#smut with a bit of plot

[predestinatos]

warm enough for you | CL16 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: charles has a special way of getting under your skin, especially when he insists on staying after the party is over. chapter 1 of an ongoing series.

tags: enemies to lovers, smut with a bit of plot, cocky!charles, bratty!yn

word count: 3.6k

minors dni ──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! warnings & note underneath

warnings: smut, drunk (tipsy) sex, oral (f!receiving), penetration, unprotected sex.

author's note: first time attempting at writing smut and posting anything so please keep up with me. currently working on part 2.

Everyone was slowly leaving your apartment, the party reaching its natural end. Bottles were scattered across your living room, but apart from that, the flat was not as messy as expected. The party was more of a get together, given the small venue where you lived.

You were dizzy, the alcohol getting to your head and body, but conscious enough to decide that you could still clean things up before going to sleep. You waited for everyone to leave, and as you were getting ready to finally let out a deep breath you seemed to be holding the whole night, you notice someone standing, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “Fuck you scared the shit out of me,” you start. His tall figure contrasted with the multicolored shadows of your living room, still dancing to a rhythm that was no longer there.

Then he chuckled. You knew it was him, he did not have to make a sound for you to recognize his frame, the way he always crossed his arms when he looked at you, as if in constant judgment. But if you had any doubts, that sound gave you all the certainty you needed. It was the chuckle he let out before a snarky remark. “I’m sorry, princess, I didn’t know you were so sensitive…” and there it was. The pet name used solely to annoy you, the tone that clarified his only purpose was to get under your skin.

“I would argue with you, but honestly I just want to clean up so please leave, thank you.” It was true. You enjoyed entertaining this back and forth, feeling him getting more and more irritated yet pleased with himself. But you were not in the mood for it, at least not now. Your head was softly spinning and taking your mind off of things is exactly what you need.

As you walk past him to the living room, in an attempt to showcase how you were not going to even acknowledge him, let alone join him in his games, he pushes himself off of the doorframe. “Just thought you could use some help.”

This was ridiculous, and you let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. Since when does he want to help you? Ever since the day you two met, he made it his mission to be as unhelpful as he could, rolling his eyes at everything you said, giving counter arguments to your opinions even if he agreed with them, all whilst smiling towards you with the look of pleasure over someone’s anger. You tried your best to avoid him, but it was impossible to do so, since your friend group was the same. Wherever you went, there he was, and vice versa. Eventually, obviously, you started acting the same way towards him as he did with you, and this just amused your friends even more. That was why he was here, in your apartment. He comes with the friends package, whether you like it or not.

Once again, apart from the laugh, you said nothing else. Instead, you leaned down and started picking up the empty bottles from the floor, whilst the lights kept changing colors from blue to purple to red. To your surprise, you hear him do the same, although he stumbles on himself a bit more than you. “Lightweight” you say, smirking, making your way towards the kitchen to put the bottles in a trash bag. That, and because the silence in the living room was too loud, made it too tight for both of you to fit.

As you placed the empty bottles carefully in the bag, avoiding the loud noise of glass on glass to heighten your soon to come headache, you feel a hand on your waist. His hand. His grip was tight and soft at the same time, sending shivers down your body which contrast with your annoyance. “Excuse me” he said behind you, almost whispering in your ear. His hand left your waist as fast as it got there, an indication of how he was aware you wanted more. “Was this less scary?” he asked, ironically.

You turned to look at him, almost ignoring the fact that you were trapped against the balcony as his body. You could feel his gaze on yours, and while you tried to hold it, you realized you couldn’t. The best you could do was run a hand through your hair in an attempt to disguise the tension running through your body. “You’re such an asshole” you said.

He finally looked away while smiling to himself, staring out the window. You took a second to notice the way his throat bobbed up and down, his hair was messy and careless due to the alcohol on his system which lowered his inhibitions. “You like it though.” Before you could turn away, his gaze stared at your again. His breathing was heavier than usual, the drunken smirk on his face juxtaposing with his furrowed eyebrows and darkened eyes. His face was so close, too close, for you to think straight. You looked at his lips, breaking eye contact once again, letting him win once again. “You wish” was all you could reply.

Without moving, his voice asked in defiance, “so what if I do?” You could feel his eyes exploring your body, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady, too controlled breaths. The red light in the living room shone behind him, highlighting his shape hovering above you. “That’s rich coming from you” you snickered. As much as you were feeling the tension between you both, as much as your teasing and bickering was reaching to a degree of immense repressed desire every time you two were in the same room, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You couldn’t.

The first time you two met, he went out of his way to drunkenly inform you, at a club, that you two “would never happen” and that he “would never fuck you.” To this day you fail to understand where the comment came from, to this day you don’t understand why he hates you so much but insists on making his presence known to you.

At first he seemed confused at your comment, his eyes searching your face for an explanation, but soon enough they widen in realization. Letting out a soft laugh, Charles ran his hands through his hair, making it even messier. “You still think about that?”

It was a ridiculous question, and he knew it. It was hard to hear something like that from someone who you basically had just met, even though he was drunk when he said it. You had not even had time to consider any sort of thing happening between you two and he had already declared it impossible. It seemed unbelievable that someone could be so full of himself to the point of declaring he was not going to bed with you, even before you showed any interest.

You pushed him away softly, and he did not stop you, despite his clear disappointment. That emotion was quickly replaced by a raising of eyebrows as he saw you open the door to the fridge and taking out two cold beers, handing him one. “You don’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, so help yourself.” Was all you could say.

This behavior could be explained by the alcohol running through both of your veins already, by your tiredness over the night, or the sheer need for company you had been needing for a while. You moved towards the living room again, slouching down on the sofa, and you needed not look back to know Charles was following you.

He lifted your legs, which were resting softly on the couch, only to sit down and place them on his lap carefully, with a grin splattered across his face. His side profile revealed a certain rigidness, his jaw tight and tense, but his eyes were soft and calm. “Did you mean it, though?” you asked. You seemed to have interrupted his thoughts, because his expression was lost at your sudden break of silence in the dark room.

“What do you think?” he asked back, never willing to give you the upper hand or satisfaction of a normal conversation. You tried to distract yourself from his cold hand caressing your leg, mostly because you did not know how much of it was intentional. He seemed to be doing it so nonchalantly and carelessly, you wondered if most of it was just instinct.

You tried to calm your voice before you replied, even though the first word that came out of your mouth sounded deeper and higher at the same time, uneven and nervous. “Well- I think, according to what you said that nigh-“ you started, but couldn’t finish. He did not allow you to, interrupting you and turning his face to you for the first time since you two sat down. “I know you’re not that dense, princess.”

Even in the darkly lit room, you felt his gaze burning your skin, focusing on your lips, then your neck. Meanwhile, you stared at his hand, moving slightly up your leg, sending shivers throughout your whole body, shivers you wish he did not notice, but knew, deep down, he was aware of. He knew the effect these had on you, he knew how to please, because that was his reputation. And you hated it at first, hated that he was so confident in his skills and so utterly arrogant about them, but now it only aroused you even more. You took a big sip of your beer, in an attempt to cool your now burning body.

That seemed to remind Charles he was himself holding a bottle of beer in his own hand, because upon seeing you swallow the liquid, he looked at the hand which was holding it. Moving it in order to hold it by the neck, grinning to himself in proud arrogance, he brought it close to your skin, your body hissing in pleasure at the temperature. You closed your eyes and exhaled softly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this seemingly simple action affected you, but also not wanting him to stop.

He whispered your name, the request for you to look at him implicit in his voice, and you complied. His movements did not stop, a slow game he seemed to be playing with you, in an attempt to see how far he could go. “You look so fucking hot,” he breathed.

Your body was aflame with lust, and so was his, you could tell. You could see him struggling to even speak clearly, to move clearly, trying his best to control his movements which threatened to unleash themselves. “Careful, Charles, you don’t want to break your promise,” you teased, as you slowly moved closer to him, both in defiance of his actions and tempting him to proceed with them.

He freed both of his hands as you placed yourself directly in front of him, sitting on his lap, feeling his erection through his jeans. “You’re making it very hard for me not to do it” he murmured. “Am I?” you asked again. You were feeling bold, enjoying how both of you were toying with the thin line between hate and desire, between forbidden and allowed. Charles merely nodded hungrily, his hands placed on your hips, caressing them softly.

Your pulse quickened at the touch, but also at his greedy and dark expression. You moved your hands towards his shirt, which you start unbuttoning slowly, revealing more and more of his skin slowly. Before you could move to the fourth button, he abruptly grabs a hold of your wrists and pins you to the sofa, underneath his frame. “Stop being such a fucking tease,” he demanded with an aggressive ardor in his voice. With that, he guided your hand which he was still holding towards his erection. You realized the agony he must be in, how his cock must be throbbing underneath those layers of fabric. You felt weak yourself, with an intoxicating need to undress, to ignite the fire that was visibly about to burst into crimson flames.

“You deserve it” you replied with a smirk. It didn’t seem to convince him, this attempt of yours at seeming stronger and unaffected by what was happening. You and him were playing a game but it was getting too real, too intense, too tempting. Letting go of your hand and getting closer to you, his lips mere inches away from yours, he placed a hand between your legs, feeling the pooling wetness growing. Your whole body shuddered at this, a moan escaping your lips and giving you away. “You’re just making it harder for yourself,” he whispered smugly, lips brushing against yours.

Desperately you pulled him in for a kiss. His kiss was filled with intoxicating craving, a groan escaping his lips at the sudden action, his hips grinding against you in frenzied movements. Breaking your kiss, his lips moved towards your neck, softly biting it and leaving wet marks as he kept going down. You undid the knot holding your short dress together, thanking yourself for the easy-access choice of wardrobe.

As he kissed your stomach and paused at your navel, looking up at you as if asking for confirmation. You looked at him and saw how he looked: disheveled and flushed, his cheeks red and messy hair. He looked absolutely mesmerizing, the mix of complete submission but demanding attitude affecting your body through a quickened pulse. You could only nod your permission, finding yourself at a loss of words. He did not hesitate to pull down your lacy underwear, leaving you exposed to him, feeling his warm breath against you. All at once, his lips were exploring your opening, followed by his tongue, moving with ravish.

You cried audibly in pleasure, your back arching against him in untamed pleasure. Unable to hold his own need for pleasure, Charles unzipped his jeans and began stroking himself. His ragged grunts made your body melt in jolts of bliss, and watching him touching himself as he ate you out sent you completely over the edge.

He raised his eyes at you as he kept savoring you, some of his hair sticking to his forehead, his gaze filled with contrasting innocence and total control over you. He pulled his lips away from you, placing himself above your frame, making you look so small in comparison to him. He hovered over you, shirt completely unbuttoned, hand still pleasuring his cock, visibly throbbing with need. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of him, face wet from your juices and his saliva, chest rising and falling incoherently. “I knew you’d love it” he breathed out.

It was admirable, really. How he still teased you and made it his mission to get under your skin, even like this. “That’s all you’ve got?” you replied, eyebrows raised, eyes half closed in unspoken defiance. “You’re jerking yourself off like a desperate teenager and I’m the one ‘loving it’?” you were testing him. Trying to see how much you could push him over the edge, annoy him, how he would take it out on you – or not.

“God you’re such a fucking brat” he hissed, holding your body with ease and turning you around, lying on your stomach. With his knees, he spread your legs apart and positioned himself between them. You felt him lower himself down, preparing yourself to be filled up, to quench the thirst growing at every passing second but- nothing was happening.

“What the fuck-“ you complained, annoyed. It was slightly embarrassing, your frustration over how long he was taking, and when you turned your head around slightly to see what was wrong, you saw that he had won. He was doing it on purpose, despite his own desperation to bury himself inside you. Amused, he chuckled bringing his hand to your back, caressing it as if to ease your pain in mocking comfort. “You have to tell me what you want, princess.”

“You can’t be serious” you hissed back. But he was, and you knew it. You had gotten this far already, and yet he would not let this go, and you did not know why he insisted so much. You had no idea how much it turned him on to see that only he could affect you like he did, to see how much control he had over you.

Rolling your eyes and doing your best at a monocordic voice, you complied “fuck me, Charles.” Yes, you were being bratty and petty, and yes, you would do anything just for him to fill the emptiness you were feeling inside you.

“You’re such a brat,” he growls as he thrusts himself into you. Your instantly arch your back in pain ad pleasure, feeling his whole body vibrating into you with untamed hunger. His hands grip your waist and force you to switch from a lying position to all fours, allowing him to access you easier. He continued his thrusts as he left bites on the back of your neck, and you filled the room with your cries.

He was not being soft or sweet about it. Charles was completely immersed in his need to have you, so much so that he could barely see anything apart from you, back arched in pleasure for him, the switching lights illuminating every curve of your body in sensuous effect. He dreamt about possessing you like this so often, thought about how good you’d feel so many times, that what was happening seemed to him unreal. He felt himself close to coming as you clenched around him, but before he could so, he pulled himself out of you.

 “Not yet,” he started. His voice was husked and lazy, a reflection of how much restraint it was taking him not to fill you up already. You were about to protest, being so close yourself, but as you turned around you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of him. His green eyes were glossy, his face completely flushed and sweaty from withhold pleasure. As you stared at him, he raised an eyebrow and gave you a half-smile. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, doing nothing to fix it, but it didn’t matter. He seemed almost shy about how you were looing at him, which was insane and ridiculous, given what you were doing, what you were.

 “I want to look at you” you said. This caused Charles’ eyes to widen in surprise, not expecting your bluntness. Even you were shocked at what you said and how demanding you sounded, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Holding one of your ankles and placing it on his shoulder, Charles entered you with unleashed violence, his gazed interlocked with yours. You thought about how pornographic the view must be for him as well, your swollen lips, some tears of pleasure running through your cheeks, and a sloppy smile plastered across your face. You feel absolutely lightheaded, almost drunk with ecstasy. “Putain, j'aime quand tu me regardes comme ça” he said, French escaping his lips as he loses all capacity to form coherent thoughts. This just made your pulse quicken, your skin bursting with fulfillment.

 His pace fastened even more, as he grunted and throbbed with how good he felt inside you. “Your cunt feels so fucking good” he kept repeating, his eyebrows furrowed as if attempting to delay his orgasm. “Charles, I- I’m gonna cum” you try telling him, between breaths and moans. “Fuck, fuck, look at me” he demanded, holding your face so it wouldn’t move away from his gaze. With that, you erupted in pleasure, completely undone beneath him, body trembling.

The view was so overwhelming, Charles couldn’t help but come as well, filling you up with fervent ardor, his body falling limply on top of yours. He remained there, his breathing uneven and erratic, just like yours.

You both lost track of time as you lay there, together. You could have fallen asleep like that, maybe you had, there was no way to tell. He felt warm and comfortable against you, and you felt so close and secure to him that neither of you dared to move.

After a while, his fingers starting drawing small, invisible designs on your still sensitive skin, causing you to giggle. For some time, you two just existed together with nothing else retraining your behavior, your own hands playing with his soft hair, a tired smile on his face.

You wake up with light filling your living room, giving you momentary blindness. The headache was done with its threat to show up, now attacking you with full force, limiting your movements and thoughts. Despite everything, you remembered the night before. Even if you did not, there was evidence that something had happened – or, better, there wasn’t any, and that’s what caught your attention.

The living room was pristine and looked untouched. You were fully dressed in some comfortable clothes, and the TV was on despite the fact that its volume was almost fully off. It seemed as if this was an ordinary day, but you knew it wasn’t.

You grabbed your phone and stared at its screen empty of any sort of texts, notifications or messages. Nothing to prove the night before. You knew it was a mistake to do so, but you couldn’t help typing out the text:

To: Charles (Asshole) Hey, got home safe? (11:33am)

All you got back was a small text underneath yours, which said “Read (11:47)”

[t00thpasteface]

funniest hawkeye gender headcanon to me is transsexual-but-not-transgender. second funniest is transmasc but drafted anyway through a series of farcical flukes and miscommunications

[ambii15]

May I present (part of), the “we met at a bar and I kinda hate you but still want to fuck you” Caitvi fic that’s been rotting my brain away

Enjoy 😉:

The familiar thump of the heavy base pounded along the floor, curling its way through heel covered feet and reverberating through her spine. The smell of booze and sweat and smoke lingered in the air, making Caitlyn scrunch her nose.

No matter how many times she has walked into the now familiar bar, she’d never get over the stench.

But it was one consequence she’d live with if it meant her night would end the same way every time she’d walked into The Last Drop.

Two months.

Two months since these little…trysts had started.

All because Caitlyn couldn’t resist Jayce’s pleading to accompany him and Mel to the newly popular bar that had suddenly started gaining traction after an apparent ‘small renovation’.

And also because of her.

Two months ago

“Come on, Cait. Stop pouting. You’re going to love this place, I promise,” Jayce spoke radiantly as they stepped out of the car.

Caitlyn cast her sullen gaze along the newly renovated exterior, the large sign smack above the bar’s entrance boosting its name and a simple beer mug filled to the brim, a single drop frozen in time just above it, ready to crash into the awaiting glass.

“I’m not pouting,” Caitlyn remarked, eyes laser focused on the small crowd that spilled from the bar’s doors. “I’d just rather be somewhere else.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t like crowds and music and drinking, it was simply that Caitlyn preferred the comfort of her perfectly cozy loft apartment cuddled up on her couch with a good book or the newest crime documentary and a glass of wine. She’d grown up forced to attend her mother’s parties and other functions deemed necessary for her station as a counselor's daughter and now?

Now she just likes peace and quiet.

Jayce simply chuckled, shaking his head as he threw an arm around Caitlyn’s shoulders, “You mean holed up like a loner? You’ll never find anyone that way, sprout. You need to get out. Explore the city and the many things it has to offer…if you know what I mean.”

Caitlyn scoffed as Jayce subtly tipped his head in the direction of a group of women mingling outside the bar, skin exposed through more fishnet than she’s ever seen, skirts and shorts shorter than even Caitlyn’s little black number. And that was saying something.

“As gorgeous as they are,” Caitlyn mumbled, eyes lingering just a little too long. “I’m not interested in finding anyone and you know that.”

“Oh, please, Caitlyn. When are you going to just stop being so focused on work and actually let yourself have some fun for once?”

Caitlyn groaned as Mel stepped up next to Jayce, smirk in place as she sided with her boyfriend. Thankfully, Mel was normally the one to leave her be and let Caitlyn do her own thing as she pleased, but that didn’t seem the case tonight.

Mel stepped towards her, fingers moving to fluff up the long dark blue strands of loosely curled hair. Caitlyn begrudgingly waited for her best friend to finish primping her. There was no sense in trying to talk Mel out of it when she was the one to force her into the makeup and the silk dress clinging to her skin and the outrageously tall heels. Not that Caitlyn would complain about the outfit. She wasn’t daft…she knew she looked damn good. Fuckable even. But that was not the goal for tonight. Caitlyn simply wanted to accompany her friends and leave…as soon as possible.

“Let’s just get this over with please. The faster we’re in there the faster I can leave,” Caitlyn groaned as she pushed the couple towards the doors.

“Such a spoilsport,” Mel laughed.

The bar was filled to the brim. Bodies cramped together on the dance floor like a pack of sardines, the scent of sweat and booze wafting through them, as Chase Atlantic bled through the dj’s speakers, lights a colorful array flickering with the beat. Caitlyn clung to Mel’s arm as Jayce led them through the throng of bodies towards the heavily packed bar.

With the amount of people that were currently bumping into her, making contact with her skin, a drink was going to be a heavy necessity.

They quickly claimed a rare opening at the end of the bar, Jayce and Mel offering the only open stool for Caitlyn to sit. Caitlyn vaguely listened to the couple behind her as she surveyed the bar. An array of alcohol lined the shelves behind the bar, each shelf lit by purple and blue lights, an…interesting choice Caitlyn had never seen for bar lighting. Two male bartenders quickly and efficiently worked the crowd while balancing cups and bottles of booze and the inflow of cash from customers hands. Caitlyn watched with wonder as the taller of the two began flipping two bottles of expensive looking liquor before pouring them into the awaiting cups in front of a group of young women.

“Names Mylo. What can I get for ya?”

Caitlyn broke her gaze away from the now cheering women to acknowledge the other bartender, shorter and leaner, she hadn’t even noticed had approached them. She quickly looked back at her friends, silently telling them to go ahead and order first.

“Whiskey, neat, for me,” Jayce called over the music before gesturing to Mel. “Martini for my lady and then whatever sprout here wants, on me.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes as Jayce elbowed her shoulder before turning back to the bartender who watched them with a bored expression.

“I’ll take a glass of Riesling, please.”

Caitlyn seemed caught off guard as the bartender –Mylo– reared back slightly as if burned.

“Riesling? You want a glass of wine here?”

“Yes?” Caitlyn muttered, unsure if the word would have even reached his ears through the pounding music.

Mylo laughed darkly while he began working on Jayce and Mel’s drinks, something about the sound stiffening Caitlyn’s spine, “Can say I haven’t had many people, if any really, order riesling at a place like this. Then again, we don’t see your type around here too much.”

Caitlyn bristled a little, “My type?”

“Yeah,” Mylo drawled, like it should have been completely obvious to her what he meant. “A topsider, clearly one of the elite if the way you're dressed and rigid posture is anything to go by.”

Two drinks clicked against the counter, a small bit of Mel’s martini swishing from the glass as they were shoved in front of her.

“I’ll be back with your riesling, piltie. Gotta get it from the back.”

Caitlyn was left gaping like a fish out of water as she watched Mylo yell something to the other bartender over the music before disappearing through a door behind the bar. Being called a piltie or topsider was nothing new to Caitlyn, hell, it was the truth…but she’d never been called it with such detest.

The unsettling emotions of whatever the hell she was currently feeling swirled in her stomach as she slowly turned to Jayce and Mel. The couple was completely oblivious to the interaction, both swaying along to the music and taking gracious sips of their drinks, more than ready to lose themselves into the thriving life of the bar.

“Cait,” Mel practically yelled as she grabbed onto her shoulder. “We’re going to go dance! You coming?”

Caitlyn shook her head, thumb hooking over her shoulder in a gesture towards the bar behind her, “I’m still waiting on my drink. I’ll join you once I get it. You both go on ahead.”

Mel pursed her lips, glancing around the bar with quizzical and sharp eyes.

“You sure? We can wait.”

“No. No, you guys go have fun. I might actually just keep my butt in this seat for a while. You did force me into a pair of obnoxiously tall heels,” Caitlyn laughed, legs shifting to show off said heels like Mel didn’t already know what they looked like.

Laughter tumbled from tastefully painted gold lips, a hand lightly hitting Caitlyn on her outstretched leg, “You better not stay here all night or I’m going to drag you onto the dance floor kicking and screaming if I have to.”

Caitlyn scoffed in amusement, “You can try. Doesn’t mean you’ll succeed.”

Mel rolled her eyes and decided to give Caitlyn the last word as she turned to Jayce, who was all but jumping along with the deep base that pulsed through the bar and not even paying attention to their conversation in the slightest, to yell something in his ear before grabbing his hand and leading him through the throng of bodies. Jayce spun as he held Mel’s hand, making a ‘cheers’ gesture with his whiskey to Caitlyn before letting the music fully consume him as the couple was swallowed into the crowd.

Caitlyn let her eyes linger on the crowd, completely comfortable with people watching and more than thankful that her seat at the end of the bar allowed her ample space away from the press of random bodies.

“You’re riesling, topsider.”

The voice behind her was sudden and smooth and rough all at once…and definitely not male.

Caitlyn swung around on her stool, cerulean eyes dropping to the glass of white wine that was pushed towards her and the thick curl of fingers around the stem. She reached out, mind bristling at the tone that slithered along the ‘topsider’ jab, and anchored her own fingers just under the surprisingly scarred ones that had yet to remove themselves from the glass.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn muttered just barely audible over the music, very consciously aware that she had yet to make eye contact with just whoever was the owner of the voice and scarred fingers.

Before she could even try to take full possession of the wine glass, it and her hand were all but yanked forward. Caitlyn released a small gasp of oxygen that was practically forced from her lungs as her chest made impact with the bartop and the feeling of those thick fingers, attached to a hand much larger than her’s, coiled around her wrist with a tight, but not painful, squeeze.

It took all but half a second for Caitlyn to realize that whatever the hell was happening, was actually happening and not just some funny trick of the lights or due to her normal tendency to daydream. She tried to wrench her hand from the stranger’s grip but was only met with a chuckle and a steadfast squeeze. Where Caitlyn might have felt panic begin to curl at the edges of her being at the inability to release herself…she only felt warmth.

A strange warmth that curled deep in her belly and spread like wildfire, fraying her nerve endings in ways she hasn’t felt in…well…maybe ever.

And Caitlyn didn’t even know what this person looked like.

At least not until she finally levered her smoldering gaze onto the being currently holding her hostage across the bar.

She was strikingly nothing like what Caitlyn was expecting…but also everything she was expecting just from her voice and hands alone.

The first feature that pulled Caitlyn in were those stormy grey eyes, hazy with wonder and mirth, almost deep enough to drown her gaze before she could glance at the small roman numeral six tattoo just under her left eye. The nose piercing was her next focus, which then pulled her to the scar on a full upper lip that was currently set in a smirk. A single strand of pink hair fell forward, distracting her gaze from those plump lips, and Caitlyn never thought she could appreciate hair so much.

Vibrant, deep pink hair, almost red, was pulled back into a bun revealing a short undercut that left Caitlyn wondering just how her fingers would feel running over it.

And with one last once over, this handsome stranger’s face was no longer…well, strange.

Now, as for her body? Well, Caitlyn could tell plenty just by the way the black button down’s sleeves strained against sturdy muscles.

If those muscles didn’t have her licking lips already, then the feeling of a single finger lifting her chin back up to those glorious grey eyes sure did.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” Grey eyes purred.

Caitlyn quickly snapped out of the lusty fog that assaulted her brain, retracting her chin from the fiery finger that felt close to burning her, and finally jerked her hand free along with her glass. The mysterious woman’s smirk simply widened further as she folded her arms and leaned against the bar, those grey eyes scanning her with something intense behind them.

“I didn’t really want to believe my brother when he told me a topsider actually showed their face here, but here you are, and with friends no less.”

Caitlyn could practically feel flames of anger licking along her spine –if she was called a topsider one more time with that damn insulting tone, she was going to lose her shit. When Mylo had thrown the term around it was…briefly unsettling at the most, but when this woman tossed it around…it almost felt like a slap to the face.

“And what’s so wrong about a topsider coming to a bar? Is there a rule against us being here?” Caitlyn inquired as she finally sipped her riesling, grounding herself in the way the liquid slid down her throat and warmed her empty stomach.

Grey eyes laughed, a single hand gesturing towards the space to Caitlyn’s back.

“Take a look around, sweetheart. Not much of your type around these parts.”

Caitlyn didn’t need to look around to know what the woman was implying. She’d noticed it from the second they’d walked in the door…hell, she’d noticed it while they were in the parking lot.

They weren’t so deep in Zaun that it would be uncommon to see someone from Pilitover here or there. They were just on the outskirts of the city…barely. But just from one sweeping look around the dancefloor and bar was enough for Caitlyn to confirm that her and her two best friends were definitely the only people from Piltover.

Where Piltover was all white and sparkly and clean, Zaun was dark hues and smudged paint and…well not necessarily dirty. More like a haphazard mess.

In other words, they were complete opposites.

Caitlyn swirled the remaining wine in her glass, brow arching as she fixed the woman with a heavy glare, “So I guess what you’re trying to say is we’re not really welcome here?”

“Bingo, sweetheart,” Grey eyes snapped her fingers before dropping her chin atop her knuckles and fixing Caitlyn with a sweet, fake smile. “My family has dealt with enough topsider bullshit that we don’t need any of you in our place of business. Now, you can take your riesling, get your two little friends and be on your merry way back to your shiny mansion.”

And Caitlyn’s shit was lost.

Caitlyn chuckled deeply, legs crossing as she leaned forward over the bar, a mere inch away from grey eyes, “And just what are you going to do if I don’t? What if I prefer to stay right here in this seat and happily sip my Riesling while my friends dance, hm?”

Those fingers that had been wrapped around her wrist only minutes ago, tightened, knuckles turning white, as grey eyes leveled her with a dark stare. Caitlyn knew she was playing with fire, but something about that look just set her body aflame more than scared her off, which she’s sure is what the look was intended for.

“You’re messing with the wrong one, sweetheart.”

Caitlyn smirked, eyes wondering the form of pink hair and grey eyes and muscles over her glass, “Oh, but I do think I’m messing with the right one, darling.”

The air between them, formerly somewhat hostile after grey eyes tried to kick her out onto the curb, shifted completely. It grew thick and heady, curled around them like a scorching blanket and Caitlyn felt herself unconsciously shift on her stool, thighs pressed together in an attempt to soothe the dull ache building at her core.

If she was being honest with herself, this is exactly what Caitlyn didn’t want to happen. She hadn’t been lying when she told Jayce and Mel that she just wasn’t interested in finding someone tonight. Caitlyn did not want to deal with the hassle of a one night stand or a few times fling, let alone a relationship, at this point in her life. No, this time was for advancing in her career. Showing everyone that she was more than capable of finding her own way around without any help or guidance from her mother. This was a time of focus.

But damn did those scarred pink lips just beg for her to bite them.

Maybe, if Caitlyn played her cards just right, she could get her brains fucked out by this handsome woman who obviously somewhat detested her and just forget it happened. That would be fine, right? Just once and it’ll be over. She deserved it.

A dark chuckle fluttered in the space between them and Caitlyn could feel the wheels of her hastily put together plan beginning to turn. She just needed to push the right buttons and grey eyes here would be putty on her hands.

“Oh, sweetheart, trust me when I say you don’t want to play this game with me,” the scarred eyebrow that Caitlyn had been drawn to earlier perked up, as if asking if she really wanted to continue.

Caitlyn finally stood from her stool, the freakishly tall heels giving her more height than her already long legs did, and leaned fully over the bar. Her breasts were practically put on display now, the black silk of her dress plunging just enough as she leaned to show off a generous amount of cleavage and she mentally clapped herself on the back when stormy eyes glanced down to catch the view. Caitlyn’s free hand moved suddenly, drifting over warm fingers, a wrist, a forearm corded with hard muscle, and flowing up the length of the woman’s arm before curling around her shoulder.

Without warning, Caitlyn tugged her forward, cheek pressing against cheek as she whispered in her ear.

“If the game you’re talking about is where you fuck me like you hate me, then yes, I really do,” Caitlyn husked before slowly backing away, fingers skimming down the front of the woman’s chest before reaching over to grab her wine once more. Caitlyn finished her drink in one sure swig then deposited the glass into the woman’s dangling hand, a small bit of shock now showing through her hardened features.

“That is unless you’d actually prefer to kick me out,” Cailtyn shrugged, picking imaginary lint off her dress before glancing back up. “Then I could simply go home, as I have wanted since before I even walked in here. Or, you could take me into whatever corner is dark enough to hide us from prying eyes and we could have our way with each other. Ball is in your court, darling.”

—————————

Wanted to get a little feedback on this before finishing it up and posting it. Hopefully in the next week or so if I don’t get carried away 😂 be on the look out 😉

[alderaanplacesss]

“I think we are sufficient fools, Solas.” 

“Fools?” He repeated it, crossing his arms. 

“Yes. Probably the greatest in all of Thedas, if you must know.” 

His step closer caused her to back against the trunk of the nearest tree. 

“What makes you say this?” 

She wiped her mouth with a sharp grin. 

“You, for thinking I have any interest in the likes of someone else. And me?”

The Inquisitor shrugged, a combination of repression and liquid courage swelling, “For thinking my sweaty dreams about you were anything more than that: just dreams.” 

Solas felt a small, betraying pang in his chest turn into a rapid onslaught of palpitations. Having a body was something that still managed to surprise him - particularly when it came to her. 

“Bad dreams, then?” He sauntered a step closer, voice low.  

The Inquisitor let out a pitiful laugh. “To be undressed beneath you?” 

His lips parted ever so slightly, eyes wide. 

She finished her drink, chucking it into the grass. When she finally met his eyes, her head was tilted against the tree, neck exposed to him.

“I suppose they’re only bad if they never come true.” 

[astrosfaerydae]

Sugar, I've Developed a Taste For You || Minsung

[wc: 2.8k]

[Read time: 8 mins]

[Rating: Explicit 🔞]

Summary:

Jisung comes home late from the studio yet still earlier than Minho had expected. Caught in the act Jisung takes care of him the way he deserves.

Excerpt:

Jisung stood up with an indignant huff and walked over to Minho’s side of the bed, trapping his naked body in with a back hug. He squished himself as close as possible resting his cheek against Minho’s still damp shoulder blade, “Are you really ok?” “Ehh, but a bit of Vitamin D might help me feel better.” Jisung kissed Minho’s shoulder softly before smacking it with a burst of laughter, “Can you be serious for two fucking seconds?”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62384689

[MasterList]

[alectoperdita]

I've been sleeping on joukai with age difference.

Just 23yo hacker!Seto teaching 36yo hitter!Jou, who recently discover his bisexuality like last month, to suck dick for the first time

[captainblou]

Undercover

A collaborative fanfiction between myself & @eybefioro

READ ON AO3

Welcome to our no-pressure/no-deadline/no-plot smut fest!! In which we throw every single idea we ever had, with a plot that fits on a napkin (and some more because our stubborn writer's mind decided to plot anyway). This fic is the product of a collaboration between two unhinged minds sharing one filthy brain cell, and is written like this: Every change of POV is a change of writer, with very little communication between the two of us – we have to go with whatever the other throws at us! This leads to unexpected developments that are both tasty and fun (we hope you’ll think so too). This is an ongoing project that we’ll be carrying on as long as we feel like, and as long as we have ideas. As a result the tags are likely to evolve with every new chapter, and we will add content warnings in the notes at the end of each chapter! Chapters will be mostly independent, so you’ll be able to skip one if the tags are not your cup of tea, because as one says: to each his own. We hope you have as much fun reading as we had writing this, please leave comments to tell us what you think!! Love, Eybe & Blou

Summary:

After Aziraphale becomes the Supreme Archangel, Crowley is appointed as Prince of Hell. Some may think they aren't talking, but that's only true when they're busy with more pressing activities. (A collection of sexy times between our favorite angel and demon, trapped in an office hell/heaven scape, where the second coming that matters is not the Jesus one)

FEEL FREE TO YELL AT US IN THE COMMENTS AND ON TUMBLR!!

Thank you bestie @crowleys-bentley-and-plants for betaing this chapter 💛

[hundan]

Pretending

Fandom: NCIS

Ship: Tony/Ziva 

Rating: M

Summary:  Dealing with the elevator scene in Cloak s6 ep8.

They’ve tried to pretend, pretend that ever since she has been back that things are okay between them. That before she left, they hadn’t been close to breaking. He’s cracked his jokes and she’s been all little Miss Ziva David about herself. Keeping secrets from him and he just cannot do this any longer. Today it broke him. Because he’s sick of all the lies, and being used as a pawn was his last straw. He meant what he said to her in the elevator. She said she was tired to, but was she really? He finds that hard to believe when she’s off taking weekends to Israel to see someone else. Someone that wasn’t him.

Continue reading on AO3

Continue reading on FF

[soaps-mohawk]

Hey! I love your story so so much and I always look forward to new chapters!

I do have a question though. Is the whole General Shepard cameras thing still is part of the story? I feel like the buildup was so good and then it just disappeared and became unimportant. Like if the guys never find out about it, it's whatever.

I dont mean this as an insult to your writing at all, but I'm just wondering if it's gonna come back at all since it's been so long since it's been thought about by the mc.

Again, I love your work

You'll have to wait and see

[saunne]

Yinyue-jun had been an almost-god, a draft nearing inking, an ersatz deity who had collapsed its pedestal to walk among mortals, pushing the joke to the point of becoming a devotee itself. Because what else could one call this obsession bordering on the maniacal, which had chained this superior being to a little thing of fleeting existence like Yingxing ? Dan Feng had made Yingxing's body a temple, an altar, and an idol all at once, transforming every kiss and caress into an offering, every whisper into a prayer, every breath into a plea. 

They had wrapped the very meaning of their existence around that of Yingxing, just like ivy wrapped itself around a tree, depending on the trunk’s steadiness so as not to collapse. But just as a tree aged and rotted, collapsing under the weight of the ivy that smothered it, Yingxing had fallen, dragging Dan Feng down with him.

Blade was what had remained of this sacrilegious act, of this tragedy and hidden even deeper within its cracked psyche, there had been Ren. 

Ren, who wasn't completely Blade but not entirely Yingxing either.

Ren, who was the edge of a blade, the dividing line between past and future, between emotions and irrationality, between love and hatred.

Ren, torn apart between Yingxing's desire to live for Dan Feng and Blade's desire to die because of Dan Feng. 

[wantcn]

open starter, do not like ( m: anna black - also available: olivia, lily)

plot: our muses are cuddling on the sofa during movie night, his gf/wife is sitting in the armchair a few feet away, too engrossed in scrolling through her phone to notice. ( tw infi.delity )

open to: anything that fits the scene. forbidden, tab*o, fucked up connections welcome, though not necessary.

THE MOVIE PLAYING ON THE SCREEN IN FRONT OF THEM became a background noise as Anna felt the man's hold on her waist becoming a little bit tighter, a little bit more demanding. the brunette stilled in her movements, a blush blooming across her cheeks as she realised that by trying to get more comfortable she had accidentaly pressed her ass into his groin. all of a sudden she became all too aware of the state of his arousal, their position allowing for the kind of contact that should have never been allowed. for a split of a moment Anna cursed herself for choosing the sofa when he already occupied it. but at the time it seemed innocent enough. the Friday movie nights were tradition at this point, and it was not an unusual occurence that the two of them sat on the sofa. often under the same blanket as Anna complained about the cold and demanded he keep her toes warm with her feet in his lap. "I didn't mean to." the brunette apologised softly, just loud enough for him to hear, relaxing in his hold even if her heart thudded wildly in her chest as she could still feel his hardened manhood against her ass "I can get up if you want me to..."

[vivid-vices]

i woke up in the middle of the night last night and finished a fic that i'd only written the first 5-7ish paragraphs of and now i'm scared to open the doc because what if it's completely incoherent gibberish?

[practicalmgic]

Desperate for a discord 1x1 surrounding a lesbian couple who are 40+ and they are witches running a magic shop! We could add some angst in the form of witch hunters, or maybe one of them finds something out about their family. I don't know, just give me witchy wlws!

If you are interested, please make sure you read my 1x1 rules before liking this post or dming me!

[ginnyw-potter-archive]

When I finally roll out of bed I'm updating Experimentally in Love. Finally a smut chapter. I hope you're happy 😁

[skyrim-forever]

I'm only happy when I'm with you Part 2: I will grow to love you even more

It's a holiday miracle! I am writing again! I repeat I am writing again!!! I'm happy to share part 2 of one of my Ondolemar/Dragonborn fics <3 AO3 link and snippet posted below :) MDNI

Words: 1629

Rating: M (Smut and Fluff)

Pairing: Ondolemar/Dragonborn (Theodora)

Hjerim was a large property and Ondolemar found himself unsure where her bedroom was. Thankfully before he can go in the wrong direction, Theodora removes her lips from his long enough to speak. “Forward, up the stairs.” Ever thankful for her instruction, he practically runs up the stairs, to find her bed, a sleigh bed of nordic design that he places her on; sitting up with her legs over the foot of the bed. “Gods, I’ve missed you.” He removes his gloves as she kicks her boots off to the side before her hands are on him again. With the mission of getting him out of his robes quicker. “The feeling is mutual.” The commander’s hands find her armour, removing piece by piece, with their respective uniforms pooling on the ground beneath them. Now that they are both bare, Theodora takes the initiative and pushes the Altmer onto her bed. “Ah, so you would like to do the hard work tonight?” He shoots her smug expression. Theodora moves to straddle his legs. “Well you, did come all this way” Her hands run down his chest “it would be a shame to make you work as well.” Ondolemar lets out a slight moan as she shifts her weight, grinding into him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna make it easy this time.” Theodora shoots him a sultry look, one Ondolemar counters with a look of his own. “You’ve never made it easy for me” His hands find her thighs and she shivers at his touch, hands still cold from the streets of Windhelm. “Forgive me for not submitting so easily Commander.” The use of his title causes another moan to erupt from him. “Then I’ll have to make you” 

[saunne]

Kafka wasn't even sure what had left her lips, mind filled with static and Spirit Whisper singing under her breath as she reached out, grabbed and seized, deaf to the prayer-like moan that escaped from Jing Yuan’s tempting mouth. She barely felt how the ridges of Jing Yuan's armor dug into the relief of her spine as the woman collapsed, whole body seized with a tremolo-like tremor. 

With quivering eyes hidden behind closed eyelids, Kafka let herself be carried away by Jing Yuan’s melody, losing herself in the most delicate nuances of the tonal color, in the cadence of the notes, in the phrases and motifs and bridges, tasting the notes on her tongue and feeling the emotion rise, ascend, climax.

She opened her eyes with a trembling breath, her mind saturated with something incredible, inconceivable, exhilarating. It was a matter of an instant for Kafka to reverse their positions, pressing a limp-bodied Jing Yuan against the wall, pulling that marvelous thick hair with a firm hand to reveal the curve of a pale neck. The marks left by her rouge almost looked like wounds in the semi-darkness, as she worshiped that swan-like throat with feathery kisses, feeling the slightest quiver of suppressed moans beneath her mouth.

Elio was a composer, Kafka his conductor and Ren would be one of their joint masterpieces. 

But Jing Yuan ? 

Jing Yuan was a magnum opus.

Jing Yuan's spirit sang an angel's choir in the embrace of her Spirit Whisper, soft and malleable and delicate in all its strength. Not the slightest trace of resistance, not the slightest surrender either. 

An offering, on a platter, all for her to grasp, all for her to devour.

All for her to ruin, all for her to destroy.

All for her to sublimate, to rebuild, to elevate.

Jing Yuan was a magnum opus and Kafka wanted to make her sing.

Gift to @aratribo and @hunterfromtheabyss ! 💜