nextdoor-neighbors

"Y/N!" Lee announces, as if he's at a Quidditch game. You can feel everyone's eyes on you as you stand.

You finally muster up the courage to meet Fred's eyes. The two of you have barely exchanged a full conversation over the years. You just didn't know what you could possibly say to him.

But now, he gives you a slow smile that makes your knees weak.

"Y/N," he says in way of greeting, his voice low under the chaos of the room, meant just for your ears.

There's no way you're surviving being alone with him. Not when just hearing him say your name sets your skin ablaze. But you're going to have to, because before you know it, Lee and George are pushing the two of you into the closet and telling you they'll see you in seven minutes.

You blink rapidly so your eyes adjust to the darkness. It's quiet, too—almost dead silent, other than the pounding of your heart. Maybe they used a spell on the closet, to block out the sounds of the party.

And then, of course, there's Fred.

You still can't quite see him, but you can sense him, mere inches from you. And oh, does he smell good. Maybe it's better that it's so dark in here, so that he can't see how hard you're blushing.

But, of course:

"Lumos."

Fred's wand lights the space between you, illuminating his smirk. Fuck, he's gorgeous. The things you would let him do to you. The things you would do to him.

Not that he would ever want to... right?

"Much better, eh? So, Y/N. How would you like to spend our seven minutes together?"

"Uh..." Bloody hell. Why can't your brain just work right when he's around? "I don't... How do you want to?"

Fred tilts his head. "Well. I have plenty of ideas as to how to pass the time with someone as beautiful as you. But," he adds, and flirtatiousness has dissipated from his tone, "we can also just talk. Or stand here in silence. That could be rather fun." The smirk returns. "Whatever you want, darling."

You hear him. You do. But you mostly stopped processing anything he said after he called you beautiful.

Fred Weasley thinks you're beautiful.

"I want..." The words fall from your lips, but you can't believe you're saying them. "I want you to kiss me."

Fred doesn't need to be told twice.

His lips are on yours in an instant, his arms sliding up your back and pulling you into him. He kisses you hard, so needy, groaning against your mouth as if he's been dying for this moment just as much as you have.

Your hands slide down his chest, savoring the feel of his muscles through his shirt. Your fingers bump against the waistband of his pants, and his lips leave yours. For a moment, you think you've done something wrong. But then his mouth is on your neck, kissing and sucking all the right places and you can't help but let a moan escape.

"Fuck," he groans against your skin. His hands slide down your back, over the curve of your ass, and a jolt of pleasure courses through you. "I wanna hear more of that."

Next thing you know, Fred is turning you around, pulling you back against his chest. He presses closer to you, and you feel how hard he is. His hands explore you: your hips, your chest.

"You've just always kept to yourself," he murmurs. "I didn't think you wanted anything to do with me."

His fingertips slide down your front and just past your waistband, teasing. You push your hips back against him, the tension building inside you too much to bear. You need something more, anything more.

Fred chuckles, his hand sliding fully into your panties. You buck your hips as his fingers brush your clit, the sensation sending shockwaves through you.

"But look at you," he says. "If I'd had any idea, we would have done this ages ago."

"Please," is the only thing you can think to say, and even that comes out as a gasp.

He pushes his fingers inside you, filling you so well that you can only imagine how good his cock would feel.

"This? This is what you want?"

"Fuck. Yes." You grip his arms, needing something to keep you standing, your legs trembling as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. You've never came this fast. Ever. But Fred knows exactly what he's doing, at just the right pace, whispering all the right things about how he wants to taste you next, and you come, hard. He holds you tight as your head spins and your legs shake and did that really just happen? Fred Weasley just made you come with his fingers in a closet?

"Thirty second warning, and then this door is opening!" Lee's booming voice from just outside the door makes you leap out of your skin.

"Fuck," you mutter. You spin around, trying to smooth down your hair, your clothes, anything. Fred already has his wand in hand, illuminating the space once again. His gaze travels over you.

"You look fine. I mean, not just fine. But you know what I mean." He winks, and you start to blush again. "Me, on the other hand..."

You follow his gaze. He's still hard as a rock, his imprint clear as day against his pants. Bloody hell. You wish you could help him out, right here and now, but the last thing you want when this door opens is to be caught with your lips around Fred Weasley's cock.

"Just... think about..." You rack your brain. "I don't know. McGonagall?"

Fred frowns. "Eh. She's not a bad looking lady, though."

"Fred," you groan, and he laughs. You can't help but laugh, too, and thankfully, that's all the two of you are doing when the door opens, flooding the closet with light. You cringe, squinting against it.

"Have fun, you two?" George's face comes into view, grinning broadly.

"Wouldn't you like to know." Fred ruffles his brother's hair as the two of you step out of the closet.

You can barely look at Lee or George. Or even Fred for that matter. But as you make your way back to the group, you feel Fred sidle up next to you. He leans over, and your breath hitches at his nearness. You can still feel his lips on your skin, his fingers inside of you.

You stop writhing around on the ground, but only because you feel hands on your wrists, carefully undoing the knot. The second your hands are free, you sit up with a gasp of relief, pulling the blindfold from your head, only to find yourself face-to-face with Player 218.

You, yourself, had been assigned 217, but you didn't realize what exactly it was that you were getting yourself into - not until the first person was shot, and you saw the blood pooling from his head.

It sent you into a frozen panic, but that’s when handsome Player 218 appeared at your shoulder and told you to follow him, that you were short enough to hide behind him, so that way, your movements wouldn’t be detected.

And he was right. The two of you crossed the finish line together, with more than enough time to spare.

And now, he’s kneeling next to you, wearing dress pants and an unbuttoned white dress shirt, untying the rope that holds your ankles together.

“Thank you,” you breathe, only for him to meet your eyes and simply nod in response. You look down at yourself, your entire body heating up when you realize that you’re only in your bra and panties, and 218’s eyes follow your gaze, raking up and down your body, as if he’s taking in every inch of you as quickly as possible.

And just as quickly, he tears his eyes away from your body, reaching over to toss you a bag that must hold your clothes, and you murmur another thank you as you open it. It’s only then, when 218 stands up, that you notice someone else on the ground behind him, pulling a shirt over his head. You recognize him as one of the ones who almost didn’t make it; but he impressed you greatly by holding up another player and saving his life.

You hurriedly get dressed, partly because you’re starting to freeze without your clothes and partly because you feel awkward being half-naked on a public street with two men that you don’t know, and while you don’t look up, you can feel 218’s eyes on you.

He’s older than you, and quiet, but there’s something about that, along with the intelligent, analytic look in his eyes behind those glasses, that makes you want to get to know him - in more than one way.

You pull your hoodie over your head as you hear 199 asking 218 to use his phone. You stick your hand in the back pocket of your jeans - where you last had your phone - and sure enough, it’s there, but it’s dead.

The three of you end up at a small store, where 218 buys a charger for his phone, along with food, which you devour. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were. 218 stays nearly completely silent throughout the whole thing, and it’s driving you nuts. So, the moment that 199 steps away to make a phone call, you decide to finally speak up. You have a million questions, but you start with the one you’re most curious about.

“So,” you say, and 218’s head immediately swivels in your direction, as if he’s surprised that you’re speaking to him. His eyes flit over your body, but you can’t quite tell if it’s because he’s attracted to you, or if he’s simply sizing you up. “What’s your name?”

He hesitates briefly, continuing to stare at you. You hold his gaze steadily, trying to ignore how it makes you feel.

“Sang-woo,” he finally replies, “Cho Sang-woo. And you?”

Sang-woo . You take this as a small success, and let yourself smile at him. His gaze drops to the curve of your lips, and you think that you catch something change slightly in his expression, though you could just be imagining it.

“Y/N,” you reply, and he nods, as if that sounds right to him. With 199 still on the phone, you follow him as he steps out of the store, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. You watch as he lights one, putting it in his mouth, and offers one to you. You shake your head, but watch as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth, the smoke clouding the cool, night air.

“Y/N,” he repeats, and you like the way he says it, “Where do you live, Y/N?”

You tell him, and he nods again.

“Not far from here, then. And not far from me. I’ll walk you home.”

Your ears start to burn.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, but he just shakes his head, taking another drag from his cigarette.

“I’m going to,” he replies, with such finality that it feels as if your entire body is on fire.

199 steps out of the store, handing Sang-woo back his phone. After a brief exchange of Sang-woo giving 199 money for the bus and 199 thanking him about a thousand times, you feel Sang-woo’s large hand settle on your lower back as he guides you away, towards the shoebox you call home.

You feel as if you have so much to say, yet nothing at all. So you simply watch Sang-woo out of the corner of your eye as you walk side-by-side, far enough apart as to where you aren’t touching, but that if you flexed your hand, your fingers would brush against his. And you’re tempted, simply because you want to know how it feels to touch him and be touched by him. You can still practically feel the spot on your lower back where his hand rested only a few minutes ago.

You don’t know if it’s the shock from what you just went through, the fact that you’re alone with a very attractive man, or a combination of both, but you know you need to do something about it.

While you’re reeling over what to say to him and how to say it, next thing you know, your time is up, because Sang-woo stops abruptly, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out as he tells you that this is his place.

Your heart sinks a bit as you look past him at the building, until you hear the next words come out of his mouth.

“It’s already so late — would you want to just stay here for the night?”

You open your mouth, but when you can’t figure out what to say, you shut it and nod. Sang-woo doesn’t waste any time guiding you up the stairs, and you desperately hope that you’re not about to walk into a room that contains his wife and children.

But you’re lucky, because it’s empty.

You don’t know what to say, or what to do, so you just stop in the middle of the room, turning around to face Sang-woo, who’s already looking at you.

“Thank you,” you say, “for, uh, helping me. During the game.”

He shakes his head, but steps closer to you, until the two of you are standing only a few inches apart, and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

“That was nothing,” he says, dismissively, his voice quiet, “You would have been fine on your own. I just didn’t want to see anything happen to you, just in case.”

“Why?” Your voice comes out so quiet that it’s barely audible, especially as Sang-woo reaches out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He just shrugs, and you’re not sure if it’s because he doesn’t even know the answer himself, or if it’s because he doesn’t want to talk.

Because next thing you know, your back is against the wall and his lips are against yours.

You let out a startled gasp that quickly turns into a moan as Sang-woo’s hand slides under your hoodie, his hand hot against your already burning skin, and wastes no time in gripping one of your breasts. You reach up, tangling your hands in his dark hair and tilting your head back to give him access to your neck as his mouth leave yours.

But he steps back, pulling his hand out from under your hoodie to shrug off his suit jacket and start unbuttoning his shirt. You follow his lead, pulling your hoodie over your head and tossing it to the floor as you cross over to the bed and sit on it, leaving you in your bra and jeans.

But apparently, that’s not good enough for Sang-woo, because he looks down at you from where he stands, his fingers already working at the button of his pants.

“Take the rest of your clothes off,” he practically orders, and whether it’s his tone or the desperation you feel for him, the aching between your legs, you obey. This is what you’ve been desiring, and while it’s happening much faster than you had anticipated, you’re not complaining at all.

In fact, he’s taking a little too long getting undressed himself.

Once you’re unclothed, his eyes rake across your naked body as he joins you on the bed, his pants still on, though they’re unbuttoned. You push your hips up to meet his curious hand, and let out a soft gasp as his fingers brush against your clit.

“You’re soaked for me already,” he murmurs, more to himself than you, but you writhe against his hand, craving more pressure, more friction, anything .

“Please, Sang-woo,” you beg, any nervousness or hesitation that you felt around him earlier going out the window. Now, you just want him, and you don’t care how pathetic you might appear, naked and begging for a man you don’t even know to fuck you.

“Please, what?” he asks, getting off of the bed just long enough to remove his pants and undershorts, allowing his cock to spring out. You spread your legs wider for him at the sight of it, and the corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk as he remains at the end of the bed, reaching forward to grab your ankles and pull you towards him.

“Please,” you whimper, “Please fuck me.”

Holding your legs up, Sang-woo lines himself up at your entrance, and in one swift movement, pushes himself into you until he bottoms out. You let out a gasp, half from pleasure and half from pain, but he stays in you, allowing you to get used to his size before pulling out, only to slam into you again.

“Like this, Y/N? You want me to fuck you like this?”

Gone is the quiet man that you found yourself drawn to at nearly first glance, but you love it. Your body responds to the pleasure, and you reach up to grip one of your breasts as he finds a steady rhythm, his cock pounding into you.

“Let me hear you, Y/N,” he grits out, looking up from where your bodies meet to look you in the eye, “I want to hear how much you like me fucking your tight cunt.”

You moan for him, feeling the pleasure building in your core and your legs, threatening to unravel with every word that leaves his mouth and every slam of his cock deep into you, stretching you like you’ve never been stretched before.

Before long, you reach the peak, and with a whimper of Sang-woo’s name and a choked moan, you find your orgasm, your walls pulsing around Sang-woo. With a groan, he follows your lead, releasing deep into you. When he slowly pulls out a moment later, your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock glistening from your juices and the feeling of his cum leaking out of you.

You simply lay there, your chest rising and falling quickly as you try to figure out what to do or think or say, but your mind is blank apart from thoughts of the man standing in the front of you, looking at you as if you’re the second course of his last meal ever and he can’t wait to devour you.