Chasing Starlight: Chapter 19
Chasing Starlight: Chapter 19
Pairing: Poly!Feysand x female!Reader
Summary: After Nyx’s birth, Feyre is seeking to ease her way back into her duties as High Lady and balance her time at the gallery with being a new mother. To ease her mind, she and Rhys have decided to hire a new nanny, who turns out to be far more than either of them had bargained for.
When I wake again, it’s with a steady roaring in my ears and a mind-numbing ache just behind my eyes.
I want to cry, but my stomach immediately rebels against the idea with a wave of nausea so severe I have to clench my teeth against it. I roll onto my side, curling as tightly as I can into a ball to wait for it to pass. A soft, cool hand presses against my forehead, the side of my face, and some of the nausea eases a little, just enough for me to ease my eyes open.
All I can see is the clear, cool blue of Feyre’s eyes. I drag my next breath in through my teeth in an attempt to stifle the ragged sob that tears itself from my throat anyway. The tears leaking down my cheeks are too hot and pitiful in a way that might make me resent them, if only I weren’t so exhausted. I feel like I took a tumble down the side of a mountain, from the way every muscle in my body burns.
“Oh, my dove,” she whispers, running her thumb over my cheek the way she might soothe Nyx after a bad night. “You’ll feel better soon.”
“Hurts,” I whimper, closing my burning eyes once more. Two brief, timid knocks at the bedroom door draw a deep, guttural snarl from my mate I’ve not heard before, and I reach for that unclaimed mating bond on instinct. It feels so thin and fragile, like it might rip if I tug too hard, but I don’t have the time to be gentle with it. I feel her cool, quick hands slipping beneath me, lifting my body like I weigh no more than the bird that’s become my namesake. I sag against her, shuddering with relief at the feeling of her skin on mine.
The contact doesn’t eliminate the pain, but it does help alleviate the ache in my chest. I bury my nose in her neck and inhale her lilac and pear scent, letting it sink in like a balm. She wasn’t here when I woke the first time, neither was Rhys, but I hadn’t truly been able to think of them then, to let myself worry. Not when the instinct to check on the babe was driving me so much harder. But now?
“Where’s Rhys?” I croak, trying to lift my head. It feels like there’s fire coursing through my veins instead of blood, and everything is so heavy. It hurts to move, to breathe.
“He’ll be home soon, love.”
“And you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, everyone else is fine.” There are two more knocks at the door, louder this time before the door swings open, and a sudden burst of raw power shakes the foundation of the house on the heels of Feyre’s furious snarl. The scent of her raw magic is overwhelming, a tempest of icy shadows and seawater and starlight that sets jagged claws into something deep within my mind and pulls, as if to rip it from me. I scream, and I don’t know if it’s from the shock of it or the pain that rolls through my mind like a protective barrier, but it comes with an agony I have not known before.
The roar in my ears swells, its pitch sharpening as my vision bleeds to white, and the last thing I feel is the lip of a cold, glass bottle being shoved between my lips before everything is blissfully blank once more.
I’m lost in that wine-dark sea again, but this time there is no starlight to keep me company. There is only the cold and the darkness threatening to devour me. I twist between the waves, looking everywhere for a source of light, a thread to follow home but there’s nothing. Nothing. I don’t know how I’m supposed to exist in this endless expanse of nothing.
Perhaps this is simply a battle I’m not meant to win.
I allow the current to take me, to pull me down deeper until I come to rest on something soft that folds up around me like a cocoon. Whispers of safe flow around me in a voice so similar to my mother’s that I almost look around for her. Safe, safe, safe. She’d always been trying to protect me, hadn’t she? When I was little, she’d warn me not to run too far or climb too high. In most of my memories, she’s always hovering on the periphery, watching with pursed lips and shaking hands.
I hadn’t understood her fear then, not even when I began work as a nanny did I understand it. Now I think I might.
“You always do once you have babes of your own,” my mother’s voice says, echoing through the darkness around me like a siren’s call. “They show you how vulnerable you are, how fragile life can be. It’s easy to know fear once you are a mother.”
“I am not a mother,” I reply, fighting the rising tide of bitterness I have always refused to allow to overtake me. Images of Nyx come to me in waves, memories of his gummy smile and vibrant twilight blue eyes, but I bat them away with a lump in my throat. It’s true, I don’t believe I would love him more if I’d given birth to him, but I’m not his mother. “I never will be.”
“How definitive that word is,” the voice muses. “Never. It leaves no room for chance or miracles, there’s no possibility in the face of never. Isn’t that lonely, love?”
“Lonely?” The laugh breaks from me before I can swallow it: a cold, hollow thing, a reflection of a wound I’ve nursed in silence for many years. “I am alone, I have been alone for so long that I don’t know how to be anything else. I found my mates, my mates, most High Fae don’t ever dream of meeting their own and I have two that I don’t know how to love.”
“You know how to love, little fox. Your heart has always been much too large to be contained, you spill a little of it everywhere you go-”
“That may have been true once,” I acknowledge, curling in on myself, “then my family burned around me, and someone told me to run so I did. I ran as fast and as far as I could get, and I swore I’d never lose anyone else. And I haven’t. You can’t lose people you don’t love, and I haven’t truly loved anyone until-”
Until now. The darkness bearing my mother’s voice is mercifully silent, leaving me there in the dark and the cold to think and to grieve. I had a family once, I had a father and brothers- no, that had been a lie, hadn’t it? I’d had a mother, though, a mother who had sacrificed everything she had to hide me. If I think about her long enough, I can remember the sense of illness and exhaustion that clung to her like so much sludge, weighing her down in spite of her spirit and her work ethic. It had chased her to her grave, hadn’t it? I’d never questioned the sickness as a child, she’d been a healer, I thought…but the image of her staring at me from Eris’s side burns so clearly before me, of him feeding me the potion that would bind my magic for centuries. How much of her own magic that must have taken, to create a spell- no, a curse that would render me nearly useless for the entirety of my life.
Powerless, docile, a threat to no one.
Who could I possibly have been such a threat to that I needed to be hidden away? With only a trickle of healing magic…a trickle I have not touched in a very long time. Magic poisoning had been one of the first lessons we learned as novice healers; our magic is as intrinsic to us as the blood flowing through our veins, we are taught never to neglect it for a reason. Is this…is this my fault, did I do this? I hold up my hand and try to summon it, to draw even the slightest bead of magic, but all that rushes forward is a burning ache that is quickly smothered by the cold, merciful darkness.
A darkness so unlike the one I’ve been stranded in, one that glimmers with hints of starlight. It floods into the space, too expansive to be contained. Whatever had wrapped itself around me flakes away on a cool, pine-kissed breeze, and the stars burst to life in its absence.
“There you are.” This voice is dark and rich, so lovely I want to weep, and it’s close. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Rhys?” I ask, rising onto my knees as I search for him in the starlight. “Are you here? I can’t see you.”
Please don’t let this be all there is of him, please don’t let this be a cruel trick of my memory, please I…I don’t want to be left alone anymore. I’m tired of the endless darkness and searching. I want to live, I want to be happy, I…I don’t want to die here, cold and alone. I want to live.
“I’m right here,” the voice whispers in my ear, and it comes with strong arms that pull me flush against a warm, familiar body until I’m surrounded by the scents of citrus and lilac and something like an orchard in the rain. “You’re not alone, darling, we’d never leave you alone. We’re right here, you’re safe.”
“Am I? I feel so sick, Rhys, I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
“We’re figuring it out, dove, I promise. Mor retrieved a healer from Dawn, one of Thesan’s best, and she's working with Madja on a cure. None of us have seen magic poisoning that behaves like this before, it’s hard to treat.”
“What do you mean?”
“Typically, you would want to drain the excess magic off in some way, your body should want to release it. But with yours, there’s a sort of substance coating it, like an oil. Every time there’s an attempt to drain off your magic, it surges forward and creates a barrier-”
“Just as my mother intended,” I muse, running my fingertips along the arm wrapped around my shoulders. Instead of soft skin, I’m surprised to feel smooth scales and downy feathers, something more akin to a beast than the male I’ve been sharing a bed with. But he’s warm and he smells the same, so I suppose the presentation doesn’t matter much.
“What do you mean?” He asks slowly, carefully, like perhaps he might be afraid of where this answer will lead us. Maybe I should be as well. “Dove?”
I deliberate for a moment, weighing the words carefully in my mind, then the back of a cold talon trails down the side of my face and that’s all it takes for me to tell him everything. From falling stars to the dark cabin hidden away in the forests of Autumn, it sounds like little more than a fever dream, but I know what I saw; I even told him about the ball of light that led me there and the vial I drank from that tasted like the heart of a storm. Rhys listens to my story in complete silence, and once it’s done we watch the stars dance around us the way we had that night in the tub. I wish we could do this every night, and when I say as much he simply holds me tighter.
“We can,” he says quietly. “We can, every night, once we get out of here-”
“Can’t we stay?” I ask, resting my heavy head against his arm. “It’s so peaceful here.”
“No, darling, we can’t. No one else can get here, not even Feyre. This place is very deep within your mind, it’s not safe for you to have other people here.”
“But you’re here.”
“I’ve been doing this for a long time, you know. Almost as long as I’ve been alive. The mind has a myriad of ways it can present: some are fortresses, others are more akin to open fields with rabbit warrens to hide their secrets. None of them are impossible to navigate if you know what to look for and where to apply pressure. You’ve been swimming through an ocean into dark chasms designed to swallow you up, little dove, but that’s not what your mind chose to show me.”
“What does it look like to you?”
“Our home, filled with books and portraits of your memories. Everywhere I looked had little traces of you: the faintest whiff of your scent like you just left the room, or a blanket on the couch that was still warm. All good signs that you were still there, if I could figure out where to look. But the further I walked, the colder it got, and it felt like I was walking into rooms you hadn’t touched in years. There were cobwebs and dust covering the books, and all of the portraits were so faded I could barely make sense of them. I thought to go back and start at the beginning, then I heard your voice on the other side of a door I hadn’t noticed, tucked away behind some stairs. Did you have a door like that growing up?”
“I don’t remember,” I croak. My voice is harder to summon than it had been before. “There’s a lot of my life I don’t remember, Rhys, and I don’t even know if forgetting is a choice I made anymore.”
The stars are beginning to wink out one by one, taking whatever warmth they brought with them as they go. It feels like a warning.
“I don’t know, love, we can try to find out. You have to come with me, though. We need to leave.”
“I’m too tired. Just go, I’ll come later-”
“If you stay here, you will die. This place is the deepest part of your mind, but it isn’t safe for you to stay for long, and it sounds like you’ve spent quite a bit of time here already.” His words are gentle, but the urgency in them feels like a shock to something vital within me, and I lift my head from his arm. It feels too heavy to hold up, but I fight the urge to lay it back down. “Let me take you back with me, love, let me take you home. Feyre and Nyx are there, they miss you. Don’t you want to see them?”
“I do,” I mumble, and he lifts me into his arms like it’s as easy as breathing. Perhaps for him it is, I don’t know, but when he carries me through the door he’d described, I feel the weight of my body crashing into me again. The pain is absolutely unbearable. I don’t know when I begin screaming, but it tells me that I’m still alive. Another bottle is poised at my lips and I suck the contents down willingly, hoping it will put an end to the fire coursing through my veins.
The burning goes on and on until the potion works through my bloodstream, cooling everything it touches like a minty kiss. The moment my tight, aching muscles relax and I can take a true breath, I become aware of the cool rag against my brow, delicately dabbing away the sweat with the care one might give a precious crystal vase. Lilac and pear carried on a night breeze, those are the scents that flood my senses. My mates, both of them, are here with me. I’m not alone.
You will not be alone, sweetheart. Feyre’s voice wraps around my mind like a blanket of thin silk, and I hum, gingerly shifting onto my side, making sure I’m comfortably settled before I allow my eyes to flutter open. There’s no light beyond the open windows, another day gone. How many days have I missed? The sheets beneath me are cool and clean, and the linen nightgown is new. The air filtering into the room is cold and refreshing, tinged with the first brush of winter’s chill. “Hi, baby.”
“Hi,” I mumble, focusing first on the pale, tattooed hand smoothing my hair back.
“How are you feeling?”
“Mmhh,” I groan, shaking my head. “Not…not great, but better.”
“Better is good,” Feyre says weakly and I follow the line of her arm to gaze up at her lovely, angular face. Her pursed lips are pale and bitten, the slope of her shoulders seem to bear the weight of the world on them. I wriggle and flail until she realizes what I’m doing and helps me to sit up, reclined against a pile of pillows. Even this small shift feels like it was a great effort, but I think I’ve slept enough. I run my hand along Feyre’s arm until it rests on the curve of her neck. I can feel her pulse beneath my fingers, strong and steady.
“What did the healer say?”
“Don’t worry about it now.” Her words are gentle, intended to ease my anxiety, but I shake my head slowly. I need to know. “We sent word to Helion, he’s coming in a few days to see if he can help Rhys break the spell binding your magic, from there…from there, we can see how much of the internal damage is permanent. For now, you will rest and drink the potions the healers bring.”
“I don’t think it’s going to work,” I murmur as my hand falls back to my lap. “You may want to reach out to Eris, he was there when it happened.”
“Eris?” she asks slowly, her nose wrinkling as she turns the information over in her mind. “I didn’t think he was capable of magic like that.”
“He’s not, my mother was. I don’t know the nature of their relationship, not really, but I saw…I don’t know what I saw. I’d like the opportunity to ask him about it, though. He should have some of the answers we’ll need and, more than that, there are things I think I…I think I need to know.” What their relationship was, what they saw in me as a newborn that was so dangerous it needed to be hidden so thoroughly, who my…who my father truly is. I think of the male who raised me, the brothers who had not truly been my brothers, and my heart aches at the elaborate lie they’d all agreed to tell.
I need to know why.
“Will you tell me about it when you’re ready?” Feyre’s fingers trail down the side of my face and I look back to her, nodding slowly. Vague wisps of memories of the night this mess began floated through my mind, and I think of the cold, terrible fog that had flooded over the house and pressed against the glass like it was searching for a way in.
“Feyre?”
“Yes, love?”
“That fog…” I stop speaking when her face darkens and reach for her hand instead.
“It was terrible, dove, but Rhysand and Azriel have the matter in hand. It took us a while to pinpoint the source, but the protective shield around the city activated to keep it contained, so there weren’t…issues beyond the city walls. It was an old magic that hasn’t been seen since the disappearance of the Dusk Court being wielded by someone it was never meant to come to. Admittedly, I don’t know much about it, Rhys has been overseeing the interrogation while I’ve been here with you. We’ll discuss it later, love. We’re all safe now.”
“I suppose that’s all that matters,” I tell her with a shrug. Honestly, I’m happy to leave ruling the territory to those who are far more suited to it. When I open my mouth to inquire about our missing mate, the handle on the bedroom door turns with a click and we both turn to see him slipping through it. It’s a relief to see Rhys dressed comfortably in loose linen pants and an open wool cardigan, broadcasting his intentions to spend the night in. It’s the sight of the babe curled in the crook of his arm, pressed snugly against his father’s chest that eases something deep within me, a knot of anxiety I hadn’t really been conscious of.
The three people I love most are safe.
Feyre moves to sit with her side flush against mine, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I lean into her side- sag into it, really. I’m already so tired. Rhys settles on the edge of the bed beside us, his knees brushing against Feyre’s as he leans in to wordlessly place Nyx in my arms. There’s something unsettled in his expression I’ll ask about later, but the babe sniffling against my collarbone steals my attention. His fluffy, dark hair smells freshly washed, like the soap Mor always picks up for him during her shopping trips, and I can’t help but nuzzle my nose into it. Feyre’s free hand slips beneath his little wings to rub his back in slow, soothing circles, and Rhys rests his hands on our legs, giving us all a moment to connect.
To breathe each other in.
“I love you,” I murmur against the crown of Nyx’s head between featherlight kisses. I lift my burning eyes to look at his parents, my mates, and take a deep breath before I continue. “All three of you. I love you, I…I’m sorry I haven’t really said it before, not the way I’ve wanted to, but I do. I love you and I want you and this…and I’m so sorry-”
Rhysand leans in to kiss me then: slow and chaste and full of promise. The moment he pulls back, Feyre ducks down to take a kiss of her own, one that leaves me floating and more than a little breathless as she nuzzles her nose against my cheek. No words flow between us, but there's no doubt in my mind that the moment I'm well enough to do so, we'll be consummating this mating bond. I don't ever want to let them go.
More Posts from Potter-barnes-rowaelin and Others
✨ = indicates smut | ‼️= indicates dark content | 💔= indicates angst | 🌸= indicates fluff
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series
-> in my hometown (COMPLETE) ✨💔🌸
series summary: [PRE-OUTBREAK] you've had a crush on joel miller for as long as you can remember. there are just a couple of problems with that: one, he's ten years your senior and your dad's best friend. two, you're moving to LA in the morning.
-> your summer dream (ONGOING) ✨💔🌸
series summary: [NO OUTBREAK] fresh on the heels of the worst breakup of your life, you find an unexpected kindred spirit in joel miller, who's agreed to tag along for seven days at a tropical resort with you and your parents.
-> good to me (COMPLETE) ✨
series summary: [NO OUTBREAK] a three-part series chronicling the smutty adventures of reader and gynecologist!joel miller.
one shots
-> look at this godforsaken mess that you made me 💔
joel is a sad guilt-ridden sadboy (and also your touch-starved drug dealer). joel and reader are sad and get high together, that’s it.
-> what i need ✨
reader has a bad day, joel gives you what you need aka the one with joel miller knifeplay.
-> here in your doorway 💔🌸
your fiancé tommy breaks off your engagement. you seek comfort in the arms of your best friend, who just happens to be his older brother, joel.
-> say it with your hands | part two: put your lips close to mine ✨🌸
ellie convinces joel to see the town masseuse. it goes mostly okay.
-> stay here, honey ✨
porn no plot. you sit on dbf!joel’s lap at a party, it’s a whole thing. (daddy!joel)
-> creep it real! ✨
a masked angel. a rugged cowboy. you're the answer to joel's prayers...until he realizes who you are.
-> snowflakes, a fireplace, and you ✨💔🌸
you get more than you bargained for when you end up snowed in at miller's inn on christmas eve.
requests
-> in her defense 💔🌸
an unexpected attack. a protective instinct. a heartfelt exchange. (aka when a stranger tries it with ellie, reader steps in and joel is a guilt-ridden sadboy about it.)
-> rare ✨
request: If you're still accepting fic requests, could i request a smut fic with joel using the hitachi wand on the reader? i doubt theyd be able to find one in the apocalypse but for sexy purposes, it'll work!!
-> taking mine ✨
request: Can I request possessive, jealous Joel + comeplay 😳
-> yes, sir ✨
request: Omg this may just be the southern girl in me but reader calling Joel “sir”. Just had to share this thought with someone.
-> mad love ✨‼️
request: Could I request reader getting turned on after Joel goes feral on some guy who tried to touch her and eventually fucking feral!joel
-> skinny dipping with joel ✨
request: Shy/innocent reader skinny dipping with extra horny Joel and he uses the opportunity to make some moves 😄😄
-> joel miller cumplay thoughts ✨
request: IM CONVINCED JOEL LOVES TO CUM INSIDE YOU AND THEN GET FILTHY AND EAT YOU OUT ok thank you for coming to my ted talk
-> style ✨
request: Can we get some glove kink up in here?👀 maybe he shows you a nice pair of leather gloves he found and puts them on and this awakens something in you. I mean the smell of leather, his thick fingers even thicker in them, the way they glisten when he touches you…
-> this is our place 🌸
request: the main idea is basically domesticity/intimacy and i had javier peña in mind but to be honest, it can work with joel as well. either way, it would be about soft mornings, waking up together. maybe reader helps javier/joel to shave, they get dressed together and have breakfast. it’s normal and it’s soft and there are a lot of giggles and kisses and love and everything that there isn’t in either shows
-> focus on me ✨
request: i just really need to read joel spitting in f!reader’s mouth during sex… like, i rlly can’t stop thinking about it. just food for thought! *flees*
-> holding back ✨
request: i've been thinking of smut written from joel's pov?? like it could still be reader ig, but we're in his head, and he's experiencing it?? what would that be like 😳
-> anomaly (sequel to rare) ✨
request: i was wondering if youd see it possible for reader to convince joel into using [the hitachi wand] on him? i dont know if it makes sense to u in their dynamic but if so, would u be willing to write something on it? id honestly die for needy joel.
-> flesh and metal ✨
request: Hello! If you’re taking requests currently (if not I apologize), but I have one that’s eating away at my brain. Joel and a reader with nipple piercings.
-> lie to me (non/dubcon)✨‼️
ao3 only: Joel corrupts an innocent shut-in and makes her his personal cock warmer.
non x reader
never let me down again (joel & ellie) 💔
folklore anthology entries
-> this is me trying (joel & ellie) 💔🌸
jackson. a flashback on a film reel sparks a memory. joel tells ellie how it feels.
-> peace 💔🌸
jackson era, post-tlou. you and joel discuss what it means to die.
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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."
Amy's Masterlist
Finally got around to make a masterlist! If you notice any links to be wrong, please let me know! (There is more under the cut, it just took up too much space)
Poly!Marauders
Teach us, part one. Part two. No, like this. Mommy & Daddy punish their babies. Remus lets his friends "dom" their mommy.
No cocks in cunts (reader doesn't like penetration – continuation).
Waterfalls.
A good morning.
Reader gets punished for not following the rules.
Drunk reader not getting what she wants, part one. Part two.
Reader doesn't like penetration (blurb).
Subspace/First time.
Reader doesn't like blowjobs (blurb).
Reader is jealous of Lily (fluff), part one. Part two.
Thighfucking.
First time.
Needy reader.
Bukkake.
James Potter
NSFW Alphabet.
Jegulus - Lingere.
Sub!Jamie - Praise.
Unwind - x Reader
Sirius Black
NSFW Alphabet.
Remus Lupin
NSFW Alphabet.
Wolfstar
Frottage.
Rimming.
Kinkmas 2023.
Everyone lives - AU, not x reader.
Teaser: Azriel x Reader | The Beauty of Intimacy
request ~ smut ~ 3k words ~ angsty at the beginning ~ gentle love making coming: Jan. 2nd 2023
Nervousness coats your insides, your skin prickling. "I am not sure if I am…capable of having sex. Good sex, I mean. There is not one positive experience I have made and I am over 500, Azriel. It must have something to do with me."
A low chuckle leaves the shadowsinger and he gives his head a tiny shake, silken strands of onyx hair shifting with the movement. "There is nothing wrong with you, I am 100% positive about that."
You love his certainty, but you can’t quite agree with him.
"Why don’t I find it… pleasurable then?"
"Because you maybe have not yet been with the right male," Azriel says, his brow lifting in an almost cocky way. It is this slight arrogance that changes his demeanour, that makes your toes curl and the hair on his body stand.
Your voice becomes a breathy whisper when you feel a shadow dance over your bare thigh and you lean forward. "And now I am?"
The spymaster’s low chuckle reverberates through you, his lips brushing yours and tingling them with the vibrations of his laugh. Azriel pecks you shortly and then says against your lips, "Now you are."
You change your sitting position, stretching your legs. "So you are going to convince me now that it is something enjoyable?"
The shadowsinger’s scarred hand smoothes up your foot, higher onto your leg and back down again. He lifts his gaze to yours and smirks. "I going to prove to you that sex is one of the most beautiful things in the world," he drawls, his index finger circling your ankle. "Only if you want that, of course."
birthday masterlist <3
i don't know about you, but i'm feeling 22 !!
for my birthday i wanted to put together a mini masterlist of my favourite works xx
we don't play about halloween
max verstappen
max doesn’t play about three things: formula one, his cats and his girlfriend’s love for halloween
friendship bracelets
charles leclerc
charles' gf is beloved in the fandom for her love for frienship bracelets
cherry lip balm
oscar piastri
the verstappen siblings run motorsport, but the youngest's f1 allegiances may belong elsewhere
ultimate wing man
daniel ricciardo
y/n is notoriously single, and her dad decides to take it into his own hands.
big time rush
lando norris
so how is alex albon and sorority rush connected? how is lando involved? and will the grid ever understand the greek system?
nine lives
alex albon
one of the many albon pets has to take a quick trip to the vet and maybe, just maybe, it comes with love at first sight
tight knit
charles leclerc
spa 2021, where a knitting hobby comes in handy
into the arms of another
one / two / three / four
max verstappen
after charles leaves her out in the cold, y/n falls into the arms of another.
peas in a pod
oscar piastri
y/n and george russell may be twins, but they’re hardly two peas in a pod and oscar is just there for the ride
head in the clouds
lando norris
there's no one more attractive than the stranger at the same gate as you at the airport and sometimes that stranger works on your best friend's private jet.
signed up for life
lewis hamilton
f1 finally introduces a sign language interpretor to their media team
kiss it better
oscar piastri
when oscar crashes into the barrier at monza, he thinks he sees his guardian angel, in reality he's just got a concussion and that's a first responder, but it's the thought that counts.
you and me got a whole lotta history
charles leclerc
y/n is a historian and it’s not her fault her bf’s job takes him all around the world…
mamma mia
mamma mia / no more ace to play / honey, honey / age of no regret / a wonderful thing
sebastian vettel, jenson button & fernando alonso
what the hell is in the water in greece? why are pregnancy tests so expensive and why does seb name his vehicles like that?
also i am still working on requests, i have returned home and am just finishing my freelance work xx
buy me a ko-fi?
𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 1𝖐 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑
welcome to the table of contents for my one-thousand followers special !
i'm baffled at the amount of love and support from all of you; in under the two-months i've been writing on this blog, i've managed to have good enough writing to convince you guys to save my blog. i started writing f1 ff's with the sole purpose to provide more black!reader based content, and i never imagined that i'd have a thousand eyes reading my delusional scenarios lol. thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart :)
as promised, the special event is a continuation of the first upload of my f1 kinktober series. those of you who were desperate for a part-two of the corruption kink with charles leclerc / max verstappen / black!reader--here it is, in abundance. a five-part series (including the f1-ktober upload). merry christmas, loves xxx
if you would like to be added to this series' taglist, send me an ask or leave a reply.
all episodes uploaded at 12 PM EST on their release date.
posts tagged as # httpss :// 1k special.
all works can be found in my table of contents (m.list).
𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: max and charles don’t mind receiving a five-second penalty for slipping past your boundaries. seeing a black and white flag doesn’t scare them in the slightest; not when you're performing so well under their guidance. 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: multi-chaptered series.
view playlist? ↴
pilot: corruption kink w/ charles leclerc and max verstappen
innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things.
episode two: 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿 | handjobs | 12/9/23
slightly less innocent, virgin!reader has had her view of pleasure shifted. her libido has increased to insane levels after she finally allowed her boyfriends to fix her…dry spell. charles and max have no issues with helping her ride out her newfound sexual appetite, and figure that she may be ready to take the next step. or, more accurately, take the next hand.
soundtrack - gun • doja cat
episode three: 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘃𝗲 | fingering | 12/11/23
tainted, virgin!reader is growing tired of grinding against her boyfriends. she’s never touched herself before—no toys, no fingers, no fondling—the friction from a pillow used to be enough. but, maybe having something inside of her isn’t as terrifying as she believed. charles’ pretty pianist fingers don’t look too scary, and they way he raves about how talented max’s daunting thicker fingers are; well, she could be convinced to see what all the fuss is about.
soundtrack - pressure • ari lennox
episode four: 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘄𝘁𝗵 | oral sex | 12/15/23
soiled, virgin!reader is well aware of her boyfriends’ desire to eat her alive, sorry, to eat her out. from the way they can’t resist drinking her wetness off their (or her own) fingers, to the way they can’t stop running their mouths about getting their mouths on you: they’ve made how desperate they are, very clear. for some reason, she can’t get past her mental block to allow them to feast between her legs, or to taste what’s between theirs. max figures she just needs a demonstration to quell her fears; charles is a more than willing participant.
soundtrack - super freaky girl • nicki minaj
finale: 𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗿 | vaginal sex | 12/17/23
tonight, innocent and virgin!reader will be defiled, deflowered, tarnished—whichever word you prefer. from the moment she told them she was ready to lose her virginity, they’ve been carefully planning out a special night, for her. and shockingly, there’s not an ounce of fear, anxiety, or doubt in her mind—max and charles have gained her complete trust. they haven’t given her a single reason to believe that they wouldn’t treat her right. she couldn’t have asked for better men to take her virginity—if this is corruption, she’s delighted to experience it.
soundtrack - wet dreamz • j.cole
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© httpsserene2023
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
🥰 lando norris masterlist 🥰
personal faves f contains smut(ty parts) s
✨ Series ✨
s KINDA HOT THO ; part one / part two
In which your brother has the most awful new teammate, but you keep finding yourself closer and closer to him. It's only sex - right?
s ROOMMATES (finished) ; part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten
In which you have to live with your brothers best friend who you really don't like, Lando Norris, and his many 'girlfriends' for a while, but there's always a thin line between love and hate.
f & s MORE THAN FRIENDS (finished) ; part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten / part eleven / part twelve
In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.
s HIS TEAMMATE (finished) ; part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten / part eleven / part twelve / part thirteen
In which you find yourself getting closer to your brothers new teammate who's a total dick.
THE RACE LOSER (finished); part one / part two
In which you see your ex best friend again, after he cut off contact between you to because he needed to focus on racing
f & s MISTAKE(S) (finished); part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine
In which you keep making the same mistake over and over again by fucking the boy you hate the most
INTO IT (finished) ; part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten / part eleven
In which you really, really dislike your brothers new found best friend - Lando Norris - but you keep finding your way back to him
f&s FWB (finished) ; part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten / part eleven
In which you decide to become friends with benefits with Lando Norris, that can't be a bad idea right?
THE SISTER (finished) ; part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten
In which your the little sister of Max Verstappen and you meet Lando Norris, who quickly turns in to one of your best friends. But there's a thin line between friends & lovers
f&s BREAKING THE RULES (finished) ; part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven
In which Lando is your brothers rival during the championship, but you can't seem to stay away from him
✨ One shots ✨
s His stripper ; In which Lando his friends take him to a stripclub, where he meets you. He's quick to come back weekly, every Tuesday you're his. But when he comes another day and finds you on the lap of some other guy, something in him snaps.
s Not a chance ; In which Lando thinks he's going to win a race, to which you tell him the chances of you two fucking are as low as him winning a race - so what happens when he wins?
Regret ; In which Lando breaks up with you, but starts to regret it even more when he sees you back on the racetrack. Can he still fix things?
f Fake date ; In which Lando helps you piss of your ex boyfriend by acting like your fake new boyfriend
His masseur ; In which you're Lando his best friend and masseur, but your feelings start to cause a bit of trouble
s Crazy ; in which Lando and you are crazy for each other without knowing it from each other, until Lando loses his temper while seeing you with another
f Date ; in which Lando needs an awful push from his friends to finally ask you out
Afterparty ; in which you and Lando are oblivious idiots & you go to the afterparty with someone else after Lando told you it was no big deal, spoiler: it was a big deal
Little game ; in which you and Lando are fighting, so you decide to test his feelings for you with a little game
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.”
—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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