Gynecologist

doctor au

The Allergist (series) @and-im-okay-with-it

Anne, Harry’s four year old daughter, has allergies and thankfully, Y/N is the perfect allergist for her...and Harry.

Emergency Clinic Part 2 @harryswanderlust

where harry’s the doctor at the emergency clinic

Dentist!Harry @hsogolden

Harry’s Y/N’s dental assistant.

Tethered @atlafan

pediatrician!h and some violence

The Doctor Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 @drowninherperfume

A series in which Y/N is a doctor, and Harry just misses his wife.

Doctor Styles @itssierrastyles

Dr. Harry sparks an interest in you, a nurse at the hospital.

E.R. @alexandragramz

where Harry is an ER Doctor and a patient comes in with a broken bone

Paging Dr. Styles @fandomwritingsgalore

Reader’s friend has a hurt ankle, but Dr. Harry Styles can fix anything.

Dr. Styles Part 2 @ohsweetkiwi

Dr Harry Styles was an elite cardio thoracic surgeon and the best in the field, he was also the hottest doctor in the hospital and you were the surgical intern who happened to have a huge crush your boss.

Drs Styles @talesofstyles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry.

Y/N is stressed and sick and Harry is her nurse @jawllines

gynecologist

Doctor’s Orders Part 2 @havin-a-wee

Y/N has her first appointment with her new gynecologist, Dr. Styles.

Harry is a Gynecologist, and Y/N is his young intern @haaarry

therapist

Baby Steps @enthusiasticharry

you’re harry’s sons therapist, and he isn't the only one you end up helping.

Relief @carolinasgirl

After you have been struggling to orgasm for a while your friend recommends a sex therapist to you. When you finally work up the courage to set up an appointment, not expecting to have the best sex of your life.

Your Beating Heart @havethetimeofyourstyles

in which harry’s your soulmate and you don’t quite know that yet.

chiropractor

Realignment @mysweetestcreature

Y/n has back pains and Harry is her chiropractor.

Adjustments @harryforvogue

in which Y/N is a chiropractor and Harry has an awful back.

Adjustments Part 2 @alexandragramz

she starts to date her chiropractor, but he’s hiding something

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Untouchable - Azriel x Reader

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII ➻❥ Part IX ➻❥ Part X

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court's spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he'd eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on-with Elain, your brother's mate's middle sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that - more complicated than you ever imagined.

Wicked Games - Batboys x Reader

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥Part III

➻❥ Halloween Special

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. (Modern AU!)

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Archeron!Reader

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Lost in a Labyrinth - Azriel x Reader

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III Summary: Lonely and heartbroken after his near kiss with Elain, Azriel finds himself at the door to the most exclusive pleasure house in Hewn City, The Labyrinth, taking Rhysand’s cruel advice. What he expected to find was a pretty girl to warm a bed with him for a single night. But instead he finds something he never thought existed—his mate. A mate that is tangled up in something far more sinister than he could ever imagine.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓞𝓷𝓮-𝓢𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓼 & 𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼

fluff ☀︎ angst ☾ smut ♡

Request guidelines

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Scared to be Happier - Azriel x Reader ☾ ♡

No Going Back - Azriel x Reader (Part I) ☾

↠ Now That We Don’t Talk (Part II) ☾

Mystique - Azriel x Reader ☀︎

Arcane - Azriel x Reader ☀︎

The Crow's Poet - Azriel x Reader ☀︎

The Shadowsinger's Secret - Azriel x Reader ☾☀︎

Birds of a Feather - Azriel x Reader (Part I) ☾

↠ We Should Stick Together (Part II) ☾

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓡𝓱𝔂𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓭

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Falling Apart for You - Rhysand x Reader ☾ ☀︎

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓔𝓻𝓲𝓼

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Reader ☾ ☀︎

Last Solstice - Eris x Reader ☾ ☀︎

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓜𝓲𝓼𝓬

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Butterfly Fly Away - Batboys x Platonic!Reader ☾ ☀︎

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potter-barnes-rowaelin

10 months ago

It's Never Too Late Masterlist

Summary: You are an elementary school teacher who just moved to Texas for a fresh start when you meet a very handsome man from the Laredo Sheriff's Department coming to give your class a presentation.

After your co-workers pull some strings for you to meet again, you and Javier Peña find yourselves falling head over heels for each other.

Story takes place post Narcos Season 3 in Laredo, Texas, starting May 1997.

Paring: Javier Peña x OFC (Reader is an elementary school teacher whose nickname is Osita, no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+ chapters containing marked with * and each chapter will also have its own warnings), language, fluff, romantic comedy, reader has physical descriptions, Javi being so soft and getting all the love and affection he deserves, you two being the biggest weirdos so in love

Status: Ongoing

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list for new chapters as they come out! :)

Main Story:

Chapter 1: I D.A.R.E. You

Chapter 2: What's Cookin', Good Lookin'?

Chapter 3: I Wanna Be With You Everywhere*

Chapter 4: Add You To My List*

Chapter 5: You're The One That I Want*

Chapter 6: Dinosaurs, Dates and Diners, Oh My!*

Chapter 7: School's Out for Summer*

Chapter 8: My Favorite Cowboy*

Chapter 8.5: 007- Peña, Agent Peña*

Chapter 9: I Promise*

Chapter 10: Happy Birthday, Javi*

Pt. 1*

Pt. 2*

Chapter 11: Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago *

Chapter 12: I Love You. I Know. *

Chapter 13: There's No Place Like Home*

Chapter 14: Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas*

Chapter 15: She Shoots, She Scores*

Chapter 16: The Lone Star State*

Chapter 17: No Ifs, Ands, Or Butts*

Chapter 18: Hole in None*

Chapter 19: Good Luck, and Goodnight*

Chapter 20: I Do

Pt. 1*

Pt. 2*

Spin-Off Series:

Forever and Always*: Slices of life following the Peña family after their first child

One Shots (In chronological order of the main storyline):

Movie Night*

Dirty Laundry*

Again*

You're My Home*

Not Yet*

Happy Valentine's Day, Javier Peña*

The Mouse and the Motorcycle

You Make Life Worth It

Take Me Home

Plaid Pajama Morning

Agent Peña*

Every Inch*

Soup for Breakfast

Whatever My Wife Wants*

Oh, Baby

Peanut Butter and Pickles

Asks/Headcannons:

Javi and Osita before work

Javi's DEA Jacket

Javi's Tac Vest

Javi and Osita when they argue

Javi being distractingly cute

Javi when he's sick

Osita when she's pregnant

Osita after a bad day at work

Javi coming home after work to his kids

Extras:

NSFW Alphabet- Javi and Osita

1K Followers Celebration Asks and Answers

Never Too Late Playlist

Mood board

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potter-barnes-rowaelin

11 months ago

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Summary: You meet Sirius and Regulus at a family vacation in the Caribbean, but things don't go as planned and you end up losing contact once the trip is over. Years later your family moves to England and you get accepted at Hogwarts where you finally meet Sirius once again, along with all of his friends. One of them with a mysterious secret, that you'll uncover as you embark on your own Hogwarts adventure. Mostly canon-compliant. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Read Gilded Constellations on AO3

Read the French Translation by @nagareboshi-chiyo

Paring: Sirius Black x Reader / Remus Lupin x reader / Wolfstar x reader

Chapter average: 5k - 6.5 k

Content: Smut in later chapters, Poly!Marauders, throuple, graphic descriptions of violence, MAJOR and minor character death (this is The Marauders Era guys, you know), jealousy, angst, pining, love triangle, LGBTQ+ themes, The Wizarding war 1.0, implied child abuse, possible proofreading errors, mental health struggles, hurt no comfort, hurt with comfort, period typical attitude, first war with Voldemort, canonical character's death, fluff, Requited Love, F/M/M, mostly canon-compliant.

Status: Ongoing (Weekly updates)

PLAYLIST

01 | Summer Breeze

02 | Escape

03 | Bitter Sweet Symphony

04 | Rainy Days and Mondays

05 | Good times

06 | Crazy Little Thing Called Love

07 | Peaceful Easy Feeling

08 I Fooled Around and Fell in Love

09 | The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke

10 | Black Dog

11 | Do Ya

12 | You really got me

13 | Rebel, Rebel

14 | Maybe I’m Amazed

15 | No One Like You

Interlude (Q&A Event)

16 | Boogie Wonderland

17 | Tonight’s What It Means To Be Young

18 | Friends will be Friends

19 | Silver Bird

20 | Bad Moon Rising

21 | Fox on the Run

22 | Long Long Way From Home

23 | Hungry Eyes

24 | Peace of Mind

25 | I’ll get Even With You

26 | Hooked on a Feeling

27 | Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

28 | If You Want BIood, (You’ve Got It)

29 | With a Little Help From My Friends

30 | Bridge Over Troubled Water

31 | Strange Magic

32 | Come a Little Bit Closer

33 | More Than a Feeling

34 | You Belong to Me

35 | Chill of Desire

36 | Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

37 | Gimme, Gimme, Gimme

38 | Let the Good Times Roll

39 | Running With the Pack

40 | Hot Stuff

41 | Urban Adventure

42 | Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

43 | Sympathy for the Devil

44 | No One But You

45 | Hold The Line

46 | Comfortably Numb

47 | Let Me Take You Home Tonight

48 |

49 |

50 |

51 |

52 |

BONUS TRACKS:

Your Theories, The Note, The Costumes, Sirius and the Chimney, Sirius and Vix after the bad moon, Evans and Vixen, Remus and Vixen at the infirmary, Remus holding Sirius at DADA, Remus and Sirius’ height difference, the FOXSTAR picture, Art by @nineloseteeth, We're going French,

Leave a comment telling me if you want to join the tag list

A/N: Most Poly!Marauders fics are oneshots, where the relationship between characters is already established, and they're all happy and pleased with it. No issues, no drama, but I WANTED the drama. Couldn't find it, so I set myself up to write the story behind the stablished relationship. I wanted to know how they started dating each other, the jealousy, the will they won't they, because getting into a poly relationship can't be an easy task, and I wanted to explore that story. If you're interested: Welcome to Gilded Constellations!

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potter-barnes-rowaelin

1 year ago

Rulebreaker | CS55

pairing: fem brat!reader x brat tamer!carlos sainz jr

genre: smut, 18+ MINORS DNI, language, dom!carlos x brat!reader, spanking (mostly with hands, briefly with a belt), sir kink, degradation, a wee bit of praise, names used for reader (princesa, cariño, slut, good girl), fingering, unprotected p in v (use protection irl!!!), mention of safeword but no use of it, aftercare

requested: sort of based on an ask I got for another driver that I couldn't make it work for

word count: 5.3k

author's note: i hope y'all like this one! i've been working on this for ages now and it got really really long so as always feedback of any kind is much appreciated!

You knew you weren't supposed to.

You knew you really weren't supposed to.

But it had been weeks without seeing Carlos and at this point you felt like you were losing your mind, so you muster the strength to drag yourself upstairs to your bedroom.

Really it was Carlos' bedroom, since you were housesitting for him while he was gone. You weren't sure if that was making it better or worse - constantly being surrounded by his things, sleeping in his sheets, wearing his shirts because they smelled like him.

At least for right now, those last two were about to be very helpful, as you dropped yourself onto the still messy sheets you'd been sleeping in, inhaling the scent of him as you grabbed your vibe from your bedside table where you'd stashed it. You knew you weren't supposed to touch yourself, so you really didn't even know why you'd brought it in the first place, but you just needed some kind of relief - even without Carlos here to give it to you.

The fluffy pillows and sheets seemed to envelop you as you sank further in them, sighing with contentment as you started to trail your hands along your inner thighs, briefly teasing yourself through your panties before quickly discarding them, leaving you clothed only in an old t-shirt of Carlos'. His name left your lips in a breath as the vibrator made contact with your clit, tracing light circles around the bud before slowly applying more and more pressure.

You felt yourself getting wetter as you went, the shirt so oversized that it rested below your butt, meaning that when a drop of your arousal trailed down from your cunt, it landed on Carlos' shirt. It was so filthy that a moan tore out of you, harsh and unexpected, at the thought of your arousal mixing with the smell of him on the shirt, digging your face deeper into the pillow next to your head to inhale him as much as you could. Your back had started to bow off the bed, legs twitching around your hand as you fought to keep them open. Forcing your other hand to leave its spot latched onto the sheets at your side, you slowly sank a finger into yourself, just barely brushing that spot as you -

Heard your ringtone go off.

Huffing in frustration, you instinctively went to turn your phone off when you stopped to actually read the name on the screen. You dropped everything else you'd been doing, picking up the phone before it finished the third ring.

"Carlos!"

His chuckle came through the speaker first, deeper than usual, and a little bit scratchy, telling you that wherever he was (you'd lost track at this point), he'd just woken up. "Hi, cariño, how're you doing?"

"I'm fine, I miss you though," you inhaled deeper than you normally would've, the effort to catch your breath reminding you of what you'd just been doing, and just how much you were not supposed to be doing it. "A lot," you added belatedly, swallowing hard to try not to show your actions in your voice.

"I know, I miss you too. Are you taking care of yourself while I'm gone? Your voice sounds a little hoarse." He was only being sweet, but your mouth went dry at the question, mind racing to try and come up with a convincing enough excuse that- "Cariño? Are you still there?"

Shit. "Oh, um - yes! Sorry, I think the call cut out or something," you mumbled, hoping if you said it quickly enough he wouldn't think too hard about what you'd said. "But yeah, I think I might have a little cold. Nothing too bad, but my throat's been a little," you cleared your throat with a small (and hopefully convincing) cough, "sore for most of the day."

"Oh, well I'm sorry to hear that, princesa," Carlos cooed sympathetically, but there was a slight edge to his voice that you found a little odd, almost mocking. "You know how I hate it when you lie to me." Confused at how he'd found you out, you freeze, your lack of a response prompting him to explain, "I can hear your vibrator buzzing through the phone. Not that I needed that to tell what you've been doing, but that makes it pretty obvious, no?"

Your eyes went wide, darting to the vibe where it sat, abandoned and still buzzing away, where you'd thrown it down on the sheets. Shutting it off quickly, you shoved it away under the sheets, like that would make any sort of difference when he'd already heard it and knew what it was.

"Carlos, I-"

"Honestly, cariño, did you really think I wouldn't notice?" His voice had gone hard, still gruff and deep from having slept, and that ache in your core that you'd temporarily forgotten about returned tenfold at the sound of it. "Did you forget how much time I've spent memorizing all the little noises you make? The way your breathing changes when you're close? The way you either talk too slow or too fast because you can't think straight? The scratch in your voice when you've had your mouth hanging open while you moan?"

You could only clench your thighs in response, inhaling shakily at his filthy words. The idea of him being so occupied with thoughts of you and the ways you sounded when he touched you these past few weeks made you flush with heat, feeling it spread down your neck and chest, under the fabric of his shirt.

"You only had to wait a few more days, and you couldn't even manage that, could you? So disobedient, princesa," his breathing had deepened, and you realized with a start that your hand had returned to the apex of your thighs, trailing along the hem of the shirt laying atop your bare legs where they were tucked under you.

"I - I'm sorry," you finally breathed out. "I couldn't help it. You've just been gone for so long, and your rules are so unfair." Your voice took on a whine as you spoke, flopping down onto your back dramatically as you sighed. You'd been caught, so there was no real point in trying to behave anymore.

Carlos chuckled again, this time much darker than the last, "I know you think they're unfair, princesa. I can tell from how much you complain about them, and from how often you break them," voice tightening, like he was restraining himself. The sound of it sent your hand beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, creeping back towards your still exposed, still weeping cunt.

"Then maybe those rules should change," your fingers, still damp with your arousal, grazed your clit. "Since they don't seem to be working too well," the words rushed out of just a little too fast as you began to circle the bud again.

"Watch it, cariño. There's a reason you're not in charge," he warned, the exercise of authority making you whimper. "Now, be a good girl and get those fingers out of your tight little pussy."

You took a breath.

"Or what?"

Carlos' end of the call fell silent for a moment longer than you expected.

"You are playing with fire here, princesa."

The phone line clicked, and the call ended.

You tossed your phone to the end of the bed, frustrated in every way imaginable. If he was going to be such an asshole, the least he could do was let you get off to the sound of his voice while he was gone. Now, you were even more desperate than before, and in a few days' time when he returned, you knew he'd punish you.

A devilish thought occurred to you. If you were already in trouble, you might as well enjoy it then, right? Get as much out of the time before he came home as you possibly could.

You fell asleep right there later that night, satisfied (for now) and surrounded by the smell of Carlos and you mingling on his sheets. When the sun woke you, you'd slept so hard that for a brief moment the emptiness of the bed surprised you, before remembering that you still had four more days to go. And just like that, the frustration returned.

Completely undaunted by the disobedience now, you reached right down between your thighs, touching yourself to the thoughts of Carlos that had swum through your mind last night. You were so desperate.

So absorbed by the feeling of it.

So blind to anything but chasing that pleasure.

You didn't even hear the front door unlock.

Or the drop of a bag inside the doorway.

The sound of shoes walking through the living room.

Padding up the stairs.

Stopping in the threshold of the room.

Of his room.

"Dios, you are such a fucking brat."

The sound ripped you away from your fantasies, gasping as you sat straight up and nearly screaming out of shock. Carlos stood at the foot of your bed - his bed - watching you, dark eyes contrasting with the stark white shirt he wore, the first few buttons undone, and the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His hair was mussed (though probably not as badly as yours), like he'd barely slept on the plane, and his hands, hidden by the pockets of his dress pants, were undoubtedly clenched, judging by the bulging veins in his forearms. He looked furious.

He was furious. Had been ever since that phone call with you, after hearing your voice, breathy and full of attitude. He kept being furious during the pointless meetings he had to sit through for hours about god knows what, during the entire plane ride where his head swam with thoughts of you and what he would do to you when he got his hands on you, and during his drive back to his house where his knuckles went white from his grip on the wheel. And now, looking at you, sprawled in his bed, clad only in one of his shirts, moaning his name, he couldn't hold back the intense, primal feelings of possession that flooded him. With your face hot and breaths coming fast, eyes hazy with sleep and lust, and legs spread wide in front of him, leaving your pussy on display, glistening like you were welcoming him home, he knew he would've ruined you anyways, even without your constant disobedience. You couldn't follow his rules because you needed him that badly. Needed to feel his presence even when he wasn't there. He certainly had no issue with reminding you just how much he owned you.

"Carlos... you're... home early," you mumbled, out of breath from the shock of his arrival and the buildup of pleasure it ruined.

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" He prowled closer to the end of the bed, and you subconsciously drew yourself closer to the headboard. You swallowed hard, clamping your jaw shut and refusing to give him any sort of answer. That would only make it worse for you. But you'd long since given up on staying out of trouble with Carlos.

That certainly wasn't new information to Carlos, either, but it still grated against him when you remained silent, the stubborn set of your brows as you tried your damnedest to stare him down only stoking his need to put you in your place. Glancing down to your still spread legs, Carlos allowed his eyes to trail hungrily over you once more, before reaching forward and grasping your ankle, tugging harshly. The force of it surprised a yelp out of you, bringing a grin to Carlos' face as he situated you at the end of the bed, legs spread to make room for him between them as he stood over you.

"Oh, princesa... you do know you're in trouble, no?" Fingertips grazed over your cheek, trailing down the column of your neck. When you remained silent, the light touch of fingertips became his full palm, hand wrapping around your throat, slowly applying the tiniest bit of pressure. "It's cute, this little act of defiance you put on. Makes me want to fuck the fight right out of you." The grip tightens briefly, before disappearing altogether.

Then your face presses into the bedsheets, Carlos flipping you onto your front. He does it so easily, manhandling you with such minimal effort that it sends a thrum of heat through you. Strong, large hands roughly grope your ass cheeks, spreading them apart so he can see your cunt clearly.

"Such a needy little slut," he tsks, laughing wryly as your pussy clenches from the cold of the air and the pure filth of his words. And then, the heat of his hands and body are gone. You whine, knowing that with the mood he was in, he would make you wait and wait and wait before he followed through on his promise and actually fucked the defiance out of you (or at least tried to).

Turning your head to the side, you watch as Carlos settles himself on the side of the bed, cock already visibly hard through his trousers. "Get up," he tells, not asks, you, voice stern. The doting, adoring Carlos that you loved had taken a backseat to this almost predatory side of him, and you had to admit you loved it just as much. Opting to listen (for once) you stand up from the bed. "Good girl," he hums, pleased, "now strip for me." It's an easy enough task, shedding his shirt and letting it drop carelessly to the floor. His eyes don't leave your body for a moment, raking over your naked figure as if he'd never seen you before. Wordlessly, he patted his thigh, beckoning you to him, and you went willingly. You knew what he was telling you to do, but you still optimistically went to straddle him, earning you a swift smack to the thigh you had raised up onto the bed. "You know exactly what you're supposed to do right now, cariño. Don't make me tell you."

The contact had ratcheted up your awareness, feeling his every breath as you laid yourself across Carlos' lap, ass in the air and hands already gripping onto the bedsheets in front of you, knowing what was coming. "There, was that really so hard? Always wanting to cause trouble," he mused, hands caressing your ass again. "Always so big and brave in the beginning," his left hand traveled up your spine, tracing its path to the base of your neck. "But by the time I'm done with you, when I have you begging and shaking and crying for me, you always remember who's in charge."

The hand at the base of your neck grasped the hair there, yanking your head up and back so he could whisper into your ear. "You remember your safeword, mi amor?" he asked, checking in on you before actually starting anything.

"Yes, sir" you managed, speaking for the first time since you'd first seen him at the foot of the bed. He nodded, placing a kiss to your temple before shoving your head back down into the sheets.

Returning his left hand to the small of your back, while his right groped your ass, Carlos' voice resumed its darker timbre. "I spent a lot of time thinking about what kind of punishment you deserve for your little stunt over the phone." The thought of Carlos stewing in anger and lust for hours and hours making you shiver. "But that was before I came home to find you, knuckles deep in this needy little hole," he lets his fingers brush just barely against your entrance before retreating. "Same rules as usual, princesa: you count out loud for me, and if you miss one, we start over. You tell me when you're close, and if you come without my permission, we start over. Understood?"

Your nod earned you a sharp pinch on your cheek from where his hand had been tracing circles. "Yes, sir," you breathed out quickly, knowing by now what he was looking for.

"Good." With one final, gentle swipe of his hand, you feel his right hand leave your body, tensing in its absence. You feel its impact land, firmly, but not too harshly - yet.

"One," you breathe out, head tilted to the side to ensure he hears you clearly. He lands another spank. "Two." Harsher this time. "Three." Despite bracing yourself, you still flinch with every smack, body jolting as the sound echoes in the otherwise silent room. "Four." Your voice has already grown weaker, breathier. Heat rises where the blood has rushed to your stinging skin, already sensitive. "Five," he lands the next slap as you're inhaling to brace yourself, speeding up suddenly. "S-six, ah." Without meaning to, you squirm in his lap, earning you another quick slap that shocks a gasp out of you.

"Stop moving, princesa, or I will tie you down and make you take everything I give you," he grits out. "Got it?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"And what number was that?"

For a brief moment, your mind scrambles, distracted and overwhelmed. "S-seven?" It comes out as more of a question than an answer, and you cringe at the uncertainty of your own voice.

"You sure?" his hand stills on your ass, making your panic grow. But you can hear the lilt of his voice, can tell that he's trying to throw you off.

"Yes, sir," you answer, more confident this time.

"Good girl," he praises, but it's short lived, as another smack lands.

"Eight." The spanks are harder than they initially were, building in intensity, your skin aflame from his rough touch. "Nine." You're doing your best not to wriggle, hands clenched in the sheets like you're fighting yourself to stay put, but that doesn't stop the shakes wracking through your body. "Ten." Relief floods your body, knowing that, on a normal day, this is where Carlos stops. At this point he's gotten you drenched, arousal slicking your thighs, and part of you wonders if you've left a damp spot on his trousers. That little relief goes out the window when you feel his hand against you again, landing two harsh spanks in quick succession. "Eleven," you heave, "twelve."

The sound of Carlos' belt clinking as he removes it makes you freeze. "Carlos?" you question, voice small and unsure.

"I told you, cariño, the punishment I had planned for you at first was before I found you touching yourself, again." His left hand wraps around the front of your throat, bringing your torso up so he can speak directly into your ear once again. "The punishment needs to fit the crime, and you've been very, very bad," he coos, grazing your ass ever so slightly with the belt in his right hand. You shiver. "I'm gonna give you two with this, and then we're done with the spanking, alright, cariño?"

After a moment, you nod, and the slight tick of a pressure increase on your throat reminds you to speak your answer. "O-okay."

The leather of his belt drags against your inflamed flesh, before he pulls his hand back. He allows your head to return to the bed, resting it back against the sheets, and you hear him wrapping the belt around his right hand.

When the belt cracks against your ass, you cry out, body lurching forward, nearly leaping out of Carlos' lap before he grabs you by the hip, holding you in place. "Thirteen," you whimper out, voice breaking. Carlos' free hand rubs soothing circles against your hip, calming you down from the jolt of the impact. "Fuck, fourteen." Your breathing has gone ragged, chest heaving in an uneven, staccato pattern. You feel Carlos throwing your body around again, tossing you onto your back on the bed as you try to catch your breath.

He stands over you again, a predatory glint in his eyes, not giving you time to recover before sliding a finger straight inside of you. It punches the air out of you, your moan silent without air in your lungs to put any sound into it. Carlos chooses a rapid pace, aided by how wet you've become, and the squelch of him pressing a second digit into you is the most obscene sound you've ever heard.

"God, you look so fucking good like this, princesa. Shaking around my fingers," he curls them, hard, to make his point, grinning at the way your body reacts to the touch. "Such a desperate little slut, aren't you? My desperate little slut."

The sting of his palm landing on your inner thigh forces your eyes open. "Yes, sir - oh, fuck- only for you," you squeak out. You realize with a start that there are tears forming in your eyes, most likely from your punishment, though the way your building pleasure mixes with the pain only intensifies the feeling. The tension in your belly goes taught as Carlos' thumb begins drawing circles on your clit, arching into his touch. Everything you're feeling is so overwhelming, you almost forget yourself. "C-close, sir, I'm - ah - close."

"Yeah? You wanna come, cariño?" His eyes glint at the sound of your pleas, incoherent as they may be. "Too bad," he growls, pulling his fingers out of you as you whine at the loss of contact, earning you another light smack to your inner thigh. "Don't be greedy, amor."

"I - I'm sorry, sir," you sob out, chest heaving for breath.

Rough hands grip you by the waist and harshly yank you to the edge of the bed, flipping you onto your stomach and letting your legs hang off the bed, toes just barely skimming the ground. Carlos traces patterns on the red, raw skin of your ass, and you flinch away from the feeling without meaning to. In response, Carlos digs his hand into the hair at the base of your neck, tugging you up to speak directly into your ear.

"I'm going to fuck you now, cariño, and you're going to take everything I give you, or you don't get to come, got it?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"You going to take it like a good girl, princesa?"

"Yes, sir, yes, whatever you want, I'll be good," you fought to keep the needy edge out of your voice, not wanting to sound too demanding of him.

"Good girl," Carlos left a series of searing kisses down your neck, trailing onto your shoulder and down your back as he let you fall back down onto the bed. He hadn't even fucked you yet and you had already gone completely limp, unable to hold up your own body weight.

A large, warm hand splays across your lower back as his lips reach it, touch gentle but firm as he holds you to the bed, standing to his full height again as he yanks his trousers and boxers down just enough to pull himself out.

"Look so beautiful like this, princesa, such a pretty little slut for me," Carlos rasps out, voice low and gravelly, and you can tell just from the sound of it that he's stroking himself. Trying to make you squirm, testing to see if you'll whine at the lack of attention, or do that thing where you wiggle your ass at him to try to get him inside you. But at least for the time being, you're done misbehaving. You need him too badly to risk it being taken away again.

"Just for you, sir. Only you," you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear so he doesn't think you're demanding anything, throwing a glance over your shoulder that you hope strikes the right balance between obedience and seduction.

Based on the way his eyes darken and the hand spread on your back presses done just the tiniest bit more firmly, you're pretty sure you succeeded.

You know you did when he starts to slide into you, eyes staying on yours as both of his hands land on your waist. The feeling of him pushing into you, on top of the thought of just how much of you his hands manage to cover, has your head dropping back down onto the bed with a moan.

Carlos' mouth tilts up in a grin at how quickly you fold, how immediately you become pliant once his dick is in you. Hell, he hasn't even bottomed out yet, and you're already squirming and whining and clawing at the sheets. "Taking me so well, princesa," he coos, just as he snaps his hips flush with yours, filling you up the last few inches suddenly. The combination of him completely filling you, and the praise makes your head spin, and he knows it. It's why he knows to hold back the praise, to mix it in with the degradation, because that makes it all the more potent when he finally gives it. When you finally earn it. Plus, you get off on disobeying him too much for him to not make you work for it - otherwise, you'd have turned into a little monster by now. The thought makes him grin further to himself, thinking that at least you're his little monster.

He knows your body too well. Carlos can tell from the way you're squirming that you're beyond desperate for him to move, but that you're trying even more desperately to be good for him, to hold still, to take what he gives you and not demand anything more. Kisses trail down your back and shoulders, and even though you can feel the smile on his lips, you don't have the mental strength to process what it means right now. Carlos likes it when you have to try like this, likes that he can do this to you, can make you this needy for him, and that despite all of that, your need to please him, to be good for him, overrides your own desire for pleasure. For all of your talk and pretended disobedience, the moment he's in you, you submit to him completely. When he thinks about it too hard, it makes his cock throb inside you.

The sound of your whimpers draws Carlos back out of his thoughts, the noises escaping despite your best efforts. "Being a good little slut now that you're full of my cock, huh? Fuck, princesa, I love those pathetic little noises you make." He bends over you again to speak directly into your ear, and you whine at the way it makes him shift inside you. "I want you to let me hear every single one, cariño. Don't hold back on me, no?"

"I w-won't, sir. I won't, promise," you babble. At this point, you were willing to say damn near anything as long as it meant he would start moving.

"Good girl," he purrs, staying bent over you as he slowly pulls out until just the head of his cock remains inside you. Again, he pauses there for a moment, relishing the way you whimpered as he moved. Then, after he's had his fill of making you squirm in need, he thrusts back in, hard. It knocks the breath out of you, forcing a sharp cry from your mouth at the sudden and harsh way he fills you back up. He continues the pace like that, pulling out slow and thrusting back in with as much force as he can, hips slapping your already raw and sensitive ass when they meet yours.

You keep your promise to Carlos, letting every little sound he elicits from you out unabashedly, your small ah-ah's turning almost into shouts each time his hips are flush with yours. His hot breath on your neck and his broad, firm chest pressed to your back make it impossible to think about anything other than Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. The way his body cages yours in while he manhandles you, pulling your hips to where he wants them, has your moans ripping out of your chest with even more force. As Carlos starts to snap his hips faster, not pulling out all the way in favor of increasing his pace, each thrust punches noises out of you, becoming increasingly embarrassing the more worked up he gets you.

"Fuuuck, that's it, cariño, let me hear you, let me hear how good I make you feel," he encourages, one hand snaking into the hair at the base of your skull to force your face out from its hiding place in the bedsheets. "Wanna hear how much you like it when I fuck you like this. You like this, princesa? You like taking my cock like a good little slut?"

You can only whine desperately, nodding as best you can with Carlos' grip on your hair tightening. "Yeah? Say it, then, princesa. Tell me how much you love taking my cock."

It takes you a moment to process his words, mind feeling hazy from the lust and from returning to the brink of your orgasm, and the delay has Carlos fucking into you just the slightest bit harsher. "Fuck! I - I like it! I love t-taking your cock, sir, love b-being your s-slut, please," you gasp out the last word, the air forced from your lungs by the combination of the force of his thrusts and his other hand landing on your clit.

"Please what? Use your words, princesa." At first, the only response he gets is your high-pitched squeal as his fingers press harsh circles into your clit. "Come on, cariño, you can do it, use your words and tell me what my little slut wants."

"P-please, sir, please let me come, please sir, please," you babble, words becoming incoherent shortly after, devolving into whimpers and keens that resemble words like please and sir over and over again.

"Aw, look at you, cariño, using your words and asking so sweetly," he coos, causing your face to flush with heat even further at the mixture of praising and teasing words. "Alright, princesa, you can come. Come all over my cock for me, yeah? Come all over me so I can fill you up, wanna feel you clenching around me when I come in you," Carlos begins to ramble. Getting closer and closer, he tips over the edge as you come around him, walls squeezing tight around his pulsating cock as it throbs in you, marking you from the inside out.

Carlos doesn't pull out right away, basking in the feel of you wrapped around him, head resting between your shoulder blades as he gropes your ass. Occasionally, he squeezes particularly hard, and you whimper from the sensitivity, drawing a deep chuckle out of him that reverberates against the bare skin of your back. Carlos begins leaving kisses down the line of your spine, slowly drawing out of you.

Your body sags even further into the bed, completely spent, and you jolt away from him when you feel two large fingers at your entrance. With his other hand, Carlos grips your hip, holding you in place, as he watches his cum drip out of you, slowly pushing it back in with his fingers. "Can't let this go to waste, cariño. Got to make sure you remember who's in charge, no?"

You nod weakly, no energy or desire left to fight him (for now). Once Carlos is satisfied with his reminder to you, he rises, gently pulling you off of the bed and into his arms. He scoops you up easily, cradling you as he walks to the bathroom and gets the water running, kissing your head softly and murmuring praise as he sits on the edge of the tub, holding you to him tightly. Your body curls into the warmth of him, allowing yourself to be cared for since you're not even sure you could stand on your own right now. He says something about not falling sleep just yet, and then he's lifting you into the bath, smiling fondly at the pout you throw his way when he stops holding you. "Don't worry, cariño, I'm not going anywhere," Carlos hums, slipping in behind you and pulling you to his chest. "I'm staying right here."

1K notes View Post

potter-barnes-rowaelin

1 year ago

Just A Bite - Carlos Sainz Jr

Summary: Carlos, the foodie who knows no limit to what he'll try with food, and his girlfriend, who only knows limits to what she'll try with food, strike a deal that she has to try at least one bite of new things when he can promise her that they taste good.

Picky eater!reader (especially with tomatoes - shout out to anyone who hates tomatoes)

No part 2 requests please

Carlos comes from a family of foodies and he always imagined he'd go on to have a family of his own who are foodies. Then he fell hard for y/n who almost looks at any new food with genuine fear.

One key thing is she does have a sweet tooth so it's not always so hard to convince her to eat something sweet though if she's not certain about it then it's written all over her face. It is in those moments where she's completely untrusting of whatever food he's trying to get her to try that are fairly entertaining.

Today he decided to go easy on her since a few days ago his family had a meal and the poor woman was trying a lot of things while trying to dodge tomatoes, which in a Spanish family is near impossible. Her one line that is not to be crossed for the one bite rule is that she doesn't have to try anything with tomato unless she decides otherwise (which is never).

To her credit, she did end up liking a few things after he held her to the one bite rule.

"Pancakes?" Carlos offers making y/n perk up brightly.

If there's one thing that Carlos can make to get a smile out of y/n it's pancakes and he prides himself so much on that.

"Please?" Y/n nods looking fairly excited since it's not that often that Carlos makes the pancakes and she always likes to sit and watch him make them.

Y/n smiles climbing on the island counter and recording some moments, mainly for her own memories but she always likes to share her boyfriend's culinary skills since Carlos is a pretty good cook. The same can't be said for a lot of the drivers but he certainly does have that life skill.

"What toppings?" Carlos asks making her smile. "Strawberries?"

"I'll do them." Y/n states jumping down and getting the strawberries from the fridge.

She washes them before standing next to Carlos and beginning to chop them up.

Eventually the pancakes are cooked and piled up with toppings of strawberries, syrup and y/n talks Carlos into letting her add some whipped cream.

"Perfect bite, strawberry, syrup, cream and pancake." Carlos grins as he raises some pancake to her mouth for her. "Good?"

"The best." Y/n confirms before she giggles and leans over kissing him lightly.

Going out to eat at competitions is the norm and it means Carlos gets to challenge y/n with a lot of "just one bite"s which he loves even if she looks like she'd happily hit him with a plate.

"You're so pretty." Carlos laughs as y/n pulls a grimace in expression tasting a dip for the tortilla chips and proving that she is not a fan.

"Shut up." Y/n giggles since she doesn't actually think it's that serious.

"Not good?" Carlos asks making her shake her head before he nods. "I'll have it. You can have the humous."

"Thank you." Y/n grins leaning over and kissing him.

"It's only the starter. I'll get you to try more." Carlos smiles making her look at him for a moment.

Y/n hums since his mission is absolutely continuing and it's only just the beginning for it.

"You know I think forcing you to take a bite of a food that you know you're going to hate is my favourite part of our relationship." Carlos comments making her raise her eyebrows in question, a light smirk on her lips as she tilts her head a little. "One of my favourite parts-top 3."

"Oh top 3? What's the other 2?" Y/n asks earning a smile from Spaniard.

"No appropriate for restaurant conversation, y/n. You need to learn to behave." Carlos scolds playfully while she shrugs and smiles innocently at him.

Y/n ends up liking 4 out of 5 dishes, tomatoes striking again which Carlos couldn't bribe her into trying. So he ate most of it and then wasn't handed a few pieces of gum after the meal because she won't even kiss him if there's a chance of tomato flavour exchange.

Carlos does end up also getting a to-go box with a few of the desserts for them to snack on later, though we says it's for both of them, he really just gets them for y/n. But she wouldn't allow get any dessert if he didn't pretend that it was for both of them.

Catering for the team is another hurdle that always has to be tackled but generally the team is pretty accommodating and they do always check if y/n is going to be there to make sure they make y/n something special or catch her and ask if she has any requests.

In fact Carlos thinks they care more about what she wants to eat than either himself or Charles.

"Per te, bellissima." The catering chef states placing a place of carbonara down in front of the young woman.

"Grazie." Y/n smiles before leaning in when the woman touches her chin to kiss her cheek.

"Mangiare. Mangiare."

"How do you manage to charm more people with no effort than anyone else?" Carlos jokes while y/n grins brightly at him picking up her fork and spoon and beginning to eat as he shuffles closers while she takes a bite. "Can I have some?"

"You told me no more fatty food for the weekend." Y/n teases before she twirls her fork then holding some pasta to his mouth for him.

Safe to say food is their bonding point, whether it's because loving it, hating it or sharing it. Carlos is a foodie and y/n is picky but they find the perfect balance in that.

"I need to start asking them to make bigger portions so I can steal more than just a bite."

"You can have more." Y/n smiles offering another bite but he shakes his head since he doesn't actually want to steal that much of her food.

"No. No. You eat. I've got my meal plan for the day." Carlos states shaking his head lightly, instead just wanting to sit with her while she eats and he has the free time. He isn't eating his meal till later, but he spotted her and decided to sit down with her. "Gracias, mi amor."

"Te amo." Y/n mumbles with a smile.

"Yo también te amo." Carlos smiles leaning over and kissing her cheek.

1K notes View Post

potter-barnes-rowaelin

1 year ago

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. winter, the first time. the start of the year, the start of it all. minors dni, nsfw warnings under the cut. 7k words part two

18+ because: brat taming, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, spit, unprotected sex, overstimulation, booty call!, masturbation (f receiving), voyeurism, mad sass, fucking porn without plot basically.

There’s nothing special about the club scene in Monte Carlo. If you’ve been to a club in any major city, anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a club in Monaco. It’s all neon lights and kaleidoscope colors and poorly lit dance floors and mid-tier DJs who think they’re the next coming of Jesus.

Tonight is no exception. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of floral perfume and alcohol, the entire room shaking with the pulsating beat of the bass, reverberating off every single corner and shaking the liquor in your glass. Bodies move—yours included—half in sync with the music, half in step with their drunken stupor. Perched in the safety of Charles’s section, away from the swaying forms of laughter and shouting and screaming, your entire body thumps alone to the beat from the DJ booth a couple meters away.

Across the section, Charles sits stoic on a couch, taking up a seat and a half and frozen like some magnetic force. His eyes are stuck on you in a way that pulls goosebumps from your skin, makes you irrational angry at him. You’re feeling particularly bratty today, egged on by the tequila and his visible annoyance.

You’re on your way to interject into his pity party when your sister catches your arm, pulls you by your bicep to dance with her. Her palms are sweaty and cold and you hope that it’s the condensation from her cold glass that’s got her all clammy. The two of you have always been quite a sight after a few drinks. You get your tolerance from your mother, are both disastrous lightweights, feel the need to give any and everyone around you a show.

The two of you twirl to the music with little effort, laughing like you’re seven and the hazard littered floor under your feet is the old brown carpet from the family room you grew up hosting dance parties in. It’s all hair and giggles and hands in the air like you just don’t care. Everytime your glance catches his, he’s staring back, nursing his drink and half participating in a conversation with your brother-in-law and Jo.

“What’s his fucking problem?” you ask, leaning over to shout into your sister’s ear.

“He can’t dance,” she slurs. You snort. He can dance.

You whistle, loud and commanding and cat-call-ish even though he’s already watching you. “Charles! Get out here and dance, you fucking buzzkill!”

Your sister joins in on the fun, playfully swaying her hips to the music, tossing out an imaginary fishing line to her husband and reeling him over, calling along teasingly to Charles. “Yeah, show us what you’ve got, Il Predestinato!”

Charles rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I don’t dance,” he calls back with a soft chuckle. He tries to play it cool, like always, but everyone in the room knows you’re pushing his buttons. You always are. The reason he keeps you around is the same reason you stay around; your families’ relationship predates any animosity between the two of you. That, and the friend group was founded before you loathed each other and it would be too much work to try and split it up now. You’d probably never see Joris again.

You dance closer to him, putting on a dramatic show and a poor fight against the urge to continue challenging him. “Come on,” you tug on his arm, just out your bottom lip into a pretty little pout. “Live a little.”

He’s never been able to turn down one of your challenges, however thinly veiled they might be. It’s his own personal sore spot, the one that you poke and prod as often as you can. Competition has always been the foundation of your mutual annoyance, it’s not going to suddenly change after some eighteen years of consistency. Finally, he relents, lets you think you’re pulling him to his feet, dragging him to dance with you and your sister.

His moves are stiff and awkward, almost hard to watch. You laugh, because he’s wound up so fucking tight in two weeks you’d have a diamond. “See!?” your sister laughs, the contagion of it spreading to even the brunt of the joke. “I told you!” she continues, slinking her arm around her husband’s neck sloppily. His arm grips her side to hold her steady. It makes you feel sick.

A smirk tugs on his lips, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something more in his eyes. Not annoyance or frustration. Something seven, something innocent and childish. It’s fleeting, and you take a deep breath because the music feels quieter now. You down what’s left of your cocktail to clear your head, to calm the sudden flutter of nerves.

The more he drinks and the longer he’s forced to dance, the lighter and more magnetic he becomes. “You know, Charles, I never thought I’d see the day,” you tease. He’s been in a near constant state of pity-party for weeks now, ever since his dumb ass got dumped by another girl wildly out of his league.

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is as amused as it is drunk. “Don’t get too excited. It’s the liquor,” he retorts, a piss poor attempt at downplaying how much fun he’s having. He wouldn’t dare to give you the satisfaction. You lean in closer, brush your body against his, fueled by the noise and the alcohol.

“The liquor doing the touching, too?” you ask.

He’s always been a touchy drunk. Since before you and your friends were allowed to drink, he’s been hands-on. And maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s grabbing your hips, the first time his broad hand is flat over your stomach, but you’d never noticed him as this touchy with his girlfriends or his girls that appear when he’s around. Whatever it is, the more he drinks, the more comfortable he is with his hands on you, and the less you find the nerve to care.

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, though. Every touch burns your skin. It’s a sick little game you two play. Sick and twisted and so, so unlike the two of you.

Watch yourself—he warns, hand on the small of your back. You play with fire. Well established and well documented, though; you never back down either. No, the thrill of annoying him is enough to dive head-first, to push his buttons until they stick. “Am I?” you ask, as innocently as the tequila can muster, taking hold of his wrist and moving it so his arm is wrapped around your midsection, fighting to settle in the space between your waistband and shirt hem.

You respond to every one of his careful touches, ever lingering finger on your arm and your waist and your back. When you close your eyes, you imagine the nonsense patterns he draws on your skin like it’s on canvas in a museum, hung front and center just for you. Your inhibitions are slipping too, and you let yourself trail wandering fingertips over his body, too.

This isn’t the Charles you’re used to, the one you go head-to-head with every fifteen minutes. This is something entirely new, so far into uncharted territory you’re not even sure which way is north. There’s something particularly intriguing about the nerves bouncing around your gut.

Everything fades away into the dark and crowded club. You don’t know if your sister and brother-in-law are still standing there, if any of your friends are. All you know if the electric charge of this, of every teasing remark and touch that draws you closer, forces you to test the waters of the newfound layer of tension.

Everything is building, it feels like, to some grand crescendo of emotion and desire. Before there’s room to explore it, though, to dive deeper into the unspoken shift, the moment is interrupted by the return of the friends you didn’t notice leaving.

The night drags on, the lines between annoyance and attraction blurring into some chaotic muddle of intoxication. Nothing is clear, nothing except the sobering and unignorable pull. It lingers in the air above you, in the space between like a secret just begging to be unraveled.

You’ve got another drink now, because you can only think of one decision that would be worse than more tequila. In due time, you’re worried you’re a lost cause when it comes to that choice as well. His eyes stay on you, even from a distance, and you revel in the glory of his attention. Embolden by it all, you continue fucking with him. “Having fun yet, Charles?” you ask, knowing smile, voice dripping in subtle suggestion.

He raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking up. You don’t think you’ve ever spent much time looking at them, the soft shade of pink and the softer skin. “I suppose I can tolerate it,” he replies with teasing eyes. He’s irritated by your laugh, by your proximity, by your lips brushing against his ear when you whisper; you’re not the only one here trying to have fun. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t take your bait. Instead, he pulls you closer, sways in rhythm with you and replies, “I’m here to enjoy myself, not entertain you.”

He sends your brattiness running full-tilt. Forces you to carefully consider every movement, every ounce of playfulness that you allow to seep into your demeanor and the proactive sway of your hips. You grin at him every chance you get, sly and calculated, daring him to resist.

You lean in close, brush against his ear and can blame it on practicality, on the bass and the music and the DJ if anyone were to question your actions. You rest a hand on his chest. “I know you love my attention.”

His breath hitches at your audacity, heart racing so quick you can feel it in your palm. He pulls you closer, dangerously close to your lips and says, “you talk too much. Maybe it’s time someone shuts you up.”

You scoff, low and teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

[18 minutes later]

You step into the well-lit lobby less than a pace behind him. Your hands are interlocked, have been for every block of the darkened streets—since he grabbed yours and pulled you out of the club. “Admit it,” you giggle. “You love having me push your buttons.”

He remains stoic, jaw set as he pushes the button on the elevator. The tension is at a boiling point. You’re either about to kill each other, to be on the news for some grand double murder, or something so, so much worse is going to unfold.

He leads you to the apartment without a word, but as soon as the door closes behind him, all is lost. Your head is bumping into the drywall before you even realize what’s happening, his lips harsh against yours, the pent up frustration and desire snapping like a dried twig.

It’s fierce and passionate and while you never, not for a single moment in your life, imagined what he would taste like, you somehow knew it would be like this, cool and fresh and drunk. He licks into your mouth, messy and intense, teeth clacking and both of you fighting for some nonexistent upper hand.

Fireworks are going off outside. They shake the windows with explosive gravitas as you’re blindly led by his backwards steps down the hallway. You realize that in an entire lifetime of knowing each other, this is the first time you’ve been in his place. It’s not what you expected, from what you can gather—all clutter and red cars and a boy who never had to drop his dream. “They’re going to look for us,” you say between sloppy, open mouthed kisses.

He mumbles against your skin, strong hands on either side of your jaw. “Let them look.”

You walk through a doorway, into a bedroom clad with clutter and blue sheets. He would have blue sheets. There’s another firework, loud and booming, it makes you jump. You check your watch over his shoulder, pretend your hand doesn’t shake. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Okay.” Your knees bump into his and he sits on the edge of the bed.

You laugh, climb onto his lap, your arms strewn around his shoulders, broad and strong and you laugh again–this time into his mouth. What the fuck is going on. Seriously, what the fuck is this? “Happy New Year.”

He sighs, pulls his mouth from yours long enough to roll his eyes, to speak annoyedly into the hot air between your lips. “Yeah, whatever. Happy New Year.”

“Charles,” you mutter, hand on his chest. You think he’s going to regret this more than you will. People have always told you he’s the best kind of person. You’re not held in the same regard, and you know it. Some people are made to regret and others are made to be the regret.

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, but it’s curt and passive. Annoyed, as always, even when he palms at your ass, traces his hands along the bottom of your hiked up dress and pulls you down against him with a bruising grip. “Shut the fuck up.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pull it off over his head in a swift movement.

“You’re doing a piss-poor job at making me.”

He moves you like you’re a fucking doll, like it’s lightwork, tossing you down against the mattress and swapping your positions in a swift movement. The strength and agility of it makes your head spin. He’s not supposed to make your head spin, he’s supposed to make it ache.

But no, no. You do ache for him. All of you aches for him, for his calloused hands and the roughness of his jeans against your thighs and the soft contrast of his lips against everything else. It’s embarrassing. You can’t believe he’s got you like this, hands pinned above your head while he buries his tongue in your mouth, grinds his hips against yours. The coarse denim is almost painful on your sensitive skin, but the growing bulge pulling the fabric tight is more intoxicating than any cocktail.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, bites a bruise against the skin just above your clavicle. “Spoiled little shit.”

He sinks to his knees, big blue or green or whatever fucking color his eyes are today watching you intently, boring into you with blown, hungry pupils. His fingers trail along your underwear, pulling the thin, lacey fabric to the side, and then removes them all together. He gloats when he runs his thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet.”

“It’s not for you,” you goad.

“Oh?” He nods slowly, spreading your slick with the steady digit, watching you carefully for reaction. “For who then?”

Your eyes flutter shut when the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circles it slowly, teases you. He’s unfocused, his mind lapsing and giving you a much needed in, a clear shot to piss him off. “Your teammate.”

“Fuck off.” You first.

“You’re right, Charles,” you speak slowly, careful to control your breathing, to hide every tell you might have. “Someone should shut me up. Do you know anyone?” Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curls them like someone had given him a diagram of your body. You gasp at the suddenness of it all. Yeah, he mutters, utterly delighted with himself. Yeah, I think I know someone.

You roll your eyes, push his head down, down, mouth onto your core. There, in the midst of licking a long stripe through your cunt, he fucking laughs, shakes his head with a subtlety you’d never perceive if it wasn’t for the tip of his nose bumping your clit when he does it. At least he can follow basic fucking instructions.

His dick must hurt pretty damn bad, all hard and swollen in his pants, because he’s unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself from the constraints of the fabric while lapping at you, the other hand still fucking into you with steady pace and hazy curl. You can’t see it, view obstructed by the mattress and limbs and hair, but you can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s trying to get himself off at the same time he works on you.

You’re not going to make his job that easy. You require all of his attention, pure and undivided and hopefully just as infuriated as you are. You reach down to the apex of your legs, pull his head up by his chin. “Just fuck me, already, you prick.”

He rises to his feet, shakes his head, “you’re a needy little thing,” he remarks. Needy? You haven’t fucking seen needy.

He guides the head of his cock through your folds, spreading slick and spit and smacking himself against your cunt.

Your lips purse into a sharp line. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” He taunts, “you’ve been teasing for hours.”

“It’s different,” you grumble.

“How?” You could strangle him, him and all his questions. What’s a person have to do to get fucked properly around here? You already sacrified your morals by pulling tight against the navy blue sheets. A woman can only make so many sacrifices.

You groan, heavy and exasperated. He’s such a pest. “It just–oh, fuck you–” without warning, he plunges into you, buries himself in your cunt until he bottoms out, skin on skin and the sore sting of him stretching you. Your fingers bruise into his arms, nails scraping over his shoulder blades with a gasp. He gives you no time to adjust to him, rutting into you with deep, measured thrusts. What was that, he prodes. Somehow, you find the poise to stabilize yourself, to reply smugly. “it just is.”

His objective isn’t your pleasure, no. That would be his prerogative, a side privilege, a requirement in his quest to get you to close your mouth and stop pestering for once. Making you come is just another box to check.

You don’t fuck someone if you’re not going to finish, though. Sleeping with Charles might be a lapse in judgment, but being someone’s play toy, letting him reap without sowing, that’s a complete disregard of your dignity

Your fingers find your clit, circle it in just the right sequence, combining with the curve of his cock to push you closer, closer, closer to the edge of the fucking world. Your entire body burns, everywhere, all over, all at once you sweat. Tell me–he insists, voice short and breathy. Tell me when you’re going to come. “I thought you were trying to shut me up?”

“Just, fuck, just tell me.” He palms over your breasts, still covered by your bra and the fabric of your dress, however thin. “So many fucking clothes,” he grumbled, stalling inside you, hands slipping under your back, between you at the mattress to pull you off the bed. You hastily pull the dress over your head, toss it somewhere onto the clothing cluttered floor. Better? You ask. “Better,” he nods, bites your bottom lip roughly, licking against your teeth. One of the hands that explore the skin of your back make quick work of the clasp on your bra, dropping the straps from your shoulders and your back is against the sheets again, his hands groping at you, pinching your nipple between his middle and ring finger, working over it until you’re humming profanities and huffing into his mouth.

Hate and desire is such a fine, blurry line. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar.

“M’gonna,” you choke on your words. “I’m–shit–I’m coming.”

“Yeah,” He picks up his pace, maintains a steady, toe-curling rhythm. “Come for me,” his voice heavy and growled. “Come on my dick.”

You do. You come for him, hard and long, wrapping a leg around his hip in a failed attempt to still him, to just be full of him and nothing more. He’s stronger, though, and fucks you through the whole thing, faster, harder, big hands braced on your hips for leverage. You explore the idea that a person really could be fucked in half, forced right open.

“Good try,” you sputter, shaky and broken words leaving your lips before you’ve found a gravity that isn’t him. You lean up to kiss him, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him to meet you halfway. Your fingers tickle the short hair at the nape of his neck, raise goosebumps to his skin. “Maybe next time,” you hum into his open mouth.

He spits a long string of saliva into your mouth when you move to close the gap. You laugh around it, down it in a single gulp and lick your lips, sticking out your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, big innocent doe-eyes watching his reaction, his eye roll and devilish smirk.

“Like I said–” you start, but he’s flipping you over, tossing you around like a ragdoll. You giggle, high on the teasing and the taunting and then he’s fucking your face into the mattress. He’s got your hair gathered up into a ratty ponytail, uses it like a handle, forcing your back into an arch, your ass to perk up into the air.

God, he’s so fucking deep, turning you into a mess of bruises and sweat stricken skin. Your hips bounce back against him, angle in any imaginable way in an attempt to feel him deeper, to feel him in your stomach and your chest and your head. To feel him everywhere that counts.

“Putain, taking me so good, baby” he groans, lets the praise and the pet name slipping past his lips in a moment that goes unnoticed by neither of you. He smacks your ass with a firm hand, trying to mask his words after they’ve already been spoken. Your eyes roll back into your head and you come again, without warning. You decide before you get to think about it that it was the stinging imprint of his hand that pushed you tumbling over the edge. Whatever the real reason, you’re up two-nothing, or, depending how you look at it, he’s the one winning.

That’s all any of this is, one big game. A power struggle. You’re always fighting to win, and this is not different. If there’s a way to lose at a game where everyone is supposed to win, one of you is going to fucking find it and force it on the other.

You’re the one doing the flipping, now. The pushing and the shoving so he’s on his back. You straddle him and he gives you this look like he’s fully pussy-drunk, sick and euphoric and floating somewhere far from here. You’re so winning at this. “Jesus Christ,” you poke, “wipe your fucking drool.”

His entire face contorts when you sink down onto him. Everytime you think you’ve reached a limit, he finds a way to hit a spot impossibly deeper than the last. His hips lift up off the bed to meet you halfway, rutting into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had, hand moving to your cunt, thumbing lazily at your clit, leaving you fuzzy and drunk in a mess of mumbled moans above him.

When you come for the third time, messy and sweaty, nothing that leaves your lips is distinguishable, a mess of French and English and curses and nonsensical mewls. “Fuck you,” he moans, breath shaky when he pulls himself out of you. Your body clenches around air, aches for him to return.

He does, after he moves you back into the position it all started in. “So close,” he tells you, sinking slowly into you, his sigh hot and alcoholic on your shoulder. His pace is slow, then fast, then slow again. He’s as rapid as his breath is irregular. You better pull out–you groan, every muscle in your body strung out and exhausted and you’re coming again. It’s blinding white behind your closed lids, ears ringing and muscles flexing involuntarily. He’s wrecked you, finally, left you a mumbling mess.

He pulls out almost in sync with your orgasm, jerks himself no more than twice between your legs before he’s coating your stomach in hot stripes of cum, loud, guttural moans leaving his lips in a way that looks and sounds practically pained. “Christ,” he heaves, watches on as your fingers dance through his orgasm, spreading it over your skin and coating your fingers. You don’t break eye contact when you stick two of them into your mouth, swirl your tongue around them tauntingly, sucking them clean and pulling them from your mouth with a pop. You hold the clean hand up for him to see, palm facing him. When you turn it, you pull down all but your middle finger, flip him off cockily.

He swats you hand away, “Never fucking again,” he tells you.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” you scoff. “I never want to see the inside of this apartment again.”

“Why are you here, then?” He remarks, turning the corner into what you assume is the bathroom, tossing a towel to you from across the room. You clean yourself up before anything dries, before coming up with a quick rebuttal.

You don’t come up with one, mind as tired as the rest of you. This game has been exhausting. “We’re never talking about this,” you say, pulling your dress over your head, stuffing your bra into your handbag because you aren’t sure you have the strength to clasp it closed. “Ever.”

“No shit,” he says, tosses your underwear in the general direction of you.

You bend over to pick them up, step into them with the snap of the elastic. “Promise me.” You have no idea where your shoes are, but he’s already ushering you out of the room, herding you down the long hall with wide, swooping waves of his arms.

“I promise.”

“Pinky,” you say, spot your shoes haphazardly stepped out of in the entryway. You don’t have any memory of them ever being on.

“Absolutely not.”

“Charles,” you lean against the wall to slip your heels on, hook up at him with a sober glare. He closes his eyes like you won’t be able to see them roll behind his lids, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints before dropping a heavy breath, holding out a pinky to you. You interlock it with yours. “Thank you.”

He pulls his hand from yours, turns the lock on his front door and swings it open, fingers wrapped around the edge, other hand gesturing out into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“With pleasure,” you say, stepping past him and into the well-lit hallway of sprawling marble floors. You stop in front of the elevator, press the button and wait for his inevitable comment.

“The whole brat-schtick you’ve got going on isn’t as believable when your leg shakes underneath you,” he calls down the hall. You don’t turn your head to face him, just extend your arm in his direction and flip him off. You hear his chuckle as he latches the door shut behind you.

Everything about today has been dreary–from the near constant mist that falls over the city, to the chilly temperatures, to the poor excuses for men that grace the screen of your dating app. This is not how Fridays in your twenties are meant to be spent, sulking in the dark of your bedroom after a miserable day at work.

You’re supposed to be out, partying with friends and making drunken decisions that have you waking up in a stranger’s bed after a good night you hardly remember.

God, you need to get fucked. It’s been months. Two months and ten days–not that you’re counting. Because you’re not. Counting. You aren’t.

You’re just restless, basking in the loneliness of the night, unable to shake the weight of your thoughts, of two months and ten days ago. Of Charles and how infuriatingly good he’d made you feel. The complexities of your relationship, the shift in the very DNA of what you know, it makes your heart race–a messy muddle of annoyance and desire that yearns to be untangled.

You give up on the dating apps, know that even if you do match with someone, there’s nothing that can be done to solve your problem tonight. You opt instead to scroll through social media aimlessly, searching for any distraction from the ache in your gut. Your hand unconsciously slips under the hem of your shirt, cups your breast while you scroll and scroll and scroll. It does little to quell your struggles. In fact, the game is over the moment you become conscious of your hand’s placement, the moment you start to massage your breast, to run your fingers over your nipple until it’s hard and perky.

You switch to the other breast, fingers gently tracing over the skin, sending chills up your arms, pinpointing the ache in your core. Your hand slides down your stomach, dips below the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear. You’re so worked up–pent up, reaching a boiling point.

Your middle finger glides through your folds, grazes over your clit, teases the slick at your entrance before dipping in, collecting enough to spread it around. Your clit is swollen, needy like the rest of you, and the pad of your fingers do little to relieve the pressure. Your fingers move clockwise, then counter. Vertical and horizontal and every combination of every direction and even though you can’t remember the last time you were this horny, this desperate to come, you can’t.

You slip in a finger, and then another, try to find the right curl and the right spot–to no avail. Now, you’re thinking about his fingers, about how much bigger his hands are, how his nimble fingers pumped in and out of you with sheet-gripping, whimper-inducing pace.

Your phone taunts you, his contact behind the locked screen just waiting to be messaged.

You try to resist. You hate him. He hates you. God, he knows how to fuck you, though; veiny hands and thick cock leaving you a writhing mess. Fuck. Fuck, why can’t your fingers move the way his did?

You cave, reaching over to grab your phone and text him. Hey. What are you up to tonight? It’s a mistake, you know that it is. He’s so damn annoying, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t drive you up a wall. Frustration makes the heart go fonder, you suppose, or maybe the cunt ache harder.

Within moments, your phone is buzzing against your palm with his reply. Chilling at home. You coming over?

You roll your eyes. No.

Ok.

You bite your bottom lip so hard you think you might accidentally draw blood. It’s phantom, almost, the way you can so perfectly imagine the sting of him stretching you out, the soreness of his bruising kisses, the swollen, wet head of his dick slapping against your clit. Come over.

You couldn’t pay me.

Door’s unlocked.

Give me 20.

You’re in the bedroom when he knocks. Three times, you wonder why he isn’t just walking in. You ignore the banging, let the universe decide for you if he’s meant to turn back and walk his happy ass out of your building. The universe decides he won’t be doing that, though, because he knocks again. Louder this time.

You pull yourself out of bed, feet creaking on the hardwood floors as you move to pull the door open. “I told you it was unlocked,” you grumble.

“Eh,” he shrugs, dumb fucking grin on his face. “Wasn’t up for your games.”

You internally debate just how bad you need him here, if it’s worth all the trouble that is him. It’s not, almost certainly it isn’t. You invite him in anyway.

“So, what’s the deal? Can’t get yourself off, so you call me?” He teases. Your frustrated blush gives you away before a witty comeback can slap the smirk off his face. “Oh my god,” he chuckles. “I was fucking around, but really?”

There’s no point in trying to lie now, not when your face has already betrayed your trust and revealed the truth. “Calm down,” you groused. “The last thing this world needs if your head to get any fucking bigger.”

He continues laughing like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. You want to smack the smile off his face, dimples and all. “The last thing this world needs is for this–” he gestures between the two of you, “–to become a thing.”

You mock his movements, the dumb look on his face. “This is not a thing. It’s just two friends–”

“–We aren’t friends.”

You sigh through gritted teeth. “Two not friends helping each other out.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, chews on the inside of his cheek while his eyes trace your finger, head to toe and back to head again. “You do know how ridiculous you sound, right?”

You breathe out in resignation, heading down the hall towards your room. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No.”

You stop in your tracks, turn on your heels. What the fuck is he here for, then? “No?” You close the gap between the two of you, plant your hands firmly on either side of his jaw and kiss him, all tongue and spit and rough lips. You knock him off balance, falling out of step when he kisses you back with a matching intensity, hands hovering over your hips. He doesn’t rest them there, you can feel the warmth in the space between your skin and his, the force that pulls you together.

When he does settle his hands, it’s not to deepen the kiss, to swallow any more frustration. It’s to put distance between your mouths. “I want you to–”

You nibble on his earlobe, cut him off with your hushed words. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, I want–”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commands, voice failing to waiver to your hushed level, an air of snugness to him.

“Charles,” your voice cracks with his name, a hint of your under the surface insecurity peeking through, putting themselves on display for him. Here! Here! Look at me!

“Show me, or I’m leaving,” he says, and it’s all throaty and husky.

(Eleven minutes later)

Legs spread for him, two fingers moving busily against your core, circling your clit, teasing your hole.

He stares at you like he can see your fucking soul, watches from his spot across the room, leant against the old wooden dresser, arms folded and ankles crossed. You stare back–harder, maybe–like if you win the little contest your cheeks won’t burn so bright, you won’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so embarrassed.

Those feelings fade, they do, with each flick of your wrist. With every glance of his hungry eyes to your fingers, to your cunt, tracing their way up and down your body, you feel calmer and calmer. And when he runs his hand over his mouth, along the stubble of his jaw and off his chin, you’re closer and closer.

It pulls whimpers, soft and slow and sweet, from your lips. There’s a sick thrill to it, to him seeing her like this, all needy and open and sensitive. It’s empowering, almost.

He breaks no more than twice, watches every brow quirk, lid flutter, and lip twitch with raw, intimate eyes. He’s less interested in what you do to yourself, the curve of your fingers or the noises they create, than he is in the way you react to the movements.

“You’re not even fucking watching,” you say, the letter sounds falling to your breath, hitching as your fingers angle just right.

“Watching what matters.”

“Oh? And, uh–” you huff. “What’s that?”

He laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. You’ve always thought they made his smile so childish, like you can’t take anything seriously when it comes from someone with primary-school dimples and giddy eyes. You don’t struggle to take it seriously, now. “You’re thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh parting your lips. “Says who?”

He pushes himself off the dresser, saunters over with heavy feet, stopping at the foot of the bed. “What are you thinking about?” He humors.

Your eyes roll. You’re thinking about a lot of things. Half a dozen, atleast. About your fingers, the way they move against your swollen cunt, sticky with creamy slick, and how his fingers are that much longer than yours. About how loud he walks, how his heavy feet stand at the end of your bed, crossed arms that pull his t-shirt tight across his chest. About the fact that you’re not sure you locked the door behind him because you were so distracted by the way his sweatpants hung from his waist. About how he doesn’t bother to adjust or hide the protruding bulge under the fabric right now. About the curve of his cock, about how pathetic and full it makes you, utterly unable to spend time thinking about anything but how well he stretches you out. About his hair, flat and straight and wholly unstyled, how your hands would mess it up so nicely, tug and twist until he has something smart to say. Beyond frustratingly, he’s right. As you quickly approach a high, breath quickened and movements desperate, all you’re thinking about is him. “Things.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ever the rake, unsatisfied with your response.

You add a third finger, steady pace and a held stare. The muscles in your leg twitch. You’re so fucking close. “What are you thinking about?”

He sways, rocks his weight from his left foot to the right, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Things.”

A coy smile upturns the corner of your lips. “Mmhmm,” you mock.

He moves around the bed, trails his fingers over your skin; from your ankle, along the bone of your shin, a bruise on your knee. They stall on your thigh, trace small, soft circles on the inside of your leg. “You really want to know?”

He’s such a tease, keeps moving up, up, up, over your stomach and through the valley of your breast. “I–ah– I,” you stutter through your words, fingers working tirelessly to push you over the edge. Restless, further irritated by his delicate touch, his fingers up to your jaw now, slotting themselves there, you nod. “Yes.”

He leans over you, your lips inches apart, open and hot breathed. “Too bad,” he whispers into the space between, closing the gap and kissing you with an insatiable kind of fervor. Your fingers still, your other hand reaching to grip the back of his neck, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It’s a kiss that’s half as good as the sex, the breaking of the unbearable tension that’s filled the room while he’s watched, the promise of what’s to come. A lustful implication. His hand leaves your jaw when you pull apart for air, moving over your stilled hand. “Let me?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel like much of a question, the way he’s already slipping his fingers under yours before you can even squeak out an answer.

There’s something entirely different about his fingers, like the way that you can’t tickle yourself. You can’t predict his moves, every movement of every ridge of his fingerprints is something entirely surprising. “Yeah, fuck, you make, ah, make yourself…” You give up on the sentence, your body failing your mind in its ability to spit out a comeback. Yeah, you wish you could tell him. Yeah, make yourself fucking useful.

He laughs, slides his long middle finger inside you, pumps it twice and slips in another. You gasp at his sudden movement. “You’re embarrassing yourself, baby.”

Your back arches off the sheets. “Don’t call me that,” you seethe.

“But,” he curls his fingers against the spot you’ve been trying to reach all night. A moan tumbles from your mouth and he smirks. “It makes my job so easy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was going to let you come first, but,” he chuckles. He’s so proud of himself it makes you ill. “If you insist.”

His hand stills, threatens to pull out of you entirely, but you’re covering it with your own, holding him there when you look up, hips instinctively grinding against him. “I’ll kill you. I will.”

You’re pushing him out of your apartment by the end of night, locking the door behind him. Your leg shakes when you slide down the door onto the floor. This is the last time, it has to be. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence. Thrice. Thrice would be a pattern. You won’t let it become a pattern.

You wake up at seven-thirty and your hair is still in knots, your body still aching from him. You find a new bruise every time you look in the mirror. You can’t shake the image of his messy hair, of the feeling of the brown locks between your fingers and the sound he’d make when you’d tug on them.

It won’t be happening again.

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potter-barnes-rowaelin

2 years ago

Little Valkyrie (Azriel x reader)

summary: You’ve wanted Azriel forever. So how do you respond when he accidentally walks in on you in the bath reading a smutty romance novel?

warnings: smut!

After sparring for hours on the roof of the House of Wind with Cassian and Azriel, the only thing in the world I wanted was a melt-your-skin-off steaming bath with a glass of wine and the newest smutty novel Nesta gave me to borrow this morning. Sighing, I stripped my leathers off as quickly as possible. My muscles ached. I lit a few candles and poured some jasmine-scented soap into the bath as the water roared, bubbles creating a plush layer over the borderline boiling water.

Stepping in one foot at a time, I nearly moaned in relief as I sank deeper, bubbles almost to my chin. The water loosened my tense muscles as I leaned back in the huge clawfoot tub, letting my hair drape over the lip of the ceramic basin. I lifted the book, turning to the chapter I left off on. I had started the book today before sparring, stopping before what I knew was a particularly spicy chapter. I didn’t want to go into sparring all riled up, but would much rather read it alone where I could take care of myself when those feelings overwhelmed my senses. Or else I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t jump Azriel’s bones right in the middle of a training session.

My cheeks heated just at the thought of the spymaster. He had no clue I had such a huge crush on him. I hoped. At least I told myself that to ease some of the embarrassment of being so utterly captivated by someone so unattainable. I was one of the Valkyrie, yes, but most certainly not close enough to Azriel to assume he’d ever pay me any mind. He had other more important things to worry about, I was sure.

I hummed as I read the next chapter, the scene heating in a way that made my blood pump faster. My skin felt like it was tightening as I began to squirm, the scene overtly erotic. I pretended not to pay mind to the fact that the male I was picturing in the story just so happened to be a certain towering shadow-ridden Illyrian. I pressed my thighs together at the thought of him, his weight pressing down on me, his mouth exploring my body.

A fierce and quick knock at my door sounded before it was opening and I panicked, sitting up quickly sending a wave of water and bubbles splashing onto the marble flooring as I attempted to keep my book as dry as physically possible, horrified by the idea of ruining the pages. A tall, slender figure walked into my room, head swiveling at the sound of my clamoring. My room in the House of Wind had an open floor plan that had an archway that opened to the grand bathroom, cursed with no bathroom door. Usually, I am delighted by this feature, but right now not so much.

Hazel eyes met mine and I let out a small yelp. Oh so incredibly slowly, the corner of his full mouth curved upwards in a feline smirk. I wanted to disappear. Gods, this couldn’t be happening. No way was this real. I slipped in the tub and hit my head or something, surely.

“Azriel???” I shrieked out, trying to cover myself from his eyes, my cheeks so hot my body felt like it was on fire. But I didn’t tell him to get out.

He paused for a long moment, eyes set aflame with delicious deviance. Then he began to grin. His eyes caught on the smutty novel clutched in my hands.

“What are you reading there, little Valkyrie?” He purrs, taking one step closer to me with languid swiftness. A sudden roiling filled my gut as I realized he could probably smell how turned on I was. And how much more intense it got with his proximity.

“Battle tactics,” I say, tucking the book on the side of the tub opposite him so he couldn’t see the erotic romance cover. But then of course he’d probably already taken note of it much before I had.

“Is that so?” He grinned at me like the devil, poised to strike a dark bargain. And my god, did I want to shake his hand and seal my fate. “I had come to bring you the water bottle you left up at the House, but now I’m invested in these battle tactics. Care to share?”

I swallowed hard, my mouth opening but no sound came out. I scrambled to find the words for a witty response. Azriel prowled closer to me, eyes never leaving mine. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach as my heart pounded. He was at the side of the tub much too quickly and I was so distracted by his nearness that I didn’t anticipate his plan as he quickly swiped the book from my hands.

“HEY-” I yelled out, moving to stand up to grab it back, but quickly noticed just how naked I was. He chuckled, knowing I could only steal the book back from him if I exposed my naked body to him as well. Which I was not ready to do. He made me so nervous. He moved to the vanity, swiftly hopping up to perch on the sink, legs hanging off. He opened to the bookmarked page, his face triumphant.

His eyebrows shot up, eyes flicking over to me as he devoured the words on the page. I chewed my nails, feeling so embarrassed I was close to tears. But I was also thrilled at his closeness and attention.

“Battle tactics, indeed, little Valkyrie.” He purred, continuing to read. And I swear, something shifted about his scent. A thrill ran up my spine at the thought. “Definitely much to take notes on.”

“I’ve found I learn best by demonstration,” I say, unsure of where the sudden burst of confidence came from. But I decided then that I wanted him, and he was so clearly dangling himself in front of me like bait. So I decided I like to bite.

The shock is evident on his face but is quickly replaced with a wicked smile, full of the worst intentions. “As do I.” He sat the book behind himself, slowly lowering his body off the countertop as he surveyed me, waiting for silent permission to pounce, to devour his prey whole.

“I could use the practice,” I whisper, goosebumps racing across the surface of my skin, my senses heightened. A confirmation that I, too, wanted this.

His eyes darkened and his smile dropped as he quickly strode forward, plunging his arms into the bath, wrapping one around my back and the other underneath my bent knees. I screeched as he lifted me out of the water, flooding the floor and soaking himself as he pressed my naked body against his, bridal style.

He walked us to the bed, water and bubbles covering the both of us now. Before I could protest, he laid me back onto my bed, the water seeping into my blankets and sheets. But looking up at his gorgeous face, I couldn’t bring myself to care. He stood a step back, eyes raking and roaming over every inch of my body as if he wanted to memorize me.

“How long have you wanted me, sweet girl?” He asked. I almost scoff until I realize that he’s serious.

“Since I met you,” I admit, deciding not to play games. I was already so vulnerable underneath his erotic visual caresses.

“Was it me you were imagining? Reading in the bath, thinking about me doing all of those… dirty things to you?” He says, voice low and dark.

I nod slightly, blush blooming in my full cheeks. His hand lifts to caress the side of my face. He runs his thumb along my bottom lip, looking at me like I’m his last meal. My body feels like a livewire, skin buzzing and receptive to his touch.

“I’ve thought about it too,” he says breathily. “Though my thoughts may prove even dirtier.”

Before I can ask what he means, he leans forward, hands wrapping around the small of my waist as he lowers his lips to press a gentle kiss above my belly button, looking up at me as his lips touch my skin. My breath hitches, watching him in anticipation. Lifting his head again, he positions himself directly over me, hips pressing against me, my legs parted around his strong frame.

He stares into my eyes for a long moment as if trying to decipher me by looking inside them. His thumb strokes my cheek gently as I resist the urge to push my head into his hand and purr like a kitten. He will be my undoing. Every touch, every word, every look sets my very being on fire. Why did he have such a grip on me?

His hands roamed my body, my skin like clay under his touch, and he was the sculptor. My breathing quickened, my heart becoming a pounding hammer in my chest. His calloused and scarred hands starkly contrasted my soft and feminine surface. But he was much, much too clothed.

“I want to feel your skin against mine,” I whisper, hands running up his chest and down his leathered arms. He bends down to plant a slow and erotic kiss on my neck and moves to stand. My knees bent and legs hanging off the bed, I propped myself up on my elbows as I watched him reveal himself to me, bit by bit.

He shrugs his pants off, briefs going with them as he frees himself. My mouth goes dry. Cauldron boil me alive. He was huge. I wanted him so badly. He lowers himself to his knees, eyes in line with my knees, and gently wraps his hands around the underside of my calf, raising it so my leg was straight. He presses a deeply intimate and soft kiss to the side of my ankle.

“Aphrodite could not even sit at your table, my love,” He murmurs into my skin, slowly dropping my leg and standing between my knees, spread open for him.

I am practically panting with anticipation as his eyes lock with mine. I lift both my hands to reach for him as his hands find mine, both sets intertwining, fingers interlocking. He presses his weight slightly onto our conjoined hands, moving to lay on top of me again, knee pressing between my legs. The pressure makes me writhe, breathing heavier.

He lowers his perfect pink lips to mine, the feeling of them like velvet. He bites my lower lip, slowly dragging his teeth across it. My mouth opens for him and his tongue slides against mine, as he moans softly into my mouth, the sound almost a whimper. My back arches, pushing my chest closer to him, his nearness like a drug.

“What do you want?” He asks me, trying to drag words out of me.

“All of you,” I whine, wrapping my hands around his back to pull him closer to me, still not being near enough despite touching him. He groans in delicious approval.

"Ask me what I want."

"What do you want, Azriel?"

“I want to taste you,” he said, words breathy and needy. That sent a jolt right to the sensitive areas between my thighs.

“Please,” I begged, brows furrowed with want.

His response was to resume his attack on my neck with his mouth, pressing his hips down between mine harder, rocking against me slightly, and creating such wonderful friction had me throwing my head back, eyes rolling and a breathy moan falling from my lips. He hummed in response, the vibrations of his mouth against my skin sending goosebumps crawling across my skin. He continued his kisses, sliding down my body but being damn sure to take his time doing it. The anticipation was killing me, but gods his affection was glorious. He quite literally worshiped my body with his hands, tongue, and mouth. He reached the edge of the bed, planting one last slow kiss on my lower abdomen before he stood.

He gripped my hips and yanked me to the edge of the bed, a helpless yelp coming from me as he moves my body with such ease that it makes me lightheaded. He reaches forward and grips my neck underneath my jaw, gently pulling at me so I would sit up. The pout on my face is evident as his hand falls away from my neck. He chuckles at me, giving me a quick kiss before dropping down to his knees in front of me once more. Gods, the sight of him knelt before me sent a delicious chill up my spine. He was so unreasonably pretty. His hazel eyes dance as he looks up at me from under his thick lashes. He plants a kiss on both of my knees before pushing them apart, baring me to him. He let out a quiet groan at the sight of me, hand finding his painfully hard cock and providing some friction to ease the intense need that filled him. He gripped my throat again, pulling me down to meet his mouth. He kissed me intensely and sensually. Who was this male? Where had he been all my life?

He breaks away from our kiss, head twisting as he pulls one of my nipples into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around them, moaning as he continued to slowly pump himself. The sound had me arching for him, which had him chuckling again. He bites down softly on my nipple and I whimper, my pussy throbbing and desperate for him.

He switches to the other nipple, sucking and biting at it, raking incredibly explicit noises from me. Finally, he pulls back, his hair mussed from me lacing my fingers through it as I ground myself against him as much as I was able to. He pushes my knees apart further, putting a hand on the small of my back to pull me to the very edge of the bed. He lifted my feet one by one, placing them on the rails of the bed and leaving me entirely exposed to him. I moved to lay back but he bit my thigh. I cried out, looking at him incredulously.

“Keep looking at me.” It was a command, not a request. He was such a thrill. I obeyed, propping myself back up on my hands so I had a clear view of him. I gasped as he ran two fingers up my slit, gathering my wetness. And gods, was I wet for him. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them, collecting all of me and letting out a deep moan at the taste of me. I felt myself growing continually wetter, my core aching for him.

“Azriel, please. I need you. Please touch me,” I whimpered, and I swear his eyes rolled back in his head at the sound. He turned his head and kissed my inner thigh before grinning back up at me. He leaned forward, eyes not leaving mine as he dragged the flat of his tongue all the way up my core, the feel of him such a relief I felt myself throbbing in anticipation of him.

He gave one more long lick before he went to work, suckling and swirling his warm and wet tongue against my clit as he eased one finger into me slowly. The glide of me had him desperate for any friction. He squeezed his cock with his free hand, begging himself to calm down so that this would last as long as possible. I bit my lip at the sight of him suckling at me, pleasuring himself to the taste and feel of me. I pressed my hips forward slightly, pressing his mouth harder into me. His eyes re-found mine in an instant and he hummed his approval as the hand that was on his cock moved to grip my hips, encouraging me to grind myself against him.

I was going to pass out. He was so sexy and I wanted him so badly and his tongue was quite literally cauldron-blessed. He added another finger then, pumping into me harder, dragging obscene moans from me. With every one of my moans, he hummed in return, sending vibrations to my clit and making me see stars. My head was swimming, sweat forming on my skin as he rode me to my high, my hands buried in his raven black hair and riding his face with fervor.

I came with a loud cry, my core squeezing around his fingers as he continued to pump into me, still sucking at my clit until it became painfully sensitive and I was squirming beneath him, and then he released me. He kissed the insides of both of my thighs, rising back up to his feet.

He placed the two fingers he had been pumping into me at my lips, pressing on my bottom lip so my mouth would open for him.

“Taste how well you did for me, little Valkyrie. You taste better than I ever dreamed,” he purred, pushing his fingers inside my mouth. I swirled my tongue around his fingers, his knees almost buckling as he groaned.

“I bet you taste even better,” I say, a devilish grin filling my face as I reach down for him. I grab his hip and pull him closer to me as I reach up to kiss him. Our tongues caress each other, exploring and devouring each other. I guide the tip of his cock through my folds. He glided against me with such ease he shuddered in reply with a string of murmured curse words.

“As tempting as having that pretty mouth wrapped around me sounds, I want you to ride me,” he panted, arms pressing into the bed on either side of me as I had a hand between us, rubbing him against myself. “Please.”

I wrapped myself around him, legs wrapping around his back. He lifted me, turning us and scooting back until he lay back on the bed with me on top of him. I leaned forward and sucked on his neck, his nails scraping down my back. I pushed my tongue in his mouth as I reached between us to line up his huge length with my entrance. I slowly sank down on him, a deep reverberating moan echoing through us both. He pulled me down onto his chest and kissed me slowly as he sat inside me not moving. Slowly, he pulled out and then rammed back into me. I whimpered into his mouth which earned a groan of approval from him. His mouth latched onto my nipple, swirling it on his tongue around me while I bounced on him. His hands roamed and praised my body with gripping and passionate touches.

He began to thrust up into me, meeting my own and creating a filthy, wet sound as we fucked each other with reckless abandon.

“You feel… so fucking good… FUCK…” He panted, hips still driving up to meet mine. I threw my head back in ecstasy, his hands rising to grip my breasts in his hands, squeezing roughly and kneading them between his huge hands.

“I could fuck you forever,” I gasp out.

“I’d beg on my knees for it,” he breathed, eyes shutting in pleasure, mouth open as he panted, nearing his climax as we continued with intense effort, both of us desperate to please the other. His thumb began to rub my clit as I slid up and down on his cock, making me throb around him, which sent him over his edge at the same time that I tumbled into mine.

We sang out in intense satisfaction, both coming together. He twitched inside me, cum dripping out of me from around his cock. I scooted downwards then, pulling him into my mouth and licking him clean as he groaned, hands laced in my hair.

“My filthy girl,” he purred to me, thumb rubbing across my bottom lip. I lifted my head, sitting up to look down at him. “You are dangerous. Now that I’ve had you, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop wanting you.”

“Good.” I grinned down at him, planting a kiss on his abs as I climbed off the bed. He whined in protest.

I reached my hands out to him, and he sat up to grip them in his own. “You’re invited, don’t worry.”

A sly grin covered his face at my words. I walked over to my shower, opened the glass door, and flicked the shower on, allowing it to heat. When it was a good enough temperature, I dragged the shadowsinger in after me, giggling as the door closed behind him and he began to kiss me again. His hands slid down to my thighs, lifting me with alarming ease as my legs wrapped around his center. I felt him harden against me again, his head buried in my neck as he started to laugh.

“I warned you.”

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