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes meet his. You’ve never heard of an invader asking a human for help. Being grateful. You don’t know what to make of it.

“I won’t forget this.”

You rise, tossing the used wash cloth in the trash and returning your sewing kit to the depths of your handbag. You return the chair to the dining room once he’s slid from it, watching as you settle your purse strap on your shoulder, keys to the diner in hand. The replicant opens the back door a crack, peeking outside, head cocked slightly, listening. No shouting. The DDD had passed through the area. He glances back at you a final time before slipping through the gap.

You lock the door behind him, then sag against it, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’d let you live, as promised. A doppelgänger that kept his word.

What did it mean?

***

He’s in the alley again.

You tell yourself you weren’t looking for the milkman’s clone every night for the last three shifts, merely taking out the garbage and feeding the strays per usual.

Your stomach does a little somersault as he approaches. His skin color is better, no longer so ghostly pale. The milkman uniform he’s wearing looks clean and crisp and starched. Where had he gotten it? Was he keeping a low profile, pretending to be the human he’s dressed as? There certainly seemed to be some transfer of knowledge that occurred when the replicants adopted a human form, intelligence information that surpasses beyond what could be obtained through just casual observation. The doppels knew so much about humans, and humans still knew so little about the invaders, what should have been a home field advantage hampered by the persistence of these alien visitors.

“How are you?” You greet him cautiously.

“Healing well. You did a fine job.”

What should you say to that? You’re glad you helped the enemy? You shudder to think what would happen if anyone ever found that out.

The doppelgänger steps closer. “Are you going to invite me inside?”

As if he was a vampire, seeking permission to grant entrance. You can’t imagine what he wants from you now.

Still, you push the door open wider. He eases past you, his body lightly brushing yours.

“What do you have to eat?”

“Um…” As far as you knew, the invaders only ate human flesh. “What…what did you want? I haven’t cleared out the displays yet. There’s pie, donuts from the morning, though those are probably stale by now. I can make you a sandwich, or…”

He follows you into the dining room as you list the possible offerings, reaching for one of the chocolate iced pastries tucked under the nearest glass dome. He takes an experimental bite and his mouth turns down in disgust at the flavor.

“I warned you they’d be stale.”

“It’s not that. It’s the sweetness. Overwhelming. We’re primarily carnivores.”

“Is turkey okay? Or maybe ham? I don’t know what to offer you.”

He tips his head to one side, considering. “Cow?”

“Yes, we have ground beef.”

“That would be preferable.”

“You just want it…raw?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” There are a couple of defrosted packages in the fridge. You resolve to put some of your tip money towards the meal. You don’t like the idea of stealing from the restaurant.

It feels weird just handing him the styrofoam tray, but also silly to dump the mass of pink pulverized meat onto a plate. You refuse to watch him eat, studying one of the laminated menus resting on the counter intently, unfortunately catching a glimpse of him licking the traces of blood lingering at the bottom of the package when you dare to glance over at him.

“I’m aware this adds to the debt I owe you,” he says.

You discard the tray and fold your arms across your chest, trying to exude more confidence than you felt. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

A slight frown appears as the creature processes the phrase.

“It means adding it to the list of things you already owe that you intend to repay.”

“Ah. Yes, that.” He watches you finish cleaning up after his grim repast, wiping the counter down a final time before accompanying you to the front door and waiting as you lock the entrance from the outside, tugging on the chrome handles to make sure they’ve been secured properly. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yes,” you answer, suddenly wary.

“This is not a very safe part of town for humans,” he muses.

Is anywhere safe anymore?

“Is your living space guarded by the DDD?”

“Not internally. There’s just the street patrol.”

“I’ll accompany you as far as your destination, then.”

“You don’t have to.”

The doppelgänger insists, now walking beside you. It feels unwise to allow the invader to see where you live, but then again, had he done anything to harm you thus far? Surely there had been opportunity if that was his main goal. What was his main goal? What did he want, if not to consume, to take over control of the planet like his brethren?

“You’re not like the others,” you murmur your thoughts out loud, feeling the mimic’s eyes flick in your direction.

“Do you know many doppels?” He sounds bemused.

“No,” you reply, stepping over a broken bottle littering the pavement.

“Is every human the same?”

“Of course not.”

“So why should we be any different?”

“I guess you’re right,” you concede.

You’ve reach the end of the street you’re traveling on and take a right, leading the invader onward into another back alley. You’ve barely taken a few paces before the sound of heavy footsteps alerts you to someone else’s presence.

“Disposal team.” You hear the disgust and fear in your companion’s tone as he tenses, jerking to a halt. The sounds are getting louder as the guards draw closer. “Play along. They won’t be suspicious if they see a couple.”

Suddenly you’re pushed against the wall, so abruptly the air leaves your lungs, your next desperate intake of oxygen interrupted when the doppel’s mouth covers yours.

You feel you stomach do that little somersault motion again. His tongue finds the inside of your mouth. He tastes slightly metallic. The movements are inexperienced, clumsy. Imitating something he’s seen. The teeth that nip your bottom lip are sharp.

“Hey! You there! What’s going…” The DDD officer halts, the beam of the flashlight illuminating what appears as your lover pinning you against the wall, caught up in a moment of passion. You don’t even have to fake the look of embarrassment as your eyes shyly meet the guard’s, the doppel’s mouth sliding from yours.

“Sorry, sir. Just picked my girl up from work and I couldn’t wait.” He offers a sheepish grin that looks extremely convincing.

The DDD member’s partner draws even with his cohort, the gun in his hand lowering, looking over the pastel yellow dress you’re wearing.

“I know you. You work over at the diner.”

You nod frantically.

“You should get on home. It isn’t safe out here. Even with your man with you. Especially not down the side streets.”

“Sorry, that was my idea. My feet are killing me and I just wanted to get home faster.” You pause, reaching for your purse still slung over your shoulder. “Did you want to see our IDs?”

“Nah, that’s alright. Imagine a doppel making out with a human. Right?” He elbows his companion, grinning.

“Get home safe, now. No more dallying,” the older of the pair cautions before abandoning you, resuming patrol with the more inexperienced member who’s still wearing a smirk as he trails slightly behind, darting one more glance in your direction as if hoping to catch you in the act again.

The copycat heaves a sigh of relief when they’ve both finally departed, the booted steps receding in the distance. His eyes lock with yours, and you see his nostrils flare slightly, a slight frown wrinkling the bridge of his nose, then his eyelids lift, whatever mystery he’s been puzzling over solved.

“You liked that.”

“What?” It’s your turn to be confused.

“You liked what we just did.”

Oh. Your cheeks flush again. “No, I…I was just playing along, like you said. You caught me off guard.”

“You did a good job. Thinking on your feet. Admirable, really. How deep in debt I’m getting,” the doppel hums beside your cheek. He hasn’t shifted much since your discovery, one hand still braced on the wall at your back, his body leaning close to yours. “You smell good. Good enough to eat.”

You shiver and gasp. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, no. Not what I had in mind at all,” he hurriedly reassures you. The clone of the milkman plants a kiss on the side of your neck. Gentle. Not rushed, not under the guise of something to trick the guards. Repeating the process, getting accustomed to using the human body he’s replicated for this new task. He kisses your lips again, and you know you should be repulsed.

You’re not.

Your mouth parts for his, inviting him inside. He’s already growing more skilled, the tongue against yours slick, deft, curling and stroking, the fire he’d begun stoking in your core flaring anew.

You’re French kissing a doppelgänger, and you like it.

You feel a hand caressing down your body, pausing to drag the purse off your shoulder, then kneading one breast before sliding down to your hip, moving neatly around to grope the curve of one buttocks cheek. The fingers curl, dragging up the fabric of your dress.

“I can smell your arousal. Your body wants to mate.” It’s crass, vulgar, sheer filth the alien should be slapped for uttering, but there’s nothing derogatory in the way he mentions it, the words of observation that he spreads before your lips lilted with a kind of wonder, fascination, curiosity. He’s finally reached the hem of the skirt portion of your work uniform, shifting quickly to the waistband of the panties you’re wearing, dipping underneath and nudging at the fork of your body.

To be doing this, with a doppelgänger, in public…

Your legs are already shifting, your stance broadening slightly to grant him better access. A little grunt of satisfaction, and then his fingers glide through your slickened folds, searching for the source of that dampness.

You moan softly, disappointed when the fingers do not linger, instead brought up to the invader’s lips, his thumb rolling the slick of your sex over the pads of his index and middle fingers curiously before he thrusts them into his mouth, a fresh flood leaking from your canal as you watch his eyes slide closed, a sound of some rapturous enjoyment hummed around those digits.

He kneels down, the movement swift and smooth, your eyes darting nervously to the lit street so close and yet so far, the last of the street lamp glow’s reach ending just beyond the shadows you’re standing in. The doppel looks up at you and you bury a hand in the thick mane of chestnut hair, a tender gesture of permission, pleading. You don’t know if he’d stop even if you’d declined the offer, that ravenous look in his eyes intense as he impatiently shifts the hem of your dress again, dragging away the flimsy undergarment that clothes your sex, this last barrier discarded carelessly on the pavement nearby.

Your low heeled pumps scrape against the dirty gravel of the alley as you adjust your position, the alien’s face instantly at your pussy, nose digging into your mound, tongue laving the rosy sensitive flesh. He groans and you echo the sound, your legs already trembling as his tongue delves deeper, dragging fluid back, the inadvertent flick of the tip of the curled muscle against your bud making you gasp and moan, your head rocking back against the brick and mortar.

His attention focuses on that sensitive bundle of nerve endings, mouth clamping over it and sucking, slurping, nursing at it until you see spots in front your eyes. You know you’re being loud, your only saving grace being that the building at your back is a long abandoned shirt factory with no one to hear your lewd sounds of pleasure.

His fingers are at your entrance again, paired to penetrate into that opening. The milkman he’s imitating has long fingers that reach deep, curling and twisting inside, scooping out more of your arousal for him to lap at before he sups at your pussy, drinking straight from the source.

You bite your bottom lip until it bleeds when you climax, shuddering against that incessant mouth worshipping your cunt, your fingers knotting restlessly in his tresses. You cum like a freight train, hard and fast, an unstoppable force driving you right through into bliss.

He’s still lapping, enjoying the taste of you, this new creamier substance that emerges from deep within after your release. You can’t tolerate it any longer, now shoving gently at his shoulders, pleading you’re too sensitive, it’s too much, you feel as if you might faint if not for the strong building exterior supporting your spine.

The doppelgänger rises, face wet with your juices smeared across his mouth and chin and cheeks, a distinct shine visible even in this dim illumination. “Delicious,” he growls softly, dragging his fingers over his dampened features and then nursing them clean.

His gaze focuses on the smear of crimson on your lower lip and he licks at that spot, sucking the wedge into his mouth, tasting that little copper tinged leakage of your lifeforce. You whimper and keen, feeling his hand guide one of yours to his crotch, pressing it against the erection straining there.

You squeeze gently and he huffs in pleasure, dragging your hand up and down. Needing no further guidance, you begin struggling with the belt buckle and button closure and zipper keeping you from your goal, dragging his cock through the opening flap of his briefs, smearing precum over the tip and eliciting another deep growl, the mouth nuzzling your throat vibrating in pleasure.

“Want to fuck you,” he gasps, and you find yourself nodding, no longer caring about the exposed location or what you’re about to let invade your body. You want it, the brief satiety you’d just enjoyed already dissipating, leaving you hungry for more.

His hands loop around the back of your thighs, his body crouching slightly then lifting you up, your dress scraping along the bricks. He fucks up into you and your legs wrap around him, your wrists draped over his shoulders as you’re thrust into and back against the building.

The milkman’s copycat prick is large, long and thick, stretching you as he fills you when his hips snap forward. Your unprotected buttocks suffers abrasions each time you’re impaled but you couldn’t care less. The pain is lost amidst the pleasure you’re experiencing as he buries himself deeply, withdrawing just slightly before driving forward again. Your mouths seek one another’s but it’s difficult with all the jostling, a sloppy collision of wet lips and wetter tongue, trails of saliva linking your panting openings.

“Your stitches…the strain, you shouldn’t…you’re bleeding,” you gasp, the hand that snakes down finding his shirt sticky with blood.

“Don’t care…fix it later…”

Your breasts are tender from the repeated battering of his chest against yours. You’re being pummeled mercilessly now, the invader pushing so hard it’s as if he’s trying to merge completely with you. You almost think you can see, just for a moment, a shift in the facial features, a glimpse of the doppelgänger’s true form lurking beneath the false human surface, but then it’s gone and it’s just those soft tired eyes and that slack, generous mouth as his cock pounds into your cunt until your body finally surrenders to another release, your muscles clenching, sucking at his member. He chases his own climax, moaning against your mouth, pumping streams of hot seed inside of you.

You realize then you’re both sweating, both drenched in perspiration and saliva, blood from his reopened wound and cum that leaks out of you and coats the erection he withdraws from your body as he slowly lowers you back to the ground, your stockinged feet touching the dirty road, your shoes lying nearby where they’d tumbled during the rough intercourse with the alien creature.

The doppel retrieves your panties and you hastily shove them into the purse he hands you. There’s no way you’ll be putting those back on after being in the dirty alley, almost laughing aloud at the idea when you’ve just been soiled by something you should consider disgusting. The amusement fades as you watch him brush the sole of each nylon clad foot clean before assisting them back into your pumps, the gesture almost oddly tender and thoughtful.

The doppelgänger straightens, his fingers reflexively reaching for the bloodied area staining his shirt, then moving to refasten his pants. His eyes meet yours again, waiting to see what you’ll do next. Wondering if there is regret, perhaps. Or if this is the start of…something.

“I…I live two streets over. We’re nearly there.” As if you hadn’t been interrupted on your journey home. You don’t know what to say, just wanting to fill the sudden silence.

He nods and you begin walking in slow, measured steps. Your limbs are still tingling, the aftershocks of your most recent orgasm still firing through them.

You and your companion reach your destination. The building looms up between two shuttered shops. Five stories. No elevator. You resided on the top floor. A lot of stairs to tackle on a good night when you’d merely worked a shift at the diner. Now, after this…

“It’s a long trek. I’m on the fifth floor. Will you be okay walking that much? I don’t know where else to stitch you back up again. I need to wash it, I need a good light source, I…” You’re inviting him inside your apartment. The realization suddenly dawns on you.

“Yes, I’ll manage.” He pauses. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“Helping me avoid the DDD earlier. This. Letting me into your home.”

You nod, your hand resting on the rusted railing that borders a flight of cement steps leading inside the building. The nearby street lamp flickers, a bulb that was long overdue for a change, the filaments within struggling.

“Of course. People should help each other.” You ascend the stairs, holding open the door for him.

He nods gratefully. “I’m not human, though. I’m the enemy.”

“Are you?” Your voice sounds wary at this reminder and you pause at the top of the first landing.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises, following you up the next flight of stairs.

“Until the debt is repaid?”

“You don’t trust me.” It’s a statement, not a query.

“I don’t know how I feel.” You’ve reached the third floor. Despite his bravado earlier, you see him wincing slightly, his breathing ragged as he keeps one hand pressed to the injury. You wait for him to recover but he waves his other hand, indicating you should continue your journey.

“Did you enjoy it?”

The words make you halt abruptly and he nearly collides with you. You hurry up to the next landing and clear your throat before you give voice to your admission. “Yes, I enjoyed it,” you say when he reaches your side.

“Will we do that again?”

“Now?”

His solemn features break out into a smile. Handsome. The milkman whose appearance he’d copied was attractive, especially like this. You like the curve of that mouth, the flash of his teeth. “No, not now. I’m hardly in any condition to…I meant later,” he adds for clarification. “Another time.”

“Oh. Yes.” A sudden thought occurs to you. “Will you be safe from the patrol? On the way back, to wherever…”

“I’ll manage. Don’t worry.” He steps closer to you. “Are you that anxious to be rid of me?”

“No, I only meant…” You shake your head, feeling flustered.

“Were you looking for me tonight? When you were behind the diner. Hoping I’d be there, maybe?”

“Why would I…I hardly know you.”

“You know me a little better now though, right?” He crowds you back against the wall of the stairwell. You’re thinking maybe injury or not, he still wants you. You can feel the desire radiating from his eyes, his lips hovering close to yours. “You’re really something special, aren’t you? Out of all the humans to run into, and I find the only one who’s willing to take a chance on me, risk…” His voice trails off before he kisses your mouth. It seems impossible there would be any passion left inside of you to respond but you find your lips melting against his, one hand curling around the nape of his neck, holding the doppelgänger close.

[notmyneighbor]

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

Chapter 8

Word Count ~ 4.6k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content, slight breeding kink, body horror, minor violence

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You always have to be extra careful when one of the Sverchzt sisters is asking to enter the building.

Twins, and both of them nearly identical, save for the location of the mole on the cheek: on the right for Selenne, the left for Elenois. Both employed as models, with the same hourglass figures, full, painted lips, long lashes, and breathy voices accented with something exotically European sounding. You always feel very plain and lacking around them; it was like being back in school again as the shy, unpopular girl, envying the pretty cheerleaders that seemed to have it all.

But you don’t feel inadequate today, still buoyed up from your feelings of being with Francis’ doppelgänger all weekend. You look over the identification card and entry request, finding everything in order. The elegant woman is on the day’s list of expected entrants, too. You’re nearly ready to hit the switch to grant her access into the apartments, still reminiscing about your fiancé, when something in you, some sixth sense kicking in, cautions you that you should probably call the apartment, just to be certain. There is nothing visually you can identify that is incorrect about the haughty woman on the opposite side of the glass, who is now folding her arms across her ample chest, the polished nail of an index finger tapping against the porcelain skin of one slender forearm. An impatient gesture you’ve seen Selenne make before, dozens of times. Nothing suspicious about the documents, either. But still, you feel it is better to be safe than sorry.

You already know all the residents’ phone numbers by heart now, the quick four digit extensions granting you rapid access.

“Hello. Elenois speaking. My sister and I are both at home today. We are not expecting any visitors.”

“Thank you.” You keep your expression calm, hurriedly flipping the plastic shield down and depressing the button to sound the alarm, catching one last glimpse of the doppelgänger, the crimson polished nails now scratching at the glass pane, the eyes with the lids shadowed in lavender streaked and bloodshot, the plush lips parting to expose yellow fangs dripping spittle before the shutters finish descending. You phone the disposal team, still maintaining your composure.

Close. That had been too close. You had to concentrate. Focus.

The day progresses and you find yourself getting back into the rhythm of things. Wondering how your pretender beau had decided which members of his squadron to sacrifice, sending them to the building to meet their doom to throw the DDD off the trail. What would happen when the numbers dwindled, when there were none left to send? Did the faded mark he’d left behind still shield you? Or did it only make you more desireable, like what had happened with the replicant who looked like Izaack Gauss?

You’re picking at the peeling varnish of the battered desk during the afternoon lull when someone walks into the building and your heart stops.

Francis.

Not the original, and not your doppel, either. This one is nearly a dead ringer, except for the nose that’s not quite right, the tip slightly larger, the nostrils a little more flared.

It had never occurred to you that there would still be other versions of the milkman walking around. Where has he been all this time?

“Mmm…hello.” The customary greeting the genuine version had always adopted. He slides an ID card through the slot.

“Entry request?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot. Here it is.” The smile breaks your heart. His smile. Only not.

You stare at the document for long moments. Everything looks correct: the document expiration date present and set for the future; the serial number identical to what you have on file; the logo of your organization in plain sight; the stated reason for the alleged milkman’s absence logical. All of the elements appear as they should, save for that slightly mismatched nose in the photograph and entry request.

“Is there a problem?”

Your eyes lift to meet his. Why are you drawing this out?

“Your appearance,” you answer distractedly.

“Yes? What about it? Doesn’t it match the picture?”

You shake your head, reaching for the alarm button. “I’m sorry.” It’s foolish, being this sentimental. No reason for it. You know the real Francis is gone. You know it’s not the invader you’ve fallen for.

Alarm blossoms on the fake milkman’s features. His hands clasp together. “Wait, please…I’ll leave. Just…I don’t want to die.”

You freeze. This was new. The doppels always reacted with anger when their cover was blown. You’ve never had one beg for their life before.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Was it true? Were there others that were willing to coexist peacefully? Had you incorrectly assumed they all sought the same goal, replacing humans and ruling over the planet, the one remarkable exception being your lover?

Or was this just a new tactic that they’d adopted, evolving, learning, adapting better to human weaknesses?

You had no way of knowing which it was.

“I can’t,” you say. “I’m sorry.” You slam your fist against the alarm switch before the replicant tries to escape, that same soft, pleading look haunting you as the shutter descends. The cleaners arrive and you cover your ears with your hands. You don’t want to listen to it. You can’t.

There are tears in your eyes when the figure in the yellow hazmat suit declares you are now able to return to your job.

***

The replicant milkman—yours, you note with relief—arrives later that afternoon, hastily adjusting the cap on his head, offering a brief glimpse of the perspiration from the heat outdoors lining his brow, his tousled brown locks damp, plastered against his forehead. He’s already smiling before he’s even reached the window, hurriedly thrusting his document and ID card through the slot, and something else, something that sounds metallic against the shallow stainless opening at the bottom of the window.

You reach for it, realizing what it is the second your fingers close over the object: your engagement ring.

The DDD had ceased its surveillance of the security booth, the resources and manpower needed elsewhere, apparently, so their is no longer the camera or the person watching it to worry about. You stare at the solitaire diamond, at the pretty filigree decorating the band on either side of it, and the tears that had been threatening to spill earlier come pouring out of you, a messy amalgamation of guilt and fear and relief releasing in that sudden cascade.

“Sweetheart, you like it that much? I’m so glad, I wasn’t sure…” His voice trails off. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head, absently hitting the buzzer to let him in, then hitting its partner to shut the door behind him.

The door to the security booth opens. “Oh, Francis.” You throw your arms around his neck, burrowing along his shirt collar while he rubs soothing circles on your back.

“What is it, love?”

“I’ve had such a terrible day. I almost let in a doppel by mistake this morning, and just a little while ago there was a doppel that looked like Francis.”

“Sweet girl.” His arms tighten around you.

“He begged for his life, Francis. I’ve never seen that before. It was so difficult to call the team. But I had to. I had to do it. I didn’t know if he really meant he wouldn’t harm anyone, or if he was lying. I couldn’t risk him hurting the residents inside.”

“Of course you did, love.”

“How many copies of him are there? Just roaming around the city?”

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t Francis and it wasn’t me. They were just trying to trick you, and you didn’t fall for it. You did the right thing. I know it was difficult for you. I know why, love. I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

You remain in his arms, letting the comfort he’s offering seep into you. He does understand, better than anyone else ever could. After a time you draw back, sniffling. The ring is still clutched tightly in your fist. You relax your palm, spreading your fingers so you can admire the piece of jewelry again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. It’s lovely, Francis. Perfect.”

The imposter smoothes the last of the tears away and kneels down, gently plucking the ring from your right hand, then reaches for your left one, sliding the diamond band onto your ring finger and kissing the back of your hand.

The sound of a throat being cleared at the window interrupts the moment. You jump, startled. It’s the pilot.

“Dropping off more paperwork, doll?” Steven Rudboys grins, sliding his card and request form towards you.

You blush, aware of your fiancé rising to his feet beside you, frowning. Of course he doesn’t understand the reference, from that day when you’d visited the doppel so early on, when he’d slipped you the invitation to come to the apartment.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” the man with the Mohawk says, his eyes lingering on the ring. “I always knew you two would end up together. Took you long enough, Mosses,” he adds, shooting the imposter milkman a sharp glance. “Don’t know what Afton and Stone are waiting for. I thought for sure they would’ve set a date by now. Bet you two don’t wait that long to tie the knot.”

Your cheeks are scarlet, your eyes focused on the documents, checking the day’s schedule. On the day’s list. A quick phone call just to confirm what you already know, allowing the man to enter the apartments once you’ve spoken to his father, heaving a sigh of relief when he’s finally gone from sight.

“I don’t like him,” the pretender says, his voice nearly a growl. “I don’t think Francis ever did, either. Too intrusive.” He turns his attention back to you. “Maybe not the best timing for the ring,” he observes ruefully.

“I’m sorry. I love it. Truly. It’s just been a very hectic, stressful day.”

“Don’t apologize. You have every right to be feeling that way. I think…I hope…I can help with that. Come see me as soon as you get off shift, okay? And be careful. If you need me, call.”

You nod, kissing him before he exits the booth and heads towards the elevator. You stretch your hand out, turning it slightly, watching how the light plays over the facets. It was official. You were engaged. You doubted it would take long for the rumor mill of the apartment building to circulate the news. Poor Francis. He’d be bombarded with well wishers and busybodies. Rudboys was probably going to keep at him mercilessly.

The rest of your shift passes by blessedly uneventfully. It is nearly time for your workday to end. Time to return to your lover waiting for you upstairs, the doppel you’re betrothed to.

***

You tap your knuckles on the door of apartment 3-02, greeted by the copy of the living space’s former owner.

He’s shed the troublesome cap, the ebony bow unknotted and draped around his neck, the first pair of buttons on his shirt undone. He smiles at you. “Hello, future Mrs. Mosses.”

“Hi. Can I come in?”

“Do you have proper identification?”

“I seem to have forgotten it.”

He clucks his tongue. “Then I can’t let you in, I’m afraid.”

“Do you accept bribes?”

His lips twitch. “Maybe.” The opening widens. “Come in here.”

You enter and the door closes behind you. “That was easy. I don’t think you’d make a good doorman,” you tease.

“No, but I make up for it elsewhere, don’t I?” He murmurs and you hum in agreement as he slides a hand around your waist, dragging you against him. “It’s torture being away from you. To go from having the weekend together to this long absence all day…” His lips touch yours, traveling to your neck.

“I know. I thought about you all day long.” Your hand rests on his chest. He covers it with his own, toying with the ring on your finger. A little room to move the band, but still secure around the digit. You didn’t wear jewelry often, but the size you’d told him had been the correct one. “I love it, Francis.”

“I’m glad.” Another kiss on your mouth. “I’m hungry for you, love.”

You feel it in his kisses. No longer gentle. Tongue stroking yours roughly. Teeth nipping. You cross the hallway to the bedroom with your fiancé. Unfastening clothing. Yours. His. Impatient to be naked. A button tears from your blouse. “I’ll mend it later,” you say distractedly.

Your back is tucked against his chest, the pair of you standing before the dresser mirror. Your breathing is loud, nearly as loud as his. You would have been mortified to be making so much noise even a month ago. But you have no reason to hide it now. You’re engaged. No one on this floor was going to pretend they didn’t know what goes on with young couples behind closed doors. You’ve heard Afton and Stone going at it before. Not nearly as often or as loud as you and your doppel, though.

You’re about to bend to slide your thigh high nylons off but the copycat halts you, his hand clasping yours above the scalloped lace edge that clings to your leg.

“Leave them on for me? I like them.” He snaps a garter belt playfully, dragging a hand over your lace panties. Something else that was new. You normally wore sensible undergarments beneath your work clothes. But now you had someone to admire what clung to your intimate places. He caresses the space between your legs through the delicate fabric, dragging his hand up to begin massaging your breasts encased in a matching brassiere. “Gorgeous. So beautiful, love.” His mouth worries along your shoulder.

“Are you going to mark me again?”

A pause, his hands and lips freezing. “Do you want me to?”

The low pitch of his voice drags across your core. You’re still frightened of it. But you want it, all the same. You want this creature to claim you. “Yes. Do you?”

The doppelgänger’s lips are by your ear. “Yes, love. But you shouldn’t watch…”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. “I want to. I want to see you…”

“Sweetheart…” Hesitant. Perhaps more afraid than you are. To be seen. Exposed. To let the monster off the leash, as it were. Allowing the demon within out to play.

“I trust you.”

He moans softly against your hair. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?”

“I love you.”

A whimper. The thing inside anxious to be let out, scratching and gnawing at the bars of its enclosure, that barrier of human flesh that had once belonged to Francis Mosses. Nails raking across your abdomen. Not enough to puncture the skin, still careful, the barest scrape of the unsheathed claws you can just see emerging now. Tearing at the fabric covering your sex, the material fraying, the embroidered threads coming loose. The crown of chocolate hair lifts and you see his eyes: the doppel’s eyes, peering at your from behind Francis’ sleepy dark ones. Red like blood, like the vessels that burst in surrender, like the lining of those shadowed lower lids. The white sclera of the orbs iridescent, shimmery, identical to the outline of the alien creature clutching you, an unsteady shift in the very particles and atoms that comprise him, things unseen, things not meant to be viewed by a mortal eye. The neat ivory teeth no longer tame incisors and molars, but transformed, sharp like the cuspids of a vampire, ravenous, the drool dripping from them onto your skin.

It is still not what he truly is; that monster well concealed, struggling to maintain control in this tenuous bridged state, not quite one or the other, partly human, partly doppel. What remains of your panties are shoved down, his leaking cock pressing against the curve of one cheek of your buttocks. He pushes against you and you grasp the edge of the dresser, the stained and varnished wood supporting you at a slight angle as he guides his erection inside of you.

Your body is already gushing arousal, welcoming him in. You catch sight of your heaving chest in the mirror, your lingerie encased breasts lifting and straining to burst free, much like the replicant thrusting into you.

He says your name, and it is not Francis’ voice at all. This a summons from deep within, heavy, full of gravel, dragging across your flesh like sandpaper. The wavering, mirage-like border of his pulsing frame feels hot, sticky. Your lashes flutter. The bottles of cologne lining the dresser’s surface tumble down. So deep. He’s so deep inside of you. Shoved in to the hilt each time. And still you want him even further. Impossible. But you crave it. That complete violation. Was this what it felt like to be taken over? You’d imagined it to be painful, terrifying. Instead it was sheer bliss. Your eyes link with his through the oval shaped looking glass once more.

“More, please, Francis…”

He jerks you away from the dresser, still impaled on his cock. Here is the pain you’d anticipated, that searing kiss of teeth piercing your shoulder, sucking the skin over the bone, a burst of stars in front of your eyes, fireworks ricocheting within you as you come undone, your insides splashed with something molten, soaked with your lover’s release. Wet skin, wet pussy, drenched prick, sweat and cum and that thin trail of blood seeping from the wound he’s created, laving rapturously at the taste of you, that very human taste in his very inhuman mouth.

His body shudders against yours. Aftershocks, not from orgasm but the shift back to how he appeared before, the glow dissipating, eyes cleared and gentling, the sharp hooks tipping each finger a replica of Francis’ blunt edged nails once more. Only a few red welts betray those nightmare claws’ existence, where he had become a little too lost in the passion, tattooing the soft flesh of your abdomen. The door to the invader’s cage is sealed shut once again. You hold him upright as much as he holds you steady, slipping free from your entrance, the hot spill of seed leaking down your thighs, seeping into the stockings. You can feel the tremors still spasming, your own nerves quivering with the remnants of pleasure, echoing against you as your lover’s body shares the same sensation. The panting breaths grow quieter. The sound of the Rudboys’ television next door disturbs the stillness. You’d completely missed the audio cue of the curfew horn.

“Sweet girl.” It’s all he can seem to manage, this whispered into your hair. It’s the milkman’s voice again, but it sounds raw, raspy. The vocal chords had been strained, never meant to produce the sounds they had earlier.

You rest your hand on the one clutching your abdomen, the glint of your engagement ring winking, a stubborn sparkle in the glow of the lamp, struggling against the growing darkness in the room as the day’s natural light fails beyond the curtained window.

***

The blackberry jam, pulled from the refrigerator several hours later, is perfect.

Perhaps one of the best batches you’ve ever tasted. You’ve snuck a sample from the unsealed mason jar, unable to wait. You’re already imagining how good that flavor will be when it’s smoothed over the biscuits you’re making with your doppelgänger, his fingers kneading the dough mixture you’ve just created. There is a stray bit of flour dusting his nose where he’d absently stroked an itch along the bridge and you wipe it clear, the touch becoming a lingering caress. He pauses, fingers still dug into the dough, looking at you with that same kind of wonder as he had earlier, after the incident in the bedroom.

As if he cannot believe what you’d asked for, accepted so willingly, eagerly; of the control over his true form he’d been able to maintain, keeping you safe.

Pats of butter melt quickly on the sliced biscuits pulled from the oven. You’re sweating. You need a shower after this for certain. You slather on a generous layer of the sweet fruit spread, offering a bite to your fiancé. He chews, nodding approvingly. There is a stray bit of jam on the corner of his mouth. You cannot resist lapping at it. Licking his mouth open. Tasting the sweetness there. Marveling at how quickly the desire is rekindled. Perhaps you would never be sated. Always this ache, this gnawing want in your center.

Drenched in the shower together. Back out again. Night sounds through the open window. The measured footsteps of a patrol. Soft chatter. A dog barking. You miss your farmhouse. The crickets and the scent of lilac blossoms and your lover in your bed, on cotton sheets that smell like the outdoors, hung on the line to dry in the clear air.

“Francis,” you murmur, your mouth tracing the outline of the crest of one hip, you hand curled around the other. Tasting the soap on his skin, the slight masculine musk as you wander along his groin, swiping your tongue across his cock.

Your shoulder throbs, pulsing in time with the neediness within. You want it again already. Not just the sex, but the other. A strange kind of addiction developing.

Your pussy aches to be filled again. You suck his erection and moan, hastily tucking your hair out of the way. Ravenous. An animalistic slobber. Lips loose. Shoving down as far as you can tolerate. Past it. Insistent, fucking your throat with his dick.

A little gasp of surprise from the doppel. “Easy, love. Don’t waste it. Want to…”

You release his spit soaked member, planting wet kisses back up his stomach, his chest. Crawling over his body until you reach his mouth. “What do you want, Francis?” Your voice a whisper, matching his.

“Oh love, you know what I want.” This huffed beside your cheek. You’re teasing kisses along his jaw, nipping at an ear lobe.

“Tell me. Tell me how you want to fill me up. With your cock. With your cum. Breed me, make a baby…”

You don’t know where the words come from. Another gasp. A growl. You want to impale yourself on him but it’s not the ideal position for getting pregnant. You allow him to shift, moving your body with his, pinning you beneath him.

“Is that what you want, sweet girl?” His hands press into the pillow beneath your head. There are a proper quartet of them now, piled plush cushions for you and your alien lover.

“Yes. Please, Francis…”

His knee parts your legs. Pressure. He’s inside you.

Your head lifts off the pillow and he captures your lips, pressing you back down. Working inside of you slow and steady, fucking you back open.

“There you go, love.” His mouth gentle on yours.

“I need…”

“What? What do you need?”

Your shoulder is on fire. “I want you to mark me again.”

“No, love. It’s too soon for that.” You feel him shake his head, the faint stir of air beside your cheek with the motion.

“It felt so good.”

“I know.”

“Put the light on, then? Let me see you. Let me see what’s inside…”

“No.” His voice loud now, his hips still against yours. “No, it’s too risky.”

“You can control it. I know you can. I trust you.”

“You don’t understand.”

“So explain it to me.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because why?”

“Because I’m afraid,” he confesses against your neck. “You’ve no idea the strain. The desire to tear free. It would destroy Francis’ body. The urge to devour you…” He kisses your throat softly. “Let me love you like the man I appear to be.”

“I love you. You, what’s inside.” You touch his cheek.

“I know, love. And the way that makes me feel is indescribable. I don’t need to be out of this body to experience it. I adore you, sweet girl. Let me show you how much. Like this,” he says, his hips lifting and pressing, guiding his cock back into your hollow.

Your pelvis arches to receive him. It scares you how much you want him. Your body shakes with the intensity of that desire. Craving that violence, that feeling of teetering on the brink of destruction. His, yours. The human mouth on your shoulder. Sucking. Kneading with teeth that aren’t nearly sharp enough. But it stirs whatever he’s injected you with. A venom, a toxin, not poisonous, not lethal, but a chemical that you need more of. Bringing you closer to what you’re so desperate for. It doesn’t take you long to climax, the doppel’s own release close behind. He lifts your hips and legs, propping them against his chest, keeping his seed deep inside you, stroking along your stomach.

Willing there to be a spark of life there, the way all life has begun, according to the words in the holy book still sitting on the nightstand, a burst of light in the darkness.

***

Another day at the DDD security window.

The doppelgängers have been clumsy so far. Woefully inept at replication. You didn’t need specialized training to recognize the imposter for the shoemaker with a mustache as a fake, a single eye in the center of his forehead making Albertsky Peachman look like a cyclops. The clone of the mother of the student living on the second floor had correctly replicated the placement of the blue and green irises, but the phony Nacha Mikaelys’ jaw was strangely formed, the flesh pulpy and uneven, making it appear like oatmeal.

The best part of your workday arrives on schedule, slipping a new gift into the slot this time. “Tickets to the theater for this Sunday. I know it’s not the movie you mentioned, but…”

You grin. You can’t even remember the last time you’d gone to see a movie. And now you’d be seeing it with your fiancé. “Casablanca! Oh, it’s wonderful. I have something for you, too.” You exchange an open envelope with the doppelgänger.

He slides the contents free, unfolding the letter and scanning it quickly, a smile lighting his features. “They’ve invited us to see them.”

You nod, still beaming, watching the invader tuck the letter from your parents back into the envelope. “We’ll visit the following weekend.”

“I look forward to it. Still nervous, but looking forward to it. How was your day, love?”

“It went well. Yours?”

“Better now.” Another smile. “I’ve got another surprise, too. Left it in the truck because I was anxious to see you. I’m making dinner tonight. Well we’re probably making dinner. I’m not optimistic about Francis’ cooking skills,” he adds, lowering his voice.

You couldn’t blame him for doubting it. The man’s pantry and refrigerator had been nearly empty, and you had the feeling it wasn’t just because he’d been overdue for a trip to get groceries.

Thinking of the solitary, simple life of the milkman rinses the joy from your features. No real family to speak of, either, according to the doppelgänger, save for a cousin that he’d had little to no contact with. He really had been alone in the world. Isolated. You could have done something about that. You should have. But it was too late now. And you had your doppelgänger instead. The being your heart was so full for.

“Love?” The replicant sees the change in your expression, frowning now.

“I’m okay. Yes, I’ll help you cook. It sounds fun.�� You’re not relishing the thought of working over a hot stove in that stuffy third floor living space, longing for the upcoming change in the weather. But you like the idea of working beside your partner. Preparing a meal. And what would come after.

The bite on your shoulder throbs, reminding you.

[notmyneighbor]

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

Chapter 6

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

Early morning. Almost time for Francis’ delivery route to begin.

“Good morning.” You look at the doppelgänger. His face is pressed into the living room pillow he’d borrowed from the couch, offering you the solitary one on the bed. A sleepy smile of greeting.

“Good morning, love.” His hand cups your cheek and you trap his fingers, turning your face to kiss the inside of his wrist. “I’m glad you stayed last night.”

“Me too.” Its earlier than you’d normally rise, but you kind of like it. That sense that the rest of the world is slumbering and the two of you have this time reserved just for you.

“Tell me to go get ready. I don’t want to leave this bed.”

“Go get ready. I’ll press your clothes for you while you take a shower. Get coffee going.”

“M’kay.” He sighs, sitting upright. Stretching his arms, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. A dog barks outside and someone hisses for it to be quiet. The replicant freezes, his arms dropping down sharply.

“Francis? What is it?”

“It’s not a dog.” He stands and goes to the window, edging the curtain back. “I don’t recognize them. Not from my squadron.”

“A doppel?”

“Yes.”

You sit up, the languid, cozy feeling evaporating instantly. Bringing you right back to reality. “Does the owner know?”

“No. They’re human.”

“Are they trying to come in?”

“No. But they sense something. That’s why they barked. They’re already halfway down the street. You’re safe.” He lets the curtain drop back into place.

“Didn’t you say no doppels would try to enter the building anymore?”

“Yes.”

You worry your lower lip. “That’s going to look suspicious to the DDD.”

“The DDD.” He says the name of the organization contemptuously. “I wish you’d leave.”

“It’s not just a job. It’s my career. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to help people. I promised I would.”

“You could do something else and still help people,” he mumbles. “Fine. If it’s going to draw more unwanted attention here, I can make certain some doppels do come in when you’re working.”

So much for the relieved idea that you and the residents would finally be safe and secure. “You can do that?”

“Of course.”

“And not let them harm anyone?”

“That is more than I can promise.”

So you’d still be putting the residents at risk. Encouraging it, even. You’d have to make absolutely certain never to let one inside.

“You’d be condemning your own kind. I’d have to call the cleaners if they threatened violence.”

“I’m aware. I have to keep you safe. If that means risking some other doppels, so be it.”

You leave the bed, walking over to the closet. Francis didn’t have many clothes aside from his work attire. He’d had few personal possessions in general from what you’ve seen so far in the apartment. Living so humbly.

The imposter rests a hand on your spine on the way past you to the bathroom, pausing to kiss your cheek. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes.” You select a shirt and pair of pants, folding the items still on the hangers over your arm. “I’ll be fine. Go get ready.”

The sound of the shower starting fills the background as you collect the folded ironing board from inside the closet and plug in the iron. You pad barefoot into the kitchen to get the coffee pot on, wearing one of Francis’ undershirts and your panties. You’re a little sore from the previous evening’s events. Internally. The times he had pounded into you deeply. The new bite on your shoulder. The swelling and redness seem to have dissipated. The mirror above the dresser doesn’t reveal anything too drastic looking. The puncture marks are almost invisible.

You’ve got the milkman’s pants ready when he emerges naked from the other room, still slightly damp from the shower. The brazenness still makes you blush. You know what he looks like nude by now, of course, but it feels different when it isn’t during intimacy. You watch the imitator rummaging through the dresser drawers to retrieve underwear and socks and a bow tie, secretly admiring the way his muscles shift in the warm yellow glow of the lamp, the curtains still shielding the window. You can smell the coffee brewing in the other room, easily pervading the entirety of the tiny apartment, and you inhale that enticing aroma deeply.

“So you mentioned earlier you’re in a squadron. Like a military sort?”

“Not precisely as you know it, but I suppose there are a few vague similarities.”

“What rank are you?”

“The equivalent of a lieutenant colonel, if you had to label it.”

You inch the work shirt further over the side of the ironing board to continue the pressing, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Where is the rest of your squadron?”

He shrugs. “Around,” he replies vaguely. You think he knows exactly where they are and he’s not willing to give them up. Still somewhat loyal, in spite of what’s happened between you.

“They don’t wonder where you are? Or vice versa? You don’t have some kind of a leader you have to report to?”

He pauses midway through pulling on a sock. “It doesn’t quite work like that. We are…autonomous, I suppose you would say. Working independently, but striving for the same goal.”

You hand him the shirt and he slides it over his shoulders after finishing with the socks. “So why have ranks at all then, if you’re all equals?”

“Because we’re not. Not everyone can do what I did. It’s still rare. There’s no way to instruct how to do it. It just…happens. Or doesn’t.” He finishes buttoning the front of his shirt. You help him with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Why did you choose Francis?”

“Opportunity. Nothing more. Sheer random encounter.” You step back as he pulls each pants leg on and stands, zipping and buttoning the fly. The belt is coiled on the dresser beside the black tie. “The best decision of my existence,” he says softly, his forehead bending to touch yours.

You’re so conflicted. He’d killed the man you’d loved. But in some ways was still the man you loved. Only not. An enemy you’re supposed to be guarding against, except he no longer seems to bear any malice towards your kind. Coexisting peacefully. But the cost of that. Oh, the cost.

“I can’t say I’m grateful for what you did. But I am glad it was you, and not someone else.”

His hand cradles your head and he draws you against him. You can smell soap and shampoo. Aftershave. Your arms tighten around him.

“What did happen? During that random encounter?” You ask against his chest.

“Why do you want to know the details? It won’t change anything.”

You draw back to see his face. “Consider it a weakness of humans. There is a car accident on the interstate. The vehicles wrecked, the passengers gravely injured. We slow down or stop to look, even after emergency services have been called, even though there is nothing left to be done. We can’t look away. We have to face it. Confront our fears head on. Grieve our losses. Knowing the truth of what happened is the only way to do that.”

“If I tell you, you’re admitting he’s gone.”

You chew your lower lip, hesitating. “I suppose that would be true.”

“If that happens, you won’t have any reason to be with me anymore.” He strokes a thumb over one cheek. “Is that really what you want?”

“I…no.” Your heart is beating madly in your chest. It would be like losing Francis twice, somehow. You can’t fathom it. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s best I don’t know. I won’t mention it again.”

After a time the replicant finishes dressing. The black bow knotted neatly. Belt secured. Wallet tucked into his pocket, followed by his keys. You’ve hastily gotten dressed in yesterday’s clothing. You’ll return home and get properly washed and changed before returning for your shift afterwards.

The imposter pours you both a cup of the freshly brewed coffee. Strong. The way you both like it. A little cream and sugar to kill some of the bitterness stirred in.

You’re standing by the front door now. The doppelgänger holds the milkman’s cap in his hands. He doesn’t like wearing it. You can tell. You pull it from his fingers and set it on his head. Tugging the brim down a little. Smoothing some of his hair back underneath. He really did need a trim soon. You’d never seen it get this long.

“Be safe today,” he says.

“You too.”

“Do you think I could get away with coming over tonight? Is your organization going to stalk me?”

“I’m hoping they’ll calm down after a bit. They are still watching you. Me. Us. So maybe wait a couple of days, make it not so obvious.”

“I don’t think I can manage a couple of days.”

“You’ll still see me in the booth.”

“That’s not the same.”

“I know, Francis. If circumstances were different…I’m trying keep you safe.”

“I know.” He sighs. “Alright. A couple of days, then. Surely the weekend as well?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

He smiles. “Things looking up already. Alright, sweetheart.” He bends to kiss your mouth. “I’ll see you later.”

You exit the apartment and he locks the door. Still no one else stirring in the building yet. He ignores the elevator and begins descending the staircase. You follow him. He’s faster than you, his longer limbs making short work of the steps. Already nearly an entire flight down from you.

He pauses on the landing, looking back at you as you halt, fingers curled over the railing.

“Francis.” You rush down the stairs, throwing yourself at him when you reach the bottom, the momentum pushing him back against the wall. Planting kisses along the freshly shaved cheeks and jaw. “I miss you already.”

“Me too, love.” His arms envelop you and you bury your face against his shirt. Suddenly you find yourself wanting to cling to him desperately. So afraid for him. More than you were even for yourself.

It’s a relief when you see him return safely later that day; it’s all you can do not to open the booth and fling yourself back into his arms. But the camera mounted on the wall over your shoulder is a constant reminder. You’re being watched.

You’re not safe at all.

***

Saturday morning finds you standing in what was once an impressive garden beside your house. Now chock full of wildflowers and overgrown with weeds. Francis’ copy is beside you, kneeling down, his fingers raking the earth, pushing impatiently at the intruding vegetation. “The soil is still good. You could plant here again easily.”

“My grandfather would have been happy to see that. It just got to be too much for him to maintain. He had a hard time finding help for the farm. People lured into moving to the city. Better paying jobs. Fancier homes. A variety of exciting new stores to shop in. My parents both had that itch.”

“You’re somewhere in the middle.” He stands, dusting his hands off.

You nod. “I guess I am. I can appreciate the value of being in the city. The benefits. But I recognize the drawbacks, too. I love being here. It always feels right. I wish I could restore things to the way they were.”

“Maybe you could. Not to the extreme of running a business with employees, but to build it back up, little by little.”

“It would be a full time process.”

“You could do it. We could do it,” he adds softly.

“Is that really what you’d want?”

“I want you,” he says, his hands now seated on your waist, drawing you closer. He kisses you and you sigh contentedly.

“When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the world goes away. There is no DDD or invasion. It’s just us.”

“It could really be like that.”

“No one ever leaves the DDD voluntarily. And you’d be labeled a deserter, wouldn’t you? We’d be chased. Hunted down. There’s only one punishment for someone who’s a coconspirator.” It didn’t happen often, but occasionally there were stories of humans accepting bribes. Working together with the doppels. It did not end well for the humans making those bargains; did not end well for the invaders, either.

“We’ll keep running so they can’t catch us. To the ends of the earth.” He tugs on your hand and you allow him to, following him. Navigating through the overgrowth, threading through it to find your path. Moving faster and faster, a full jog now. Still anchored to the doppelgänger’s hand.

He halts abruptly and you collide with him. Both breathing heavily. He descends and you tumble down with him. You’re in a patch of wildflowers, their perfumed scent heavy in the air.

You lie together like that with your head pillowed on his chest, one arm tucked around you. “Did you ever have anything like this before? Was there someone else?”

“Never.”

You burrow a little deeper, satisfied with the answer. Would you have been jealous if he’d said yes? Strange to think that way. But yes, you would be, you realize. The concept of sharing, the idea of affection for someone other than yourself bothers you.

“Do you think you could ever find yourself caring for me? Not for the face I wear. What’s behind it, I mean. My true self.” Your head lifts, your eyes searching his features. “I want you to love me as much as you love the man. More than that.”

“You said…you don’t even have words for human emotions. They don’t exist for your kind.”

“They don’t. They didn’t. A change now. Evolution. Something unanticipated. That’s what the ache is, isn’t it? How terrible this feeling is. How wonderful. Paradox.” He pulls your face towards his, kissing you. “I need you, sweetheart. More than you’ll ever know.”

You kiss him back. You can’t speak with words. It’s too overwhelming. Too confusing trying to separate the man and the invader. You’d been telling yourself all along it was your feelings for the former that had driven all your actions. That had been true enough in the beginning. But now. Now there were doubts creeping in. Wondering it wasn’t the other that you had feelings for. Could you really love a monster?

“Need to feel you, love, please.” The sound of his belt being undone. Dark slacks today now that he wasn’t working. Your fingers join him there, finding his cock already hard, leaking in anticipation. So hungry, so fast. Your body responding in kind, drooling for him.

You straddle his hips, the hem of your skirt bunched around your waist. Struggling to hold the crotch of your panties aside, to guide him inside of you. Gasping when you succeed. You lower yourself down onto him. The sun is warm on your back. You lift up slightly and sit back down. Impaling yourself again. Your hips roll back and forth as you lean down to kiss him. Rocking, sliding that prick in and out of your pussy. He slips completely free and you hurriedly snake a hand between your bodies, realigning him. The drag against your clit sending sparks through you. You keep the hand there, touching yourself, touching him. Feeling the heightened friction of the panties digging against your hand, against your lover’s dick. The nails of your other hand raking his chest through his shirt.

You kiss him, tasting the salt of the perspiration that has begun. It’s so hot. Outside. Inside of you. His fingers touch your cheek, seed your hair, hold your mouth against his as his hips lift to meet you. Driving him deeper inside. You look down at the man whose face you’d seen behind glass for all those months. Those dark, tired eyes on yours. Lick his mouth back open, enjoying the mash of the hand still between your bodies, grinding against the bundle of nerve endings. His lips at your jaw and throat and beside your ear. “I love you,” he whispers, and you shatter around him, your walls spasming, your body jerking through release.

It’s easy to say the phrase back to him when you’re in the height of bliss, just three simple little words that escape above his face, panted between noises of pleasure.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His hips snap up and you feel the jet of seed inside you. Your forehead drops to his, your arms and legs suddenly shaking. You dismount and drop down beside him, your face burrowing again.

“I meant it,” he says softly. “What I said.”

“I know. So did I.” It’s the truth, you realize. Somehow, the impossible had happened.

You’d fallen in love with a doppelgänger.

***

The weekend flies by.

You are back in the security booth once again the following Monday. Straightening out the desk once more. You really could not understand why your coworkers were so disorganized. You’ve nearly finished the task when you realize through your peripheral vision that someone has entered the apartment building.

Your head lifts to see Izaack Gauss.

Or what looked like him; your instincts kicking in once again. It’s most certainly a doppel.

The face has been perfectly replicated, the second floor resident’s exaggerated features all ones you recognize: the large cleft chin and wide nose, the thick dark eyebrows set above glacier blue eyes, that wide stretch of teeth just a little too large for comfort, becoming almost a rictus grin. One that doesn’t touch the imposter’s eyes.

“Good morning,” he greets you, sliding his ID card and entry request through the stainless steel slot at the bottom of the window.

You look over the identification first. Expiration date checks out, the image and name both correct. Your eyes flick up before you study the other document. On the day’s list. DDD logo present. Occupation of reporter correct. Address verified.

“May I come in? As you can see everything is in order.”

The ID card is still clutched in your hands. You tap it against the desk absently. You know it’s not really him. You just don’t have any evidence to support your suspicion yet.

“Let me just make a quick phone call to your residence.”

You lift the receiver off the hook, dialing the first number.

“I can smell him on you.”

Your hand freezes. “I’m sorry?”

The large nostrils flare and the suited figure inhales deeply. “All over you. Inside of you. He’s been there, hasn’t he? You’ve let him in.” Little burst capillaries spidering across his eyes now. A thin trail of spit glistening on his lower lip. “You could let me inside, too.”

You flip the plastic shielding covering the alarm down and slap the red button, the steel shutters instantly dropping down to cover the glass. Hanging up hurriedly and dialing a new number, the DDD operator answering you in the same calm manor they always adopt, assuring you the cleaners will be on their way shortly.

Time seems to slow to a crawl. You hear the sounds of the disposal team making their way inside. Yelling. Gunfire. Then silence. The alarm stops sounding. The steel shutter retracts. On the other side of the window, you can see a member of the DDD wearing a yellow hazmat suit. “The doppelgänger has been taken care of. You can return to work now.”

You nod, willing your shaking hands to be still.

***

“There was a doppel today.”

The piece of cake you’re chewing tastes like ash. It’s from your favorite bakery, a treat from your replicant beau. Washed down with an ice cold sample of the milk he delivers. You wish you could enjoy it. But your taste buds won’t cooperate. You’re still shaken from what had happened earlier.

“Yes. There were to be several. What’s wrong?”

“He knew about us, Francis.”

He sets his fork down slowly. “Tell me what happened.”

“He looked just like Mr. Gauss. The reporter that lives alone on the second floor. Paperwork checked out. But I could tell something was off right away. And he said he could smell you on me. In me. He knew what we’ve done together.”

You see the copycat milkman’s Adam’s apple move above his shirt collar as he swallows loudly. “And then you called the cleaners?”

“Yes.”

“Did he get a chance to say anything to them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“And the surveillance cameras?”

“Video feed only, no audio.”

A heavy sigh. “Alright. I’m sorry that happened to you. That was not a member of my squadron, I assure you.”

“You said they wouldn’t come near the building, because of the marks. Other than the ones you sent as decoys to fool the DDD.”

“I didn’t think they would. Honestly, I didn’t. I would never deliberately put you in harm’s way. You know that.” His hand reaches for yours across the tiny kitchen table in the third floor apartment. “Had to just be an anomaly. Had to be,” he repeats, sounding as if he’s trying to reassure himself as well as you.

“What if it’s not?”

He pushes back from the table, kneeling beside you, reaching for one of your hands and pressing his lips to it, holding it against his cheek. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear to you. I love you,” he says, and your heart flutters. The palm of his free hand rests somewhere along your ankle. Sliding up, bringing the hem of your skirt with it. He kisses your knee. The top of the joint. The inside. Stands and pulls you with him. Lifting you and sitting you on the counter, your skirt gathered in messy folds around your hips. His fingers dig into the sides of the underwear clinging to them, dragging them roughly down. He’s impatient, possessive. Scared, you think.

“I want to make a baby with you.”

“Francis…” Your sex throbs at the suggestion. Such a dangerous idea.

“I want them to know you’re mine. Fuck the DDD and fuck the other doppels.” His face moves against your throat, one hand on your hip as he thrusts into you, the other braced on the overhead cabinet behind you.

“I am yours.”

He huffs a moan. “You’re so perfect for me.”

You gasp when he reaches deeper inside of you, clutching the back of his shirt collar, your other hand at his waist, knees digging into his hips as he ruts against you. Your fingers travel to his hair, those cocoa locks that are growing curlier the more they lengthen. You have to cut them for him, or send him to a barber, or…

“Say it. Please, please say it. Do you want me to beg? I’ll do it. Please…”

You know what he wants. What he needs to hear. “I love you.” The wood behind you groans with the tension his hand places on it as he fucks you harder, faster. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” uttered each time he’s sheathed inside you.

Touching his cheek now, watching his mouth fall open, the kind of wonder in those dark eyes, as if he’s discovering you all over again for the first time, coming apart, waiting to be rebuilt. You both shatter and then there is silence save for the ticking of the clock mounted on the kitchen wall and the breaths you trade, a warm exchange of air in the scant space that divides you.