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leclsrc · 1 year

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decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver.

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are).

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases.

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.”

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max.

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest.

“This is despicable,�� Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed.

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving.

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome.

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?”

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm.

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck.

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up.

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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seisrkvs · 4 days

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RULES (ARE MEANT TO BE BROKEN) — C. KAMO

gn reader i think, suggestive, not specifically angst or fluff idk, brother's best friend trope, mentions of fighting/bruises, alcohol consumption, age gap (2yrs) but both are adults. implied smashing. ahaha.

english is not my first language, so there may be grammatical mistakes. i don't care enough to fix them lol

WC 2.6k.

ten rules to follow when your best friend has a cool older brother.

AUTHOR'S NOTE :: this was so draining; never writing again

RULE NUMBER 01: NEVER FALL FOR YOUR BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER.

your best friend's brother, choso. two, years older than you but he's always seemed oh-so-mature with his serious, unsmiling face. (he makes an exception for you and yuji, though, and you think he's so, so sweet and so, so perfect.) a scar across it, over the bridge of his nose — in your opinion, it makes him ten times more attractive.

you start liking him aged twelve or thirteen, you're not sure, really. he wears cute sweaters and buttonups and doesn't really hang out with the boys in his class. he's shy and introverted and he's like fifteen and you just want him to be your boyfriend. oh, well, nothing ever works out the way you want it to, and he leaves for college when you're seventeen.

RULE NUMBER 02: NEVER ASK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED AT COLLEGE.

he never really mentions what happens in college, but choso is an entirely different person when he comes back. gone are the soft schoolboy clothes; now he's really in his element. the choso you know now is loose band tees and baggy jeans, rings stacked on his hands and nails painted black. and the best/worst part is that he looks good in it, and he knows he looks good in it.

nowadays, there are rumors about him. about how he drinks and smokes and gets into fights. but surely that's all just talk, right? besides, he says it's not true, so you don't believe them.

still, his taped up, bruised knuckles and bandaged hands still nag at the back of your mind.

RULE NUMBER 03: NEVER AGREE TO GOING TO HIS POOL PARTY.

why are you here? no, really, why are you here? this is way out of your comfort zone, and you know like, one person here. two, including choso. so where are you, exactly? well...

choso'd never been the type to host parties before he left for college. now is a different story, though. and a pool part at his place right at the apex of summer seems too good of an opportunity to refuse. especially when he lives next door and personally invites you over.

thick muscular arms hang over your side of the fence as he stares at you, chin propped up on top of it. "so 's that a yes or no?"

you shrug again, shrivelling inwardly under the overwhelming pressure of his gaze. and then his lips curl up into a slow, self-satisfied smile, as if he knows what you're thinking, and it almost has your knees buckling. heat spreads across your face, pools in your cheeks. you hope the blinding glare of the sun makes it difficult to see.

"ah, well, see ya then," he says with a chuckle when there's no sign of a response from you. it simultaneously irks and pleases you to know that he knows you well enough to know your answer. when you're sure he's gone, you rush to your room and scream into the pillow.

RULE NUMBER 04: NEVER SHOW UP TO HIS POOL PARTY.

the air is hot, humid and permeated with sweat and human activity. a concerningly high number of people are stuffed into choso and yuji's home, and you can't even hear yourself think over the bass of the music.

navigating through the mass of sweaty dancing people is humiliatingly nerve-wracking, not to mention annoying. you somehow manage to get lost in a house you've known all your life, and it takes you a quarter of an hour to venture out into the backyard. when you finally find it, that is.

and as if he's somehow aware of your presence, choso picks that exact moment to — very slowly — pull off the skintight black t-shirt that's clinging to his sculpted body. time moves in slow motion for you; your eyes drag over the expanse of his infuriatingly divine torse, unable to look away. and then he turns around, looks straight at you, and smirks. your stomach physical twists and you don't even know how you're alive right now, if you're being honest.

you don't even notice how close you've moved to him until he whistles in your direction and tosses the t-shirt into your hands. you're left holding it awkwardly as he dives into the pool, leaving you alone amidst the crowds all over again. he resurfaces a moment later, and over the din of the speakers and people you hear him yell something out to you.

"keep it if you want!"

fucking mind reader.

RULE NUMBER 05: NEVER HANG OUT WITH HIM WHEN HIS BROTHER'S NOT AROUND.

you are sprawled out on your lawn with a book in hand, not-so-discreetly staring at choso on the other side of the fence when you lock eyes with him. your first instinct is to look away, but then he flashes you a knowing grin and holds out his beer towards you. "want a drink?"

it's barely four in the afternoon. who even drinks at this time? other than choso, apparently. you don't want to seem too eager, so you sit up and pretend to think. "but i'm reading."

he leans back on his deckchair, yawning. "no one says you can't read here."

"okay," you huff, getting up and brushing off your shorts with one hand. your other hand's thumb is tucked into the book to mark your page — not that you've gotten very far today, courtesy of him.

there's a cooler beside him that you hadn't noticed before; if you're being honest you hadn't even thought of the drinks beforehand, just choso. he hands you a bottle, laughing when you almost drop it because of the cold surface, and your fingers brush when you finally take it from him. it's nothing that significant, but it's akso enough to set butterflies free inside your stomach.

choso's dark hair is tied up today, spiky twin buns on either side of his head. you're not sure how he pulls it off, but he does. he's wearing a loose tank top and shorts, and he looks even better up close. maybe this was a bad idea; now he'll definitely notice if you dare to look.

"something wrong?" his low voice startles you out of your panic-slash-daydream, and you turn to look at him awkwardly from where you're sat on the second deckchair by the pool.

"it's just warm outside, i guess." it's the first reply that comes to mind; a flimsy excuse, considering you'd been doing just fine in your own lawn. he hums in acknowledgement, taking a final swig of his drink before tossing it expertly into the trashcan at the other end of the yard.

"inside's always an option." he rubs his jaw, arm flexing involuntarily. you are graced with a concerning amount of inappropriate, unholy thoughts.

"sure."

RULE NUMBER 06: NEVER GO INSIDE WITH HIM.

stupid, stupid, stupid. you are extremely, undeniably stupid. you must be, because no normal, sane, self-respecting person should ever be finding themself in this position. specifically, half-drunk on your best friend's couch (while he's not at home) and staring shamelessly at his older brother's lips (he is in turn staring at yours).

okay, wait, rewind. let's review: half past four, he's leading you in through the back door. by six the beer is almost finished and you're half-drunk and giggling and reminiscing about past memories.

i had the biggest crush on you when i was little, you laugh. you're not sure why you say it; you regret it immediately — this was truly stupid — but there's nothing that can be done about this except to try and keep it in the past tense now. he laughs with you. then: i know, me too. still do.

at first you laugh again, a little awkwardly because you'd thought you'd been discreet this whole time. then the second part of his sentence finally registers. "wait, what?"

he smiles lazily, swirling what's left at the bottom of his bottle. "didn't stutter now, did i?"

you shake your head, then proceed to be even more stupid than before.

"me too," you blurt out. "i still like you too."

"i know," he repeats, and nothing comes of it... in the next hour or so, at least. but now you're much closer to each other than you were before, and he's all but giving you unabashed bedroom eyes at fucking eight pm. you want to kiss him.

"oh, really?" an unfamiliar cheshire-cat smile is shot at you, and you realise with rising horror that you've said it out loud.

"on a scale of one to ten..." he trails off, and a thumb barely grazes your lower lip. "on a scale of one to ten, how bad do you want to kiss me?"

your answer is immediate and reckless. "like a twelve?"

the answer seems to satisfy him well enough, and one of his large hands cups your face. you instinctively lean into his touch as he leans in towards you. his rings are cold metal against your cheek; you suck in a breath nervously, simultaneously excited, and scared of what's to come.

"sweetheart," choso breathes against your lips, and you think you might spontaneously combust on the spot. "sweetheart, i'd love to indulge you, but neither of us are sober right now."

and he pulls away. you're definitely going to cry about this when you get home.

"i think there's been enough drinking, i'll walk you to your door." there's a small smile on his face, albeit a sad one as he helps you stand up. "but if you're really serious about it, you'll come back tomorrow and we can have a repeat of this conversation while not drunk."

he presses a soft kiss your forehead at the door; suddenly, you see the choso you'd liked when you were younger. the one who'd looked out for you over everything else, always. not that this version is any less attractive, but sometimes it feels like you don't really know the

"you don't have to do anything you're not okay with," he tells you. "you are always the first priority. if you don't feel like coming back tomorrow, don't. i'll be here for the rest of the summer anyways. and if you don't feel like coming back at all—" he cuts himself off with a short laugh. "then don't, i'll respect your decision."

RULE NUMBER 07: NEVER COME BACK THE NEXT DAY.

you're nervous as fuck the next day; this presents itself in your actions. from almost brushing your teeth with hand soap to eating acrylic paint, you've done it all. you pull out the first presentable pieces of clothing — a black shirt, somewhat unfamiliar, which is weird — and jean shorts to wear. by noon you're all but vibrating with anxiety, waiting for an okay time to go over to his place. wait, what is an okay time to go visit, anyways?

oh well, now's as good a time as any, you decide.

"you're wearing my shirt," he tells you as soon as he opens the door. there is an amused lilt to his voice and you just want to sink down into the ground and die of mortification.

"shit, sorry," you begin, but he waves your concerns away with a laugh.

"calm down, it's okay." choso steps away from the door to let you walk in, gently closing it behind you. "besides, you look good in it, so i'm not complaining."

the undisguised flirting, the way he compliments you so easily throws you off, twists around your lungs and wrings the breath out of them. you clear your throat uncomfortably. "so, about last night."

"yeah?"

"what do you want, exactly?"

he hums, a low, noncommittal sound. "you're a clever girl, i'm sure you can guess."

oh god. holy fuck. your hands ball into tight fists at your sides and your stare burns holes into the carpet. you don't respond.

"surely you didn't forget what we mentioned last night?"

you shake your head silently. of course not— how could you? he laughs, but you know he's nervous too. "cute. well, all i have to say is that i've wanted you for a long while now, and if you reciprocate—"

cute. cute, he thinks you're cute. holy fuck, he likes you back. you haven't thought about what to do this far out; you didn't even think it'd happen. your brain is running on overdrive, and you don't even realise you're standing up until everything comes back into focus and you blurt out, "i do! reciprocate, i mean."

the bemusement on his face morphs into a broad grin. "yeah?"

"uh... yeah."

he stands up too, comes closer. "we should do something about that, shouldn't we?"

"we should."

RULE NUMBER 08: NEVER LET HIM KISS YOU.

"pretty girl." choso brushes some of your hair away from your face gently; his gaze is so lovesick it leaves you speechless. the most surprising part of this is that it hasn't changed one bit from before — it's just that you're only starting to notice it now. but his fingers encircle your wrist softly, and his eyes flick down to your lips, then back up. his other hand runs nervously through his hair, now let down.

"so what now?"

"what now?" you echo.

the corners of his lips tilt up. i could kiss you, if you want?"

oh, holy shit. you hadn't expected that one. it's a split second decision, no hesitation as you nod.

it's everything you've expected and yearned for and imagined and more. you're flying, you're floating, you're falling, and choso catches you and it's the most intoxicating thing you've ever experienced. you are drunk off the way he kisses you, almost animalistic, like he's waited for this his entire life. maybe he has.

his hand slips under your shirt — "this okay?" you say yes, of course you do — and you're pushed up against the wall of his living room, broad daylight where anyone could walk in. you don't really care, though.

leg hooked over his hip, fingers tangled into his hair, you really can't care less right now. he lets out a breathy, appreciative moan when you tug lightly; he kisses you harder & as if his life depends on it.

this is worrying, he is addicted. addicted enough that he finds himself craving your lips, your touch, you every conscious second. even in the half-minute spent rushing to his room, even though you're going hand-in-hand, he still wants more, craves for more.

RULE NUMBER 09: NEVER STAY THE NIGHT.

he pulls away to look at you, splayed out so prettily on his sheets, breathless, just long enough to pant out three small words. "stay the night?"

"mm, yeah," you respond, equally out of breath, gazing up at him with stars in your eyes.

your lips are swollen, hair unkempt. his shirt is a bit too big for you, revealing your collarbones — and the bruises littered across it. you are so fucking beautiful, and it makes him grin down at you wildly before he drops his head down to kiss you again.

RULE NUMBER 10: NEVER DATE YOUR BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND.

"go out with me." large hands skim over your body, as if memorising every part of you. choso's lithe fingers trace lightly down your ribs to your stomach, and then they drop, fitting into place like puzzle pieces and leaving you wrapped loosely in his embrace.

"little too late for that," you laugh hoarsely, leaning back into his touch. you can still feel his warmth through the shirt — his shirt, again, as the first rays of light begin to filter through the blinds.

he laughs with you, nuzzling into your hair. his words come out muffled when he finally speaks. "so we're dating."

"yeah, we are."

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semperamans · 3 months

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"you should just go," benny tells you in lieu of hello. your arms, once wide open anticipating a hello hug, slowly fall to your sides. benny looks like he's had a rough run; his eyes are red-rimmed, the apex of his cheek is discolored, a galaxy of pain displayed in rich purples and deep blues and sickly yellows. you're staring at him, eyes wide, filled with trepidation as he pushes past you, shrugging his cut off his shoulders and onto the floor. you've never seen him act this way, not toward you, at least. "i think it's best if you just go." benny says, unprompted, and now you're scared because what the fuck? his bedroom suddenly feels too small, even though he is nowhere near you. lounging fully clothed atop his bed, he reaches over plucking the ashtray off the table, balancing it atop his knee.

"b-benny?" your voice breaks, his name coming out in some jagged, pathetic lilt that makes you cringe, but he does nothing. doesn't move. doesn't tear his eyes away from the ceramic tray. "benny did-did something happen? you can talk to me i-" "i don't want to talk to you." did you hear that? it was your heart fucking shattering. he won't look at you. why won't he look at you? if someone is going to break your heart shouldn't they at least look at you? "benny i-i'm so confused." "nothin' to be confused about." he says, taking a long pull from his cigarette. smoke rushes out of his nostrils upon his impatient exhale and you wish you could dissipate into thin air the way the whispy haze does. you're silent for a good minute wondering if this is some kind of game? some way to test your alliance to him? the moment he flicks his eyes up and finally looks at you tells you everything you need to know. there is no love behind those icy blues. benny is disconnected. too far away for you to reach. he says your name; it's supposed to sound sweet on his tongue, but the consonants and vowels come out sharp. he wants to hurt you. "don't think we should keep doin' this. i think you should get out there, find yourself a respectable guy." "benny, what-" "cuz m'not him. never gonna be him." "benny!" "don't wanna see you at the clubhouse, anymore. don't wanna see you here. just, go home."

home? he was your home. you're crying, but sadness sure isn't the cause. no. you're angry. "you can't tell me what to do." you snap, roughly wiping your face on the sleeve of your sweater. benny just chuckles. "m' a grown woman. i can do and go where i please." "sure can, just not with me." the ashtray clatters back onto the table and he's on his feet again, moving past you toward the front door. "you gonna walk out on your own or do i need to call your momma. tell her where you are? she'd come and scoop you in a heartbeat." "fuck you." you spit. it's the first time you've ever said anything like that to him but you're hurt. he's hurting you and he promised he'd never hurt you. "who-who are you?” you gasp wetly, tears streaking your makeup. “i don't know who the fuck you are." you breathe, gesturing to him. "did you leave my benny in columbus? trade him for some heartless asshole? my benny sure wouldn't do this." the man who used to be yours just stands, still and silent, hand on the door open front door “well i’m not your benny anymore.”

#… hello angst my old friend #benny cross #benny cross breaks your heart can he EVER make it up to you!!! i guess we will see!!!!#benny cross x reader #austin butler x reader #austin butler #✍🏼#the bikeriders x reader #the bikeriders #angst!benny #benny boy :')

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adore-laur · 6 months

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WINDS OF CHANGE

— here’s an update on dad harry & the fam <3 please reblog/comment, or i will haunt you

——

You've been dreading this day since March began.

Every time you passed the calendar on the refrigerator, you averted your eyes so you didn't see the specific date circled with the words "Lovebug's First Day" written inside it.

Time ticked by in an unyielding manner. Like an apex predator lying in wait, it crept up on you and pounced, leaving you disoriented, helpless, and wounded. You couldn't mentally process the breakneck speed of reality sprinting straight at you. When you merely blinked in a daze, another month unfurled, leaving no chance to recover.

The day arrives with a strong western wind and a brilliantly bright sunrise that mocks your low spirits. You're awake before anyone else, which is rare. Sleep evaded you last night, your eyes rejecting the heaviness that always comes with sleeping in Harry's warm embrace. The restlessness was paired with a fierce ache clutching your heart and holding on tight until the early morning.

At almost four years old, your eldest daughter is attending preschool today. After being a stay-at-home mom since she was born, you're finally setting her free to grow somewhere new. It was always in the cards, considering you would like to get back to working part-time to help provide for the family. You love bonding with and nurturing both your girls, but you're eager to put your brain to use in a different environment. It's time to return to other identities besides being a mother and a wife.

You begin brewing coffee, then open the kitchen curtains to allow the sun to pour in. For some odd reason, the atmosphere feels different. It feels like your first day of school all over again, where there's that nostalgic zest in the air fused with an underlying fear of the unknown. It's impossible to describe lucidly, but its presence is strongly felt nonetheless.

Today will forever change your family's routine, and it will make you want to rip your hair out and also burst with pride. There's a tug-of-war match taking place in your heart right now. Your nerves feel frayed; anxiety's merciless hands are harshly plucking at the threads. It's like fighting a biological battle with no shield—your brain is futile against all the attacks.

The sound of the wooden stairs creaking dissolves your whirlwind thoughts. Harry appears, wearing a snug black sweater and athletic shorts. He yawns, the sparkling sunlight accentuating his face gorgeously—the neatly trimmed scruff on his jaw he kept throughout winter; the tired shape of his eyes; the wispy way his hair curls after his morning shower. It's a blessing to be able to see the serene side of him that just woke up and isn't burdened by stress.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says, taking the mug of black coffee you prepared for him and sipping with an appreciative hum. "Both kids are still asleep."

You simply nod, afraid that if you speak, your poise will crumble instantaneously. Your hands distract themselves by lighting the wick of a sandalwood-scented candle. A part of you falsely hopes the comforting aroma will calm you down, but you know nothing will break through the full-body anxiety you're currently experiencing.

"No cuddles in bed this morning?" Harry asks curiously, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He smells like his sage and citrus body wash. "I missed you. Thought we'd have a little cry session before leaving."

Did he really have to mention the elephant in the room? You force your tears to save their arrival for later and say, "Sorry. I'm just trying to avoid crying as much as possible today."

His sigh is weighted with emotion as he sets his mug down and massages your shoulders. "I'm losing my composure already," he admits, laughing weakly.

At least he's in the same boat as you. Being a father has cracked him open in the best way possible—he's more softened than ever, and these parenting milestones always make him tenderhearted.

You rest your head against his chest and say, "This is harder than I thought it'd be." Every outcome you predicted involved an aching heart. Now, in the thick of it, you're defenseless.

"Remember our first night at home with her?" Harry asks, applying pressure with his thumbs to get rid of the muscle knots in your shoulder blades.

"Yeah. You woke me up because she had the hiccups."

He groans into your neck, almost like he's reliving the panicked moment. "I was so scared something was wrong."

You recall opening your eyes in the dead of night, the mellow lamplight illuminating Harry's troubled expression. Your baby, so small and precious in his arms, had harmless hiccups leaving her mouth. While you were half asleep, you reassured him by saying it was probably because she fed for too long. He agreed, yet still brought her to bed and gently rubbed her tummy until they were gone. You two were learning and tag-teaming through pure exhaustion. It was tough, but the rewards came in refreshing waves.

"Then she threw up on me," Harry adds, shaking his head fondly.

You turn around and slide your palms under his sweater, feeling the gloriously warm skin of his sculpted stomach. "Remember when she said her first word?"

He smiles reminiscently. "Mama."

"You started crying, if I'm not mistaken."

"Because she recognized you. It was special."

"Are you surprised she didn't say Dada first?"

"No, considering I talked about Mama all the time around her." His knuckle strokes under your chin. "Still do."

You hum thoughtfully, welcoming the pleasant memories that replay behind your closed eyelids. "Our girl is all grown up now. What are we going to do?"

Harry tilts your head to kiss the sensitive spot behind your ear. "You and I will be okay. It'll take time, but we'll eventually sink into this new normal."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Our love is steadfast, and nothing will ever change that." He hugs you in an all-consuming way—it's intimate and infuses you with safety, warmth, and a hopeful spark that everything will patch together the way it's supposed to.

——

When the preschool comes into view, you get slammed with immediate sadness.

You toured it with Harry months ago, ensuring it was where you wanted your daughter to be during the weekdays. The curriculum focuses on outdoor learning and is nestled in a safe neighborhood only ten minutes from the beach house. The teachers, classrooms, and overall energy of the place made you less anxious, but now it's back with a vengeance, eating away at your calm facade.

Kids linger outside the building, the sun shining on the blacktop that's scribbled with chalk drawings. A few participate in supervised hopscotch, while others twist their bodies nervously. A gated playground area is off to the left, with colorful swings, slides, and seesaws. To the right is a woodsy area with a large sandbox and flower beds. The stone pathway is decorated with little handprints that must have been dipped in paint. It's darling.

In the rearview mirror, you watch your daughter kick her legs in excitement and hug her tiny ladybug backpack, all ready to go. She woke up happy as a clam and impatiently scarfed down the big breakfast Harry had made her. After that, Harry braided her hair while sitting on the front porch, the March winds and briny air bringing the spring season with them. Pictures were taken, hearts were broken a bit more, and then you all were off to part ways.

Harry to the restaurant; you to your part-time job. No babies to look after, just an empty house waiting to be filled with love again.

Your youngest daughter, who's ten months old now, sleeps peacefully in the car seat. She's getting bigger every day, and it's a double whammy to see both of your children become more cognizant. You want to curse time for being such a thief.

She'll be dropped off at the nearby daycare center next, which will further twist the knife. It's possible for separation anxiety to occur, and while you can handle it, your baby girl's reaction will be a mystery. You sincerely hope the transition from home to somewhere unfamiliar will be smooth sailing.

Harry parks the car and looks over at you unwaveringly. "It's now or never," he whispers.

You draw in a deep breath, then exhale slowly. "Let's go."

Stepping out of the car, you open the back door and let your daughter hop out. You'd walk her to the door, but you want to stay near your youngest.

As she bounces with anticipation, you open her backpack and double-check that she has everything—her lunch box, a change of clothes, sunscreen, and the comfort blanket she's had since she was born. You zip it back up and then unhurriedly help her arms into the straps, trying to stall what happens next.

Harry, never the one to procrastinate, kicks things into gear by crouching and cradling her head. "You have the best day, all right? Be kind, make friends, and have fun. I'll be picking you up later."

"Can we eat ice cream after?" she asks, clasping her hands and standing on her tiptoes. "And play on the beach?"

He kisses her forehead. "We can do whatever you want, lovebug."

You can envision it now. Harry will bring the girls home, exhausted from work. He'll make dinner and wait for you, then you'll all sit at the kitchen table and attentively listen to her talk about her day in great detail. Then, as the sun sets, he'll entertain her by the shore until he insists on bedtime. Come tomorrow, he'll do it again with the same steadfast devotion because that's what good fathers do.

"We love you so much," you say, petting her braided hair.

"Love you," she replies distractedly, eagerly glancing at the front door. "I gotta go now, Mommy. Bye, Daddy."

She turns, ready to break free, but Harry stops her and says, "Not so fast, little lady. Give us some love to get through the day."

She shyly hugs him. She's growing out of her clingy tendencies and becoming more independent, and you can tell by Harry's sad smile that he recognizes it too. She briefly hugs your leg before running to the front door, where teachers are waiting with enthusiastic expressions and name tag stickers.

Harry slowly stands, never taking his eyes off her. He's more adjusted to not seeing her as much during the week than you, but you know the sentiment of her starting school still weighs heavy on his heart. After watching her disappear, he slings his arm around your shoulders and guides you to the car.

Inside is where you fall apart. The first cry that escapes has Harry blowing out an unsteady breath and embracing you. Against your neck, he sniffles, letting his piled-up emotions finally fall to pieces. He's not much of a crier, but when he does, it's a raw sight to see.

"Reservation for a cry session? Table for two?" he says humorously, rubbing your back and lightly scratching it.

"We're so lame," you whisper, gripping his sweater like a vice.

"God, I know. I even packed tissues." Harry takes an on-the-go pack out of his pocket, plucks two tissues out, and wipes both his and your tears with them.

"Eventually, we're going to have to do this again," you say. From the passenger seat, you peek at your baby girl and shoo away the thought—you still have more than enough time with her before she starts school.

Harry kisses your cheek. "One day at a time, honey."

Undoubtedly, this routine will get easier. It will become second nature, and you'll discover the exquisite simplicity of watching your children grow before leaving the nest and soaring through the sky.

They came into this world like a soft spring breeze, carrying seeds and dispersing them into your life. The roots emerged from under your home and flourished into a bountiful garden. Each day, there are new blossoms to admire and appreciate. And each day, you aim to help them thrive with support from Harry's sunshine.

Try as they might, the winds of change won't cause harm. Your family's roots are firm in the ground.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #dad harry #dad!harry #dadrry #adore-laur #harry styles

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marigold-hills · 3 months

Text

June 19: found | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 483

(Nothing explicit but slightly in the NSFW category so read at your own peril)

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART • FIRST PART

Remus holds a hand on Sirius’ jaw, fingers splayed and reaching the apex of his throat.

Sirius thinks oh. I found you. It’s nonsense. Moony, his Moony, has been there every step of the way, never once lost. Still: there you are, he thinks as the pad of Remus’ thumb brushes next to lips. A near-miss.

The sun has set and night falls softly around them, bird song giving way to the chirping of crickets. Remus has eyes like an autumn storm and strong hands. His sweater exposes the tops of his collarbones and Sirius wants to touch them, wants to feel the side of his neck where he bit in the library. Realises: it’s the only place his lips had touched.

“Open your mouth,” Remus says, and Sirius does, just like that, like a dog with a favourite trick. Gets a reward of a chocolate placed on his tongue. It’s… gods, he doesn’t know what flavour it is because Remus is looking at him like that, and his hand is there and how can he tell if the sudden weightlessness is from the chocolate or from the way Remus’s fingers guide his mouth closed?

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” he says with a voice which doesn’t sound like his own, “again. Please.”

Small smile somewhere in the mischief on Remus’ face. “Those impeccable manners of yours. Open.”

Another chocolate, but Remus’ fingers don’t withdraw straight away, and he can feel the roughness of them on his tongue. Sirius is a quill in Remus’ hands, a wand, nothing but an instrument doing his bidding. “Another,” he says, and he doesn’t know himself if he means another chocolate or another piece of Remus on his lips. Both, he thinks.

They should talk. They were meant to. Sirius is supposed to tell him, but how could he now, with this moment so sharp between them? How could he risk a single word that could make his Moony stop? He’s terrified, because no matter what happens this is just a moment in time, just a fraction of their lives, and no matter what Sirius does it will finish. So desperately he wishes to preserve them right here, make this permanent.

Without thought, fuelled by the inevitably of end, he reaches a hand to wrap around Remus’ wrists and pulls it lower, until those fingers are wrapped around his neck. More, he thinks. Always.

It must show, in his eyes or in his movements, because Remus is nothing but earnestness now. His hand is sure, not pressing but there, and the other comes up to run through Sirius’ hair. “I’m here,” he says. “It’s alright.”

Remus tightens his hand, once, delicately, then runs it down Sirius’ sternum to rest where the Great Wolf tattoo is etched into his skin. Smiles like everything is fine and like nothing had changed. “Come on, love. We need to head back.”

@moon-girl88 @digital-kam @tealeavesandtrash @sweetstarryskies @alltoounwellll @hunnybeemarie @hoje--aqui @annaliza999 @hihimissamericanbi @gipitothefrog @shamelesswolfstarshipper @a-pine-cone @cosmicweeds @cocoabutterandbooks @bloodoffire @residentdisaster @shamelesswolfstarshipper @ravenwordss @prancingpony42 @themoonlovesthestars @starving-marauder-lover

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #dead gay wizards #fanfic #marauders era #remus x sirius #microfiction #wolfstar microfic

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moonchildstyles · 2 years

Note

gravity!h and y/n’s first timeeeee would be so hot but also so fluffy i would love to read it !

wordcount: 10k+

—————

(Y/N) felt breathless with Harry's lips smeared against her own. Her hands were on his chest as he worked to unbutton the sweater draped over her form. His hips were fit between her thighs, heavy against her core as she could only whine against his mouth. It was with reluctance that she dropped her hands from his chest so he could pull her sweater from her body, leaving her in the soft white bra that cradled her chest.

Harry kissed down her chest, drawing his messy kisses down the curve of her throat as she placed her hands in his hair. Her chest heaved under his mouth, thighs tightening around his hips as she felt the swipe of his tongue drawing over the swell of her breast. Her back arched as Harry slipped his hand under her spine, drawing her closer to his mouth as he nudged the cup of her bra out of the way. An absent smile spread across her lips as she pressed her head back into the pillow cushioning her head.

Thank god Naomi had a late class today.

Physics had been particularly distracting today as she sat at Harry's side, his hair having grown out longer than she'd ever seen on him causing her to think a little too long about running her fingers through the strands and messing the curls that topped his head. He hadn't helped her concentrate any, giving her sly looks whenever he caught her stilled fingers on her keyboard, much too preoccupied to be copying down the notes he was so generously offering to her. More than once he drifted his hand to lay across her thigh, giving the doughy skin a squeeze to grab her attention. By the time lecture had been dismissed, she was practically dragging him out of Mr. Stanfill's hall and towards his car so they could get back to her empty apartment as soon as possible.

That was how she found herself topless, back pressed into her mattress with Harry's own shirtless torso hovering above her as he worked his way down her chest.

"Harry," she whined, the call coming out breathless.

"What do y'need, sweetheart?" he murmured into her skin, his hand under her back flexing against her spine.

"I-I want—" she stuttered, cutting herself off with a huffed whine as she felt the scrape of his teeth against her breast.

His smug smile could be felt against her skin, the tip of his nose skimming the valley between her breasts. "Want what? Tell me, sweetheart."

He wasn't making his ask of her easy with the way he ground his hips against hers, his hand gliding over her side with teasing fingers drawing goosebumps to the surface of her skin. It took all the willpower she could muster to loosen the grip of one of her hands in his hair to draw down the broad of his shoulder, nails dragging behind over his skin. She traced the strong lines of his muscles, corded and flexing as he held her tenderly despite the depth of his strength.

Down she went until she hit his tattooed wrist, tugging the hand that traced over the dip of her waist down to the apex of her thighs. The tight leggings she had clad over her form for the day did nothing to hide the desire she felt for him, her wetness already soaking through her underwear until her bottoms could mold to the shape of her pussy. She pressed his palm against her center, the heel smearing over the bump of her clit while the length of his fingers followed the line of her slit clearly outlined due to the slick fabric of her leggings.

"I-I want you here," she breathed, feeling as he all but slumped into her, his forehead pressing into her sternum. The frames of his glasses grazed against the heated skin of her chest, a brush with clarity that only served to make the moment so much more vivid.

"You're so wet, flower," he practically moaned into her skin, a slew of messy kisses being pressed between her breasts as if he couldn't get to her quick enough. His hand flexed over her center, fingers dipping gently into the split between her thighs. "I can feel y'through your pants. How long have y'been like this for me, love?:"

"Since class," she rushed out, bucking her hips into his hand, "Oh my god, Harry."

He took that as his cue to abandon the attention he was giving to her breasts and drawing his mouth back up to match hers. Her top lip was quickly tucked between his two, allowing him to suck on the pillow and taste the raspberry gloss she had painted over her pout—the same formula he had told her was his favorite on her.

"I've got you, sweetheart," he crooned into her mouth, tipping his head away just enough to speak before he was wetly sealing his lips over hers once more, "I'll take care of you, don't worry."

(Y/N) couldn't even be upset with the smug tone he carried as he listened to just how worked up for him she was. He had every right to be satisfied with himself; he'd barely touched her up to this point, and she had been wet for him since she'd noticed the styled ringlets of his hair while in the middle of a lecture hall. He had every right to be satisfied with the power he held over her in that moment.

Just as she felt the heat of his touch travel upwards, cupping her hip as he plucked his fingers between her skin and the waistline of her bottoms, (Y/N) heard the telltale catch of her front door being opened.

A pinch formed between her brows as she fought to stay in the moment. Surely, that was just the neighbors across the hall getting into their own apartment, the sound sometimes traveling into her own home. Ny wasn't supposed to be home for another hour and a half—at least.

(Y/N)'s hopes came crashing down as soon as she heard a familiar voice pattering through her living room. "(Y/N)! Guess what the caf was serving today!"

Harry's hands stilled as soon as he realized they were no longer alone. He gave her a lingering squeeze on her hip before he began to draw his touch to safer territories, starting with the curve of her waist. Glancing down, (Y/N) found him looking at her with his cheeks flushed, bottom lip between his teeth, with his eyes trained on her through the frames of his glasses.

"She's not supposed to be home already," she whispered to him, sitting up with Harry maneuvering around her to sit on the edge of her mattress. "I'm sorry."

"'S okay, 's okay," he waved off, sincerity in his tone as he reached for her sweater to be draped back over her shoulders.

As sweet as he was being, buttoning up her sweater and minimizing the contact he was making with her bare skin, one glance down to the bulge in his pants told her just how not okay this interruption was for the both of them.

"I can tell her to leave," (Y/N) offered, already trying to collect a story to give to her best friend, "We need groceries anyway, so I can tell her tha—"

"No," Harry told her, drawing out the syllable with a dimpled smile on his lips, "She wants to talk to you, flower, there's no reason to make her leave jus' so I can kiss you. 'S alright, really. Next time, okay?"

"Are you sure?" she asked, worried eyes dropping to his flushed neck.

"Positive," he told her, leaning forward to press a warming kiss to the apple of her cheek. He pulled away with a seemingly refreshed look on his face despite the messy state of his hair and the blown out pupils overtaking his irises. "Now, we need to stop ignoring her, and go out there. Plus, 'm pretty sure the cafeteria was serving enchiladas today and she probably brought some home for you."

"Oh my god, you think so?"

With the promise of a next time, (Y/N) didn't feel so bad about getting distracted by the idea of free food. Especially not when she felt Harry's gaze glued to her butt as he happily followed after her.

—————

Next time didn't come until a few days later, almost a full thirty-six hours since Ny's interruption (not that (Y/N) was keeping track or anything). It wasn't until the night after, when Harry had gone home and couldn't entertain her even over the phone as he was working, that she realized just how frustrated she was to have been cut off.

That time in her bed had felt different, she had realized when she was trying to unsuccessfully fall asleep that night. Harry loved giving, giving, giving to her, always offering to go down on her or slip his hand between her thighs and take care of her. He told her there was nothing more pleasurable to him than to see her feeling good all because of what he was doing for her. But this time, the way he ground into her, pushed his hips against hers in lingering strokes, she swore he wanted more. He was going to fuck her, she was almost sure, for the first time. And they had been interrupted.

So, maybe it wasn't the best time or place, but (Y/N) couldn't help herself when the next time presented itself in the form of the hour they spent in the back of her car after their Friday afternoon physics class. She always stayed back with Harry while he wanted for his next class before going home, leaving them to do whatever they pleased while waiting for him to run off to his molecular biology lecture. What she pleased to do today was sit herself right on his lap, tangle her fingers in his growing hair, and kiss him to her heart's content.

At first, Harry had stuttered underneath her when she plopped herself on his thighs, hands hovering over her waist as he looked up at her with big eyes. That apprehension had only lasted a moment until she had her mouth sealed to his and Harry was happily getting a taste of her tongue over his.

If their first time happened to be in the backseat of her car like a couple of teenagers, then so be it, (Y/N) decided. At least she had a pretty dark tint on her windows and she'd gotten a shitty parking space at the edge of the lot.

With the strength of his steadying hands hooked around her waist, he made easy work of helping her grind down into his lap. Rolling his hips upwards, she felt every press of the ridge between his legs right against her clit, drawing breathless moans of his name from her lips.

"Y'sure y'want to do this here?" he murmured against her mouth, grip tight on her waist to keep her from moving without his prompting. The green of his eyes was reduced to a sliver as he gazed at her, intensity burning through her as she tried to process what he was asking.

"Mhm," she hummed, chest pressed against his with every heaving breath fanning across his skin. "I-I want you to fuck me, H. Please, I've been wanting you for days."

His eyes fell closed, lids pinching tightly together as he touched his forehead to hers. It was as if he couldn't help himself, the way he rutted his hips up into her center. "Can't wait for me? We don't have a lot of time, sweetheart."

"No," she all but whined, shaking her head with the tip of her nose skimming his, "We'll be fast, I promise. Please, please, H."

She knew he was giving in as soon as he tipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was slightly off center catching more of the corner of her mouth than she was sure he intended, but she didn't care knowing that she was going to have what she'd had on her mind for days at this point.

"C'mere then," he told her, voice a grumble that sounded closer to his cam-voice than her soft Harry's. "Lay down for me, flower."

With a little bit of his help, he had her pinned underneath him in the cramped back seat of her car, legs bent at his hips with his fists on either side of her head to hold him up. (Y/N)'s arms were looped around his neck as he kissed over her own, fingers twirling the baby curls she was becoming so fond of. There was no way she was letting him near a pair of scissors anytime soon.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she drew him down against her hips, driving the bulge between his legs against her core. She had half the mind to be embarrassed as a moan flittered out of her throat, but Harry was the great distractor as he sealed his mouth over hers and took in every moan into his own mouth. (Besides, was this really any worse than when he fingered her in the library?).

(Y/N) felt a sense of deja-vu as he worked his way down her neck, nose skimming her skin until he started working her out of her long-sleeve, slouchy blue top. He nudged the loose neckline over her skin, giving him more access to the smooth skin of her décolletage with every nipping scrape of his teeth and soothing pass of his tongue.

That deja-vu got kicked into overtime the second she heard the first note of his phone alarm blaring from his bag. His alarm he had in place to alert him when he had only ten minutes to get to class if he didn't want to be late.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Harry sighed, forehead dropping to her sternum as he let out an exhausted breath.

"I thought we had more time," (Y/N) whined, her eyes falling closed due to less than pleasant circumstances for the first time since sliding in the backseat.

"Hold on, sweetheart, stay right there," he told her as he lifted himself from her body in search of his phone from his bag, "Jus' let me turn it off and we can keep going."

"But we only have ten minutes," (Y/N) started, sitting up despite his request for her to stay where she was.

"No, no," he shook his head, curls flopping over his forehead and the frames of his glasses, "'M skipping today. I don't need to go, I'll get notes from someone else. We can go back to m'place, anyway, then I can take m'time with y—"

"Don't you have that quiz today?" (Y/N) cut him off, watching as he fumbled with his phone as he shakily pressed the stop button for his alarm. One look at the lap of his pants gave a perfect explanation to his jumpy behavior. She hadn't been the only one worked up.

"Fuck," he sighed, head falling back as he knelt over her at the reminder of his day's agenda. It wasn't until he ran his hand through his hair, neck craning, that she saw the tight pinch of his closed eyes through the lenses of his glasses. "Fuck. And, I have a paper to turn in."

"Its okay, Harry," she told him, slipping out from under him as he moved to sit properly on the leather seat beside her, "Next time, right?"

"I don't want to wait," he whined, sounding just as desperate as she felt in that moment.

"Me neither," she laughed, reaching over to fix the curls flopped over his forehead, "But, maybe it's best that we didn't finish today. I mean, now that I can think a little bit clearer, having sex in the back of my car doesn't sound as fun as I thought."

"Maybe not very practical, but I would have liked it," Harry sighed, sounding much too serious for someone with lipgloss smeared all over their face. Some of the glitters even made their way to the tip of his nose. "Next time, nothing's going to interrupt us, alright?" he told her, sincerity coating his voice as intensity fueled his gaze, "I promise."

"Next time," she agreed, swiping her thumb over his nose to collect her smeared gloss, "Now go to class before you're late."

A tender smile spread its way across his lips at her words. "Y'sound like me."

She only pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss, a quiet goodbye before she sent him off with a promise to text him when she made it home. Despite her reassurances that it was alright for him to go to class, that she wasn't frustrated and could wait until another next time, he was reluctant to start off for class until he earned another kiss.

"'M sorry" he murmured to her, ducking his head through her open window as she had settled herself in the driver's seat.

"Don't be," she said, drawing away to brush her hands through his hair one more time, "We'll have another next time. In a much more appropriate place, too."

A deep sigh had his breath fanning across her skin, the tight line of his lips showing he was still disappointed even with her promises that everything was okay. "I love you," he settled on, the green of his eyes returning the more time that passed.

"I love you, too, Harry," she told him with a sweet smile, "Now go or you're going to be late."

The laugh he let out was the last thing she heard before she rolled her window up, left to watch on as he started off for his next class.

(Y/N) really did believe she was fine, that she could wait until another next time presented itself, but that sentiment was thrown out the window when she saw him subtly adjust himself in his pants.

She was going to have to go home and reopen one of his old streams, wasn't she?

—————

Finally. Fucking, finally.

That was all that was running through (Y/N)'s head as she laid, splayed out on her back with Harry's forgotten sweater cushioning her head on his couch. His apartment was quiet aside from the disregarded movie playing on screen and the sounds of her heavy breathing as she tried to catch her breath from the messy makeout session that led to her getting her pants pulled down from where he sat between her legs.

"Come back," she whined to him, making grabby hands for him. She wanted to feel the weight of him on her chest, the warmth of his skin and heat of his kiss searing over her lips. Now that she had nothing on but a rucked up shirt and a flimsy pair of panties, Harry with his pants undone and the waistline of his boxers open to her eyes, she felt like she could slow down for a moment. Savor him now that they'd made it farther than they had the previous handful of next times. None of those last times had she successfully gotten this naked without someone barging in or a blaring phone going off.

"Daddy's here, sweetheart," Harry murmured to her, his smile smug before it melted away in favor of her kiss.

That was all it took to have her hooking her legs around his hips and her arms looped around his neck. Harry's grip on her waist turned hard, fingertips surely to leave bruises she would be happy to find the following day as he ground his hips down into hers, soft center giving way to his hardened bulge.

"I lov—" her declaration was cut off at the sound of a phone buzzing against the coffee table, Harry's screen lighting up.

The owner of the device didn't bother to even glance in its direction, Harry's nose nudging against hers to get her attention back on him from where it drifted in the direction of the phone. It was easy for her to fall back into line, meld her lips to his with a sighed whine printing over her kiss as he rolled his hips against her.

With Harry's lips dipping down to her neck before he jumped to the exposed skin of her tummy, she lost herself in the fantasy, ready to get something from him after the weeks of interrupted time. It seemed like the only time she could catch relief with him was through his camsite, it wasn't fair. But that wasn't something she wanted to worry about now that he was skimming his nose over the soft curve of her tummy, teeth grazing the waistline of her panties.

Just as he gripped her thighs, aiming to throw them over his shoulders, his phone went off again, buzzing, buzzing, buzzing against the table. This time Harry was thrown for just a second, his hands stuttering in their grip before the vibrations ceased and the room fell into another loaded silence. Barely a moment passed, a single kiss being placed at the center of her panties before another call was coming through.

"Fucking hell," Harry cursed, his jaw ticking as he sat up between her legs, thighs falling from his shoulders as he reached for his phone, "Why can't anyone take hints anymore, 'm obviously fucking busy righ—"

Harry's frustration dipped the second he saw the contact on his screen, rolling his lips between his teeth as he looked over the device to (Y/N).

"What is it?" she asked, running her hands down the muscled lengths of his arms.

"'S—uh—I was supposed to call my mum tonight about m'sister's birthday," he explained sheepishly, his guard dog-esque disposition melting away.

(Y/N) sighed, less out of frustration than disappointment. This was just the way of their sex life at the moment, there was no reason to be surprised. They both knew there was no way he could keep ignoring her calls.

"It's okay, Harry," she told him, soothing a hand down his arm before looping her fingers around his wrist, "Next time, right?"

"Right," he sighed, running a heavy hand through his hair. Her reassurance did nothing to quell the apologetic smile on his lips as he leant down and pressed a soft kiss to the apple of her cheek. "Next time."

(Y/N) watched as he redialed her number before the device was pressed to his ear, disappearing into his bedroom to most likely find them clothing to change into now that there was no reason to lay around half-dressed. Looking at the textbooks spilling out of his book bag by the door, (Y/N) wondered, half dressed with a wet spot dampening her panties, if she could use his calculus book to somehow figure out what exactly next time meant.

If the answer even existed, anyway.

—————

The deep gasp (Y/N) took in, just short of a moan was what woke her up to the dark of Harry's bedroom. Her heart beat heavily in her chest, filling her ears with the sound of her blood pumping through her system. She felt hot, tight in her stomach, with an ache between her thighs. Harry was quietly, sweetly, tucked into her side, puffs of air fanning across her neck from where he had his face buried in the curve with his arm thrown across her middle.

The details of her dream slipped away the more she woke up, eyes blinking owlishly in the dark of his bedroom as she tried to catch her breath. If she concentrated hard enough, searched the recesses of her mind, she could just barely remember the vision of Harry hovering above her, panting and thrusting his hips between her legs. The scene blurred the longer she tried to cling to it, but the feeling remained, so vivid she could cry just now, realizing it was nothing but a dream.

After a couple of weeks of so many promises of next times, her dream had convinced her she had finally succeeded in finding the perfect next time. In reality, she was wrapped up in Harry's sheets, a sweater of his adorning her torso that felt entirely too thick with the way she couldn't settle her racing heart, and wetness sticking between her thighs. Worst of all, the star of her dreams was innocently asleep next to her, looking way too cute catching up on his sleep to skip out on the guilt that would come from shaking him awake in the middle of the night.

She couldn't blame him, as she tried to sink back into the mattress and untense her muscles, he'd had a busy day. After all of his classes, he'd performed double duty, shooting a premium scene to be posted the following week just before he worked himself up enough to put on a live stream. No wonder he'd practically passed out after they finished dinner, tugging her along to bed with him without much more than a kiss before he conked out. He deserved his rest, she told herself, forcing herself to concentrate on brushing her fingers through his hair instead of the solid mass of his chest pressed to her side and the strength of his arm over her middle.

Forcing her eyes to close, (Y/N) did her best to start leveling out her breathing in hopes of wiping the memory of her dream from her head, her heartbeat hopefully following suit and calming down from the way it rattled against her ribcage. As concerted as her efforts were, she couldn't quite stop herself from squirming against the contact the softened sheets made against her bare thighs, the wet cling of her panties against her core, or even the heat bubbling under her skin that had her considering shrugging out of Harry's sweater and sleeping in only her undergarments for the remainder of the night.

As such, she couldn't have been that surprised when Harry stirred beside her, a pinch appearing in his brow with a huffed breath as he returned to the land of the living.

"(Y/N)?" he grumbled, all but slurring through the rumble of his sleepy voice, "Why are y'awake?"

Guilt poked a hole in her chest as he raised his head from where he had burrowed against the curve of her throat. Her hand rested in his hair, twirling the messy, overgrown curls around the tips of her fingers as a quiet apology. "I just had a dream, H, I'm sorry," she cooed to him, dropping her hand from his hair to his shoulder where she gave him a gentle tug to lay back down, "Go back to sleep, it's okay."

Despite her request, Harry only blinked his eyes wider, trying to wipe the sleep from his system as his brows raised. "A bad dream?" he breathed, reaching over her blindly for his glasses on the bedside table, "From the movie?"

A tender smile touched at (Y/N)'s lips at his question. He'd been able to convince her to let him watch a scary movie earlier that night that had been recommended by his friends Mitch and Sarah. (He had told her that they'd seen it the week prior and that it 'wasn't that bad', but she later found out that they had a very high threshold on what constituted scary. The movie was awful but Harry did his best to protect her, so she didn't mind too much).

"No, it's not that," she settled, watching fondly as he slipped his glasses over the bridge of his nose before losing the squint he had been looking at her through, "Don't worry about it, though, okay? I'm sorry I woke you up."

Taking in a deep breath he quit hovering over her as he settled in beside her, propped up on his elbow with his palm cupping his cheek. "Are y'sure, flower? Y'look a little rattled," he pressed, a concerned knit to his brows, "Y'can tell me if it was the movie, you know. 'M sorry I made y'watch it."

"No, no, Harry, really. It wasn't the movie," she told him, debating if now really was the time to disclose her sex dream about him. Best case scenario, he makes it a reality. Worst case, the roommate he'd never had until that moment would barge in asking for help with the panini press he didn't have, only for Harry to promise for another next time. With their luck, anything she would try to initiate would undoubtedly be pushed to a next time.

"What was it, then?" The arm he had thrown over her middle shifted, his palm laying on the soft of her tummy as a comforting weight.

(Y/N) floundered over her response, mouth dropping open though no words came out. He most likely didn't mean to, but with the slightly looser knit of her borrowed jumper, she was allowed a peek at the warmth of his hands poking through. Gentle brushes against her bare skin had goosebumps rolling in his wake, teasing enough to take her back to that muddled headspace she had woken up with.

"Are you okay, flower?"

Harry's voice was a godsend and a curse at the same time in that moment. The deep rumble of the sound, the dredges of sleep deepening it enough she could hear traces of his cam-voice, was like pouring warm honey over her skin. But, that warm honey was almost too warm. It was too warm for the calm she was trying to inject into her system, too warm to keep the fragile hold she had on herself that kept her from crawling all over him and spreading her legs for him.

"Um, yeah, I'm okay. Sorry," she chirped, one of her hands dropping to lay atop his to stop the short circles he was unknowingly teasing her with on her tummy. "I can't really remember my dream, I just ended up waking up all funny."

He clearly didn't believe her with the way his analyzing gaze traced over her features. "Flower?"

"Harry?" she emulated, hoping her teasing would distract him.

Canting his head to the side, he gave her as stern of a look as he could muster with his lips fighting the uptick that tried to make itself known. "Tell me the truth, love. Gonna make me feel bad if y'had a bad dream because of me and wouldn't let me fix it."

He knew just the game he was playing, plucking at the exact strings he knew would have her unraveling for him. And, it worked. Because, of course Harry could get anything he wanted when he looked at her all cute with his glasses and big, sleepy eyes.

"It was a good dream," she said, half shrugging her shoulder from where she laid under him.

"Tell me about it, love." Harry disregarded the steadying weight of her hand atop his, beginning a circuit on her tummy she was sure he didn't know was as alluring as it was.

"You were in it," she divulged, absently dropping her gaze from his down to the curvature of his lips. Her tummy clenched at the sight of the tip of his tongue swiping out and wetting the seam. She watched as his mouth shifted into the curl of a smile.

"Yeah? What was I doing?"

"You—um—we were in your bedroom. I can't really remember it that well," she stalled, trying to find the words all the while his gaze was unrelenting on her face. "I just know it was good. You were—I think... You know that next time we've been talking about?"

Something flashed in Harry's gaze at the mention of the phrase that had been plaguing the both of them for two consecutive weeks. "Yeah."

"It was that. But we weren't interrupted this time."

(Y/N) felt exposed with the way Harry only offered a hum in acknowledgment, his gaze dropping from her own to trace down the features of her face. He lingered on her lips until he trekked down to the curve of her neck as if he could see the way her heart was pounding under his attention. She wasn't surprised to feel his gaze fall down to the bare of her décolletage before watching the way his hand touched over her tummy through the drape of her borrowed sweater. She knew he liked the way she looked in his clothes; something possessive awakened in him when he saw the soft of his sweaters over her body or even one of his hair clips being pushed through her hair.

"That's what got you all squirmy, love?" he finally muttered, not bothering to look up from where his fingers were just barely pushing into the open knit of her top. "I thought I could even hear your heart while I was sleeping. A dream got y'that worked up?"

It was like a switch flipped with the way he was talking to her now. There was that lilt, tone lingering on the words as he spoke, the kind of inflection in his voice that only appeared when he was on camera or between the sheets with her.

"Uh-huh," she breathed, feeling herself nod. Her mouth dropped into a small gape, parted just enough to let a puff of air pass between.

Harry's intense gaze flicked up to match her own then, hearing how closely she was teetering on whining for him. Her hand on his was left behind as he traced over the soft of her tummy, slipping towards the hem of her borrowed sweater where it laid, rucked up at the top of her thighs.

"But y'don't remember it?" he asked her, the very tips of his fingers brushing underneath the knitted fabric of her top. Her thighs erupted in a layer of goosebumps, sensitive to every touch he bestowed upon her. "Not even a little bit, sweetheart?"

Her breath caught in her throat at the mention of the petname he only used when he had something specific in mind for her. "I-I," she floundered, trying to pluck scenes and moments from her dream that had done its job to slip away, "I just know you were on top of me, an—"

She was cut off by Harry shifting beside her, both his hand propping him up and the one grazing the skin of her legs landed on her thighs. He gently pried her thighs open with the strength of his fingers denting the soft flesh, emulating her words and fitting himself between her legs. (Y/N) moved instinctively, wrapping those legs around his hips, the heels of her feet digging into the backs of his sweatpants-clad thighs.

"What else was I doing, sweetheart?" he prompted, bringing her back to the train of thought she let go passed in favor of paying attention to him.

Fluttering her lashes in a blink, (Y/N) tried to replace herself in her dream. It was as if a moment of deja-vu touched at the back of her mind as she looked up at him. She swore she could see her dream overlaying with reality, only her real life Harry was much more collected than the dream version with sweat clinging to his skin, curls pasted to the sides of his face, and hot exhales fanning over her skin as he worked himself above her.

"You w-were—um—kissing me, and"—her eyes fluttered closed with a sigh interrupting her as Harry dipped down and pressed his lips to the hinge of her jaw—"I can't remember what you were saying, but you were talking to me."

His smug grin burned against her skin. "Y'do like when I talk to you." She grew flustered at his words, that slight teasing edge poking at the knot in her tummy in the most pleasant way. "Y'got off to m'voice for so long, you've got a thing for it even now that y'have me right here," he continued, smearing his lips over the line of her jaw until he hit the point of her chin, "Right, sweetheart?"

"Mhm," she hummed, her bottom lip fit between her teeth, "I love your voice."

"I love yours, flower," he told her, a tender tone to his voice, "That's why I want y'to tell me what else I was doing in your dream. I wasn't just cuddling and kissing you like this, was I? That wouldn't get y'so squirmy."

"N-No, you were," she swallowed, feeling the tip of Harry's nose dot against her cheek as he started spreading his kisses up to the corner of her mouth, "We—You were—"

"I was fucking you, right?" he finished for her, settling her tied tongue, "Finally getting to that next time I promised you, right?"

(Y/N) practically melted into the sheets at his words. If not for the solid weight of him above her, the fact she could feel the strength of his thighs and the length that was hardening and pressing into her core, she would have been able to convince herself this was another dream.

"Yes, daddy," she sighed, her mouth dropping open just before Harry caught her bottom lip between his teeth.

That was just what he wanted to hear it seemed as he dipped his hips into a slow roll over her own, lingering over her damp panties. She knew he wasn't wearing any underwear under his sweats, the fact only to be confirmed again as she could feel the ridge of his head with his length thickening towards the base. She could feel every detail she'd become familiar with through each time she'd gone on her knees for him or slipped her hand under his pants. She wanted to know him everywhere now.

"Fuck, (Y/N)," he breathed out, sealing his lips to hers in a way to soothe the bite he'd given to her bottom lip, "What do y'need from me, flower? How ready are y'for me?"

"So ready, daddy," she rushed out, looping her arms around his neck only to push her nails into the tanned skin of his back. She couldn't get close enough to him like this. There were too many layers, too many things that weren't his skin touching her. "I just want you, please."

"So good for me, you know that?" he praised her, bringing her back to the day he had said something similar to her over the cam-site chat, before they even knew who was on the other line. She always wanted to be his good girl. "Even all desperate for me, you're so sweet and polite for me, aren't you?"

She could only manage to nod for him, not wanting to draw away from his lips anymore now that she could get a taste of his praise on his tongue. Harry had his hands fisted in the bed on either side of her, keeping the brunt of his weight from bearing down on her though he was sure to sit his hips heavily on her as he pushed her into the mattress with every grind. Each roll, (Y/N) could feel his sweatpants slipping from the cinched position over his waist, giving her a peek of his uncovered length against her core. The idea made her moan out against his kiss.

"Y'need me so bad, don't you, flower?" Harry pressed, his voice not much more than an adoring mumble against her lips. "Don't need me to help y'get ready for me or anything, do I? You're jus' that desperate and wet for me. All because of a dream, huh?"

There was nothing in her that had the space to be embarrassed as she listened to him. He was right, anyway. She could feel her wetness dampening her panties, the fabric the only thing keeping the stick from covering her thighs. She was sure that when he took a look at his sweatpants later, there would be a wet spot just from the way he was grinding down on her then, bumping her clit and teasing her with how hard she knew he could fuck her.

(Y/N) sunk into the bedding below her as Harry gave her a searing kiss just before starting a new trail down her neck. The same trek he'd made with his eyes was now commemorated with his kiss. Swift nips with his teeth and gentle soothings of his tongue following right after his lips as he decorated the curve with tiny marks she hoped would last the weekend. Just when he hit the drooping neckline of her borrowed top, she expected him to shove it out of the way or tug the material over her head.

"You're keeping this on, okay?" he told her, nosing at the neckline with her nails pinching into his back, "Want to fuck y'while you've got my clothes on. Because, you're mine, aren't you?"

Her eyes were closed as she nodded her head into the puffed pillow cushioning it. "I'm yours, Harry, I'm yours."

"I know y'are," he murmured, "And I'm yours, flower. Still can't believe y'love me like I love you."

The surprisingly tender moment was cut short just a second later as he shifted, fitting his hands over the cuffs of her hips under her shirt. He sat up, giving her a pointed look when she whined at the loss of contact, though her own hands still landed on his forearms. Hooking his fingers into her panties, he helped her lift her legs with the garment sliding along the length of her body. He dropped the soaked fabric to the floor, leaving her in his soft sweater, and Harry in a pair of sweats that sported the wet patch she wasn't surprised to find.

"Y'really are ready for me," he murmured, mostly to himself as his eyes glimmered when he caught sight of her glistening slit and the budding clit he had been grinding into only a moment before.

With her legs spread out before him, bare and shirt pushed halfway up her tummy, (Y/N) expected to feel exposed under Harry's gaze given the new territory they were to breach. Instead, she felt the warmth of his eyes seeping over her, hot and wanting just as much as she wanted him. Even in the middle of the night with messy hair and a crease in his cheek from where he had his face buried against her shoulder, he was the hottest man she'd ever seen. And, he wanted her too.

"Come back," she all but whined to him as she hooked her legs around his hips, tugging him back down with her grabby hands reaching up towards his shoulders.

"Give me a minute, sweetheart," he laughed, catching himself before he could topple over her. She watched as he hovered over her, one hand pushed into the bedding while the other was reaching into his bedside table again.

He rifled around in the drawer while she watched the muscles in his arm flex and contract, the sight stealing every train of thought until it was off the track. She almost mourned the loss of the sight as he found whatever he had been searching for, his arm retracting back to his chest. That feeling only lasted for a split second until she spotted what was pinched between his fingers, the packaging gleaming in the light.

Sitting back on his heels between her spread legs, Harry ripped open the foiled condom packet. He pushed his sweats to the mid of his thighs, letting his length slap against his stomach in the low light of his bedroom, the head weeping precum that stuck to the blocks of muscle lining his stomach. (Y/N) couldn't take her eyes off him as he pulled the condom from the packet before sliding it over the length of his cock, the rubber unrolling with the help of his pumping fist that gave cursory strokes down the shaft. She could have drooled at the sight, especially when she could see the way he jumped in his hand when Harry swiped his thumb over the head. The sight brought back plenty of good memories.

"Now, I'm ready for you," he told her, finally obeying her wish and fitting himself atop her once more.

"Oh my god," she whined at the first touch of his uncovered cock over her slit, the head nudging at her clit.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," Harry responded, voice strained as his own eyes became hooded behind the lens of his glasses, "I've got you, alright?"

With that, (Y/N) watched as he reached between their bodies, wrapping his guiding fist around his cock. She was spread out just so for him, giving Harry the freedom to slip inside after brushing the tip through the slick that had dripped from her hole.

(Y/N) felt herself clench at the first intrusion, his head stretching her enough to be felt in the pit of her stomach. As much as she tried to keep them open, she couldn't help the way her eyes fluttered closed at the feeling. Her toes curled behind him, heels pressing into the small of his back as she beckoned him further inside.

"Oh, flower, fuck," Harry cursed under his breath, the swear fanning over the heated skin of her neck.

The further he pushed in, (Y/N) swore she could feel him in her stomach, something she remembered him teasing about in a cam session all that time ago. He hadn't been lying.

Harry all but slumped against her as he bottomed out, his balls pushed against the curve of her ass. His forehead dropped to the planes of her chest, the frames of his glasses pressing against her with the tip of his nose wiggling against her skin with every deep breath he sucked in. "Fuck," he repeated, "I can't believe this is happening."

His voice was low enough (Y/N) couldn't be sure he was even speaking to her or just voicing whatever thought came to mind. Nonetheless, she clung to him tightly, her own silent reminder that this really was happening, even if he couldn't believe it. Her arms resumed their place around his neck, hands grazing the expanse of his bare shoulders

"C-Can I move, sweetheart? Y'feel okay?" he breathed out, returning to the moment with her as he peeked up at her through the fan of his lashes.

"Please, please, Harry," she pleaded with him, tightening the hold of her legs around his hips.

That seemed to be all the permission he needed before he started rolling his hips against hers. He pressed himself as deep as he could at first, the tip of his cock nudging walls (Y/N) didn't even know she had with every swivel of his pelvis. He watched her intently, his glasses slipping down the edge of his nose with his hair flopping over his forehead. The hand he had guiding his cock inside her was now holding her tightly on her hip while his other was fisted against the mattress, keeping him hovering above her with the perfect view of every effect he had.

Just as she opened her mouth to ask for more, Harry reared back, leaving barely the tip still inside her before he thrust into her with a lingering stroke. She felt every detail of his cock; the ridge of his head that split her open, his veins imprinting on her walls, and the ribs embedded in the condom she hadn't even realized were there.

Her nails in his back pressed harder, scratching up just enough as he began to curate a rhythm. His hips slapped against hers in the dark of his bedroom, her wetness giving way around him with slick noises filling the room. His mouth had dropped open in a gape, heavy puffs of air escaping as he looked between their bodies to where he was disappearing inside her only to reappear with a layer of slick pearled over him. Muffled curses in his deep tone mixed with the breathless moans her fucked out of her with every harsh thrust.

"D-Daddy," she cried out for him, tugging him down with the help of her hands on his back so she could kiss him.

Harry relented easily, moaning at the sound of her voice wrapping around his title. He tasted her with a swipe of his tongue touching her own, the soft pad licking hers before he pulled away with a wet pop. He couldn't not look at her right now, he needed to see what she looked like when she got fucked.

"I-I've wanted you for so long, you know that," he breathlessly started, unable to help himself before he pressed his lips to the tip of her nose, the apple of her cheek, and the soft of her lips. "W-Wanted y'before y'even talked to me. I can't be-believe you're letting me fuck you, flower."

He knew what she was doing when he spoke to her like this, but there was something especially adoring in the dirty words that dripped from his lips. (Y/N) held onto him tighter, adoring him back with a messy kiss to his chin and a clench of her muscles around his cock.

"I l-love you," she told him, swallowing down air while she had the mind to, "Harder, please, daddy."

Complying with her wish, (Y/N) swore he was pushing things around to make room for his cock inside her. His length pushed deep inside, spreading her open just for him—just as he had promised her before they even knew one another. Her head fell back against the pillows then, her lover quickly marking his territory along the column of her throat with a string of messy kisses.

"Used to get off thinking about this," he told her, a secret she knew all about, "Would think about g-getting to fuck you, y'calling me daddy, being so good for me before I'd do a stream jus' so I could get hard. N-Now I've got the real thing, don't I? Get to fuck y'whenever I need, right?"

The spiral that had made a home in her tummy from the moment she'd woken up from her racy dream tightened at his words. Her toes curled behind his back, her hands dropping from his shoulders down to his biceps where she could feel the straining of his muscles as he held himself up. She wanted to feel bad about the way she dug her nails into his skin, but she couldn't find it in herself in that moment. She'd apologize later.

"Had the biggest crush on you and now you're all mine," he babbled, his words seemingly only for himself at this point. "I love you s-so much, flower."

(Y/N) wanted to say it back, she wanted to tell him that she loved him too with all her heart or whatever organ it was that he was nudging out of place so he could make room inside her, but with the way her mouth was dropped open with puffs of humid air falling through, she knew she didn't have it in her. Instead, she tightened her legs around his waist with a pulse of her thighs, and her hands on his biceps.

"Gonna make me cum, sweetheart," he panted, a messy kiss to her neck punctuating his words, "So fucking tight, can't help myself. Are y'close?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," she whined, nodding her head with her hair a mess around her, "Harry."

"I've got you, sweetheart, do-don't worry," he told her, nudging her jaw with the tip of his nose, "Want y'to cum with me."

It was with his declaration that he moved his hand from where he was cupping her hip to settle between their bodies. His thumb pressed into her pouty clit, slick immediately covering the digit. (Y/N)'s call of his name was choked off the second she felt her walls tightening, matching the knot in her tummy.

"Please kiss me, please kiss me," she babbled off, knowing she sounded somewhat delirious in that moment.

With his thumb circling her clit, cock spreading her walls open just for him, Harry didn't waste any time sealing his lips to hers in a messy kiss. He was just barely off center with the way she couldn't manage to keep his name off her lips even if it wouldn't get any further than her throat before it was cut off with her eyes going crossed at every thrust. He kisses the corner of her mouth before he gained access to play with her tongue with his own. He tasted every broken call of his name and murmuring of his title.

"C'mon, flower, cum for me," he told her, the words falling from his tongue right onto her own, "Be good for daddy."

He knew what it did to her to hear him refer to himself with his title, the desired effect coming in a tightening of her tummy and a clench of her walls around his cock. He was bringing her closer all the while using her to get him to the edge.

"I'm so close," she told him, repeating the sentiment another time as she didn't bother to collect her scattered thoughts, "Please, please, please cum in me, daddy."

Despite knowing there was a condom covering his length, there was something about the fact she knew he wasn't going to pull out and she was going to feel every bit of warmth that spurted out of him, that had her breathless. She wanted to see what he looked like when he came because of her pussy, what it looked like when he came for the first time without her hand or mouth there to clean it up.

"Shit, shit, 'm cumming, flower. 'M cumming for you," he gritted out, his mouth falling open against her own. He wasn't even kissing her, only resting his lips against hers as he filled the condom with the warmth she had been craving.

Even with the stuttering of his hips and the disjointed movements of his circling thumb, she came following after him. Her nails in his skin had to have felt like pinpricks with how hard she was holding onto him, her toes curling and thighs aching from how hard she was clinging to him in every respect. Her wetness grew, the distant feeling of warmth flooding her limbs while her mind went blank in favor of feeling everything he had to offer her.

Her heart was pounding in her ears still by the time Harry slumped atop her, his body coming alive once more as he pressed a smattering of kisses all over her face. He was murmuring something to her as he continued to press his thumb to her clit and rock his hips in half-hearted rolls against hers. She's halfway sure he was telling her that he loved her, but her ears weren't working for the moment.

The comedown was slow and gradual, starting with her wrapping her aching hand around his wrist to keep him from touching at her swollen clit for any longer. It was too much, she barely remembered telling him, she's too sensitive, daddy. She hadn't even realized her eyes had fallen closed until he did the brunt work of shifting them around, only settling when they were bundled in the bedding, laying on their sides with either limbs wrapped around one another.

"'M gonna pull out now, okay, love?" he asked her, the first thing she could hear with clarity as she came down to earth. (Y/N) only managed an absent nod.

He helped her unlock her legs from around his hips before he withdrew, a slick sound echoing in his bedroom that was compounded with the sound of a pathetic whimper working in her throat. He slumped into the bed beside her then, (Y/N) cracking her eyes open just enough to see him fiddling with the filled condom before it was tied and tossed into his trashcan across the room, just barely making it in before he fixed his sweats over his hips.

The bedding was a mess around them, Harry's room suddenly humid as she watched his eyes fall closed. His profile was perfect, she thought in a dreamy haze—the line of his jaw led her to the point of his chin, rounded edges forming the full pink of his lips with high cheekbones leaving a soft place for the fan of his lashes to rest. Her favorite bit came in the slope of his nose, the same one that had skimmed over her entire body at this point, with his glasses resting on the bridge. It felt like a dream to see him like this, heaving, flushed chest with his lips swollen and slick with spit. As much as she loved his eyes, there was something about seeing them shuttered like this, knowing it was from the complete pleasure they shared in.

With languid limbs, (Y/N) plucked his glasses from his nose. She utilized the puffs of bedding messed around them to clean the lenses, delicately handling them as Harry laid beside her. She took her time, both from satiation tainting her limbs and the fact she wanted to take care of him after everything. After testing the clarity with the help of the bedside lamp, she replaced the frames them back on his nose. A quiet smile had formed on Harry's lips though his eyes remained closed.

"Better?" she murmured.

She watched as Harry blinked his eyes open, adoration dripping from his irises as he looked to her. "Better. Thank you, flower."

(Y/N) sunk into the mattress underneath her, bundling her hands underneath her cheek as she gazed at him. She hoped he could see the adoration swimming in her irises.

"Pretty good for a next time, right?" he joked with her, his smile lopsided as he reached out and replaced the hem of her borrowed sweater over her modesty. The barely there touch of his fingertip over her skin had goosebumps layering over her thighs.

"It was alright," she smiled, her voice sleepy as she gazed at her dream.

"Jus' alright?" he balked, puffing out his cheeks as he let out an exasperated breath, "Gonna have to keep practicing then, huh?"

"That sounds like a good idea," she played along, her smile growing as he played along with her. "C'mere," she beckoned to him.

Harry shuffled over the bedding in an instant, invading her space to the max until he was flush against her. She didn't care about the sweat covering both of their forms in that moment, even with his sweater still tucked around her body. She was grateful for his closeness, the love only growing when he wrapped his arms around her waist and nudged his nose against hers in an affectionate puppy's kiss.

"I love you, too," she whispered, kissing him gently on his swollen lips, "Sorry I didn't say it back earlier."

"'S alright," he smiled, dimples deep in his cheeks—deep enough for her to crawl inside and sleep in, she thought—, "I know y'were a little distracted." Harry gave her calming kisses, innocent presses of his lips to hers in long and drawn out pulls that had her heartrate slowing into something so grounded she couldn't leave this moment. Those same heartracing touches were now calming, drawing her tightly into his world. "I meant what I said before, you know," he told her, a murmur against her kiss, "About wishing for things like this. It wasn't jus' about what we jus' did, I also thought about stuff like this. Holding you and kissing you and stuff. I still can't believe sometimes that y'gave me a chance. You're like a dream to me."

"Harry," she practically whined, his words breaking her heart as she drew away to get a proper look at him. His sparkling eyes looked to her with clear pupils, everything lustful left behind in favor of sincerity swimming in the green of his irises. "Of course I gave you a chance. You're wonderful, Harry. You made me like physics."

"You don't like physics," he teased, his smile going lopsided as he sunk the blunt of his teeth into his bottom lip, "Y'tell me every day how much y'hate it. And, Stanfill."

"Okay, I don't like physics, but you made me like that class. You make even awful stuff like that worth it to me. I'm only sad it took me so long to see that, then we could have been doing this so much sooner," she told him, their voices hushed secrets to be shared between them and the sheets only, "And, I, obviously, dream about you, too. There's no reason for you not to believe this."

"I know," he mumbled, his features rounded and soft as he took her in, "I jus' love you, that's all."

Laying in the sticky sheets, legs shaking from how hard she was hanging onto him with nail marks appearing on Harry's chest and arms, (Y/N) gazed at the man of her dreams, his love for her on his lips.

All those next times had definitely been worth it.

—————

finally it is hereeeeee!!! thank u sm to whoever requested this and everyone who's been patient for this and also @strawbrryshortcakerry for helping me figure out where I wanted to go w this !!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!

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junkienet · 2 months

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✱ CANINE ROUTE ？ warrior koba.

fluff ⌇ missing a partner undertone ⸻ ﹙ 𝒜lt ﹒ universe ﹚ established relationships. 𝒻.ᐟreader

EARLIER IN THE MORNING ◞ 06 : 45 o ' clock. ⸻ after a long night of tussle.

when the bonobo awakens, a sunbeam sketches his scarred cheek. it outlines the tumefied and leaden flesh , from his temple , to the cheesy apex of his chaffed lips. koba offers his teeth in a boastful roar , fangs flashing aureus. his snarl slumped in ajar on his entombed trunk , and scratches the hairless region of his scapulae , shooing away a pair of chattering mosquitoes.

he sways unwittingly , milky eye scrutinized. to the right , the silhouette of a knotted mane and bleak sweater is stamped in the distance , at the edge of his hut. he spit a smack of his lips in pique , steepening sideways to thrust himself upward with a strangled hoo. his corporeal weight cascades on his hip—joints , his calfed loin erupts like a porcupine , ambombanding into an oval. his scent of rainy gravel, tart blackberries and hint of mint perfumes the structure of his periphery. he thwacks his nest , bellowing towards the algidity that possessed your grizzly bearskin quilt. the coast of his mouth reclines skyward in a grimace of tribulation , amalgamating his thick chin with impassivity. you had risen early , he misty deduced.

koba panted a grunt. he abhorred losing sight of you and a cold nest.

with a haughty wobble, he bursts from amidst the duvets and shanks with a rocking of taut shoulder—blades and obstinate haunches. his fists crackled the surface beneath his hooves , the morning gale coercing the end of his scorched ear. he sniffs the air that rod's at your braid , grumbling in a wan cadence. his snout strays into the road of your pharynx , between the unevenness of the hood of your olive coat and the throbbing indigo artery. he snuff sequentially. the peak of his canine unpicks the vestige of your pulse , where the stench of rainy gravel, tart blackberries and a hint of mint clusters. the bonobo drinks the bubbling of your saturated skin , and the cloying rattle of your small gasp.

your fingers , languid and gelid , scribble the wrinkles of its elephantine digits , reciprocating his assiduous , foreign greeting. the ape falls on his backside , his knuckles drawing on the hill of your shoulder , in a tottering reminder of his prickling presence. both of you rejoice in the muir woods foliage of gloom and shrubbery from the hut.

#﹙ ⭑. ﹚ ⸻ 𝓒haos .ᐟ #planet of the apes #koba #dawn of the planet of the apes #planet of the apes x reader #koba x reader #koba x human reader #koba pota #pota koba

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badathumanemotions · 1 month

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Turning Up the Heat

Emily Prentiss x Fem Reader MDNI Category: Smut CW: A/B/O, Alpha Emily, Omega Reader, Lesbian Sex, Oral, Squirting, Fingering, Knotting Dildo WC: 4,512 Emily and Y/N experiment with having their heat at the same time (Not Proof Read) Master List

The quiet hum of the refrigerator echoed through the dimly lit kitchen as Emily Prentiss carefully placed the last can of soda on the shelf. She checked the clock hanging above the sink—four more hours until her partner, Y/N, returned from her errands. The anticipation of their week-long retreat filled the air, thick with the promise of unbridled passion and uninterrupted intimacy. They had both been planning this meticulously for weeks, whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears during stolen moments at work, their eyes alight with desire.

Emily, an alpha in a world where roles were often predefined, felt a thrill of rebelliousness as she thought about the unorthodox path their relationship had taken. The BAU was no place for distractions, but when Y/N, a skilled and dedicated omega, had joined the team, all the rules had gone out the window. The chemistry between them had been undeniable, a silent current that had electrified the air until one fateful night, it had sparked into something more.

The house, their sanctuary, was now a bastion of comfort and indulgence. The bed was laden with fresh, plush linens, and the scent of vanilla filled the air—a subtle yet powerful aphrodisiac that seemed to cling to every surface. Emily had spent the day preparing, making sure that every detail was perfect for their synchronized heat. The fridge was stocked with Y/N's favourite snacks, the bedroom with an assortment of lubricants and toys that would cater to their every need.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, amber glow, Emily felt the first stirrings of her own heat. Her senses heightened, she could almost taste the sweetness of Y/N's scent, even though her partner was miles away. It was a challenge they had both agreed to, a chance to explore the depths of their connection in a way they never had before. The thrill of it all made Emily's heart race, her skin prickling with excitement.

The door finally creaked open, and Y/N stepped into the room, her eyes immediately finding Emily's. She had a knowing smile on her lips, her cheeks flushed from the cool evening air. They had agreed to wait until Y/N returned before letting the heat fully consume them, but the tension between them was palpable. Emily stepped closer, her eyes tracing the curve of Y/N's neck, the soft swell of her breasts beneath her sweater.

Without another word, they were in each other's arms, kissing with a fervour that stole their breath away. Emily's hands roamed over Y/N's body, feeling the familiar curves and valleys, while Y/N's nails dug into her back, pulling her closer. They stumbled towards the bedroom, clothes falling away like leaves in the wind.

Once they reached the bed, Emily took a moment to appreciate the sight of Y/N, naked and wanton before her. Her heat was potent, Emily couldn't resist. She kissed her way down Y/N's body, tracing the soft lines of her hips and the delicate skin of her inner thighs. When she reached the apex of Y/N's legs, she could feel the warmth radiating from her, the slickness that signaled she was more than ready.

Their eyes locked as Emily took a deep breath, her tongue flicking out to taste the sweetness she had been craving. Y/N's breath hitched, her body arching off the bed as the first wave of pleasure crashed over her. Emily felt her own heat spike in response, her own need growing more intense with every gasp and moan that filled the room.

The air was charged with something new, something primal and all-consuming. As they touched, kissed, and claimed each other, it was as if they were discovering each other all over again, their bodies speaking a language that transcended words.

Emily's tongue delved into Y/N's folds, lapping at her sweetness like a starving animal at a watering hole. Y/N's pussy was slick with need, her taste a heady intoxicant that sent Emily's senses spiraling out of control. Each stroke of her tongue was met with a whimper, a plea for more, and she eagerly complied, her own desire growing with every touch. She felt her own clit throb, begging for attention, but she pushed the need aside, focusing solely on the task of driving her omega wild.

Y/N's legs trembled as she approached her peak, her fingers tangling in Emily's hair, guiding her deeper. Emily felt the knot in her stomach tighten, the coil of pleasure that signaled her own heat was rising to meet Y/N's. They were in this together, a dance as old as time itself, and she revelled in the power she held over her partner's body.

With a growl of need, Emily slid two fingers into Y/N's wet heat, her thumb pressing firmly against the swollen bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. She curled them, angling them just right, and Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head, a keening cry escaping her lips. The sound was music to Emily's ears, a symphony of desire that urged her to go further, to push harder.

Y/N's hips bucked against her hand, her body desperately seeking the release that hovered just out of reach. Emily watched her omega's face, the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed over with passion. She knew exactly what Y/N needed—what they both needed—and she was more than willing to give it to her.

With a predatory smirk, Emily leaned in closer, her tongue swiping a tantalizing path along Y/N's flesh before settling on her clit. The moment her mouth closed around the sensitive nub, Y/N's body jolted, a strangled gasp escaping her. Emily sucked with the perfect amount of pressure, her tongue flicking and teasing, savouring the salty-sweet flavour that was uniquely Y/N. She felt the muscles in Y/N's thighs tighten around her head, her partner's body trembling with the effort of holding back.

But Emily was an alpha with a plan. She slid her free hand down, her fingers dancing across Y/N's pelvis. With the palm of her hand, she applied pressure hoping to make Y/N squirt. The effect was immediate and electric—Y/N's walls clenched around her fingers, her body bowing off the bed as the first wave of orgasm washed over her.

Y/N's climax was a symphony of sensations for Emily. The sweet scent of her release filled the air, making her own need pulse harder, demanding attention. Y/N's juices spurted onto her face, warm and tangy, a testament to the power of their bond. Emily revelled in the moment, her tongue greedily lapping up the evidence of her partner's pleasure, her own desire growing with every drop.

But as Y/N's body began to relax, Emily's own need grew more insistent. Her hand didn't stop moving, instead, she picked up the pace, her fingers plunging in and out of Y/N's soaking wet cunt with a fervour that was almost animalistic.

"Alpha" Y/N gasped.

Emily's eyes gleamed with determination as she watched Y/N's body respond to her touch. She knew that she could push her omega further, wring out more pleasure, and she was eager to do so. Her own arousal grew with every tremble, every gasp from Y/N's lips.

From between Y/N's legs, Emily took a moment to appreciate the sight before her. Her omega's pussy was a wet, swollen masterpiece, glistening with arousal, and Emily felt a surge of possession that was as potent as it was primal. She didn't just want to give Y/N pleasure; she wanted to claim her, to mark her as irrevocably hers.

Her fingers moved with a rhythm that seemed almost predatory, a dance that spoke of need and dominance. She could feel the walls of Y/N's pussy tightening around her digits, each stroke bringing her closer to the edge of another climax. Y/N's hips bucked up to meet her, a silent plea for more, and Emily was more than happy to oblige.

As the second orgasm built within her, Y/N's nails dug into the sheets, her teeth gritted against the onslaught of sensation. Emily watched the play of emotions across her face, from desperation to euphoria and back again. The sight was intoxicating, a heady mix of power and love that made Emily's own pussy throb in response.

Her own heat was now a roaring fire in her belly, the need to claim her omega fully consuming her. With a final, hard thrust of her fingers, she sent Y/N spiraling over the edge once more, her body convulsing with the force of her release.

Emily didn't stop there. She knew that Y/N could take more, that she craved the relentless pursuit of pleasure. Her own arousal was a living, breathing entity between her legs, demanding to be satiated. She withdrew her fingers, glistening with Y/N's essence, and brought them to her own mouth, sucking them clean as she watched the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through her partner's body.

The taste of her omega was addictive, a flavor that only grew more potent as Y/N's heat grew stronger. Emily's nostrils flared as she took in her scent, her own body responding in kind. But she was an alpha, and she would not take until she had given everything she had to offer.

Her hand didn't still as Y/N's second orgasm subsided. Instead, she slammed her fingers back inside, hitting that perfect spot that made Y/N's toes curl and her back arch. The room was a cacophony of wet sounds and desperate cries, a symphony of passion that seemed to echo in the very walls.

Y/N's eyes snapped open, and she met Emily's gaze, a mix of shock and awe at the relentlessness of her alpha's touch. "Emily," she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper.

Emily's smile grew more feral, her eyes dark with need. "You're mine, omega," she murmured against Y/N's swollen clit, her tongue swirling around the sensitive nub with the finesse of a maestro conducting an orchestra of ecstasy.

Y/N's eyes rolled back, her body taut as a bowstring. "Alpha," she moaned, the word a benediction and a plea.

Emily felt the tremors of Y/N's impending climax, the tightening of her muscles around her fingers, the desperate bucking of her hips. With a final, brutal flick of her tongue, she sent Y/N hurtling into the abyss of pleasure once more. Her omega's orgasm was so intense, so all-consuming, that for a moment, she feared Y/N might actually pass out. Her cries grew hoarse, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her body was ravaged by wave after wave of pleasure.

But Y/N was not so easily defeated. Even as the aftershocks of her release began to fade, she reached for Emily, her hands shaking with need. "Take me," she whispered, her eyes glazed with desire. "Claim me, alpha."

Emily's eyes flashed with hunger at the words, and she knew it was time. She reached into the nightstand, her hand wrapping around the leather of the harness she had hidden there. She slid the contraption on, adjusting the knotting dildo so that the toy sat snugly against her own swollen clit.

The coolness of the leather against her fevered skin sent a shiver down her spine, but it was the feeling of the dildo's vibration against her clit that made her pussy clench in anticipation.

Emily slid the tip in, Y/N's slickness making it easy. She watched with hooded eyes as Y/N's gaze followed the movement, her pupils dilating with every inch that disappeared into her body.

"Look at me, omega," Emily ordered, her voice a velvet purr.

Y/N's eyes snapped to hers, the pupils wide with lust. Emily's strap was thick and unyielding, a symbol of her dominance and desire. She began to thrust into Y/N with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each movement sending a jolt of pleasure through her body.

Their eyes remained locked, the connection between them a live wire that arced with every touch. Y/N's legs wrapped around Emily's waist, her ankles crossing at the small of her back, urging her deeper. The friction of the strap against her own clit was driving Emily wild, the vibrations setting off explosions of pleasure that she had to bite back to keep from coming too soon.

They moved together, their bodies a tapestry of passion and need. Emily's strokes grew faster, harder, the slap of flesh on flesh a steady, driving beat that matched the pounding of their hearts. The scent of their desire filled the room, a heady perfume that seemed to thicken the air around them.

Y/N's nails raked down Emily's back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "More," she demanded, her voice hoarse with passion.

Emily was more than happy to oblige. She leaned in, her teeth grazing Y/N's neck as she picked up the pace. The scent of her omega's arousal was like a drug, clouding her mind and driving her to the brink of madness. She had to have more, needed to claim her completely.

Her hips snapped forward, the strap-on plunging deep within Y/N's welcoming heat. Each thrust was met with a wanton moan, a symphony of pleasure that spurred Emily on. She could feel her own orgasm building, a pressure that threatened to consume her, but she held it at bay. This was about Y/N, about making her scream her name until her voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper.

Emily reached down, her hand slipping between their bodies to find Y/N's clit. She pinched it lightly, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger as she continued to fuck her with a fervour that was almost violent. Y/N's legs tightened around her, her heels digging into the small of Emily's back as she bucked her hips up to meet each and every thrust.

Their moans grew louder, filling the room, bouncing off the walls in a crescendo of passion. Emily could feel the tension in Y/N's body, the tightness of her muscles, the way she clenched around the dildo with every plunge. She knew her omega was close, so close she could almost taste it on the air.

Y/N's eyes were squeezed shut, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Knot me," she begged, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Please, alpha, knot me."

Emily's eyes widened with excitement at the words. She had been waiting for this moment, for the perfect time to claim her omega completely. She leaned down, her breath hot against Y/N's ear as she whispered, "You're mine, omega."

With a powerful thrust, she slammed the dildo into Y/N, the knot inflating with a satisfying pop that filled her up completely. Y/N's eyes flew open, a scream of pleasure ripping from her throat as she felt the thick bulb fill her, stretching her to the limits of her endurance. Her walls clamped down around the knot, holding it in place as Emily's hips continued to move, the vibrations from the toy sending shockwaves through her body.

The orgasm that followed was unlike anything either of them had ever experienced. It was as if their bodies had become one, a maelstrom of pleasure that consumed them both. Y/N's pussy spasmed around the knot, her juices coating Emily's thighs as she rode out the most intense climax of her life. Emily felt it too, her own orgasm building with every vibration from the strap-on driving her closer and closer to the edge.

They moved together, their bodies in perfect sync, each thrust of the knot sending Y/N spiralling higher. Emily felt her own walls tighten, her breath coming in pants as she approached her peak. And then, with a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house, she came, her pussy clenching, her hips jerking uncontrollably.

The knot inside Y/N's body held them together, a tangible reminder of their bond, of the primal instinct that had led them to this moment. They lay there, panting and sweaty, their bodies entwined as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared climax.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, a soft, sated smile playing on her lips as she looked up at Emily. She reached up to trace the lines of tension that had etched themselves onto her alpha's face, her touch gentle and soothing. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice still thick with pleasure.

Emily leaned down to kiss her, a soft brush of lips that spoke of a tenderness that belied the ferocity of their recent lovemaking. "You're welcome, omega," she whispered against Y/N's skin. "Now, let's see how much more you can take."

The purr that emanated from Y/N's chest was like a melody that resonated deep within Emily, filling her with warmth and affection. It was a sound she never grew tired of hearing, especially when it was one of pure contentment. Emily's eyes danced with mischief as she felt the knot within her partner's body begin to deflate.

They had agreed to push their boundaries during this week, to explore the depths of their desire and the nuances of their heat. The knowledge that they had much more to experience together was a thrilling prospect that had both of them on edge, eager for the next moment of ecstasy.

Emily pulled out slowly, the feeling of the knot retreating from Y/N's clutching heat leaving them both with a sense of loss and longing. But she knew it was only temporary.

Y/N looked up at her with a mischievous spark in her eyes. "Your turn," she said, her voice still laced with the aftermath of her orgasm. She reached for the harness, her nimble omega fingers deftly unbuckling the straps and sliding the setup off of Emily.

Emily's eyes widened in surprise but also excitement as she felt her own heat rush through her at the thought of reversing their roles. She had never allowed anyone to take control in such an intimate way, but with Y/N, she felt safe, desired, and ready to explore.

Y/N's hands were shaking slightly as she took the strap-on from Emily, her eyes never leaving her alpha's. The power dynamics had shifted, and she could feel the heady rush of it in her veins. She slid the harness on, adjusting it so that the dildo was in the perfect position, her own arousal spiking as she felt the weight of it against her clit.

Emily watched with a mix of trepidation and excitement. She knew that even though Y/N wielded the strap-on, she was still the one in charge. The air in the room was thick with anticipation as they switched places, the unspoken understanding that this was just a new facet of their dynamic, a way to explore the depths of their desire.

Emily straddled Y/N's hips, her own slickness coating the dildo. She took a deep breath, her eyes locked onto Y/N's, and slowly sank down onto it. The sensation of being filled so completely was almost overwhelming, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Y/N's eyes were dark with desire, her hands gripping Emily's hips, guiding her down with a gentle but firm touch.

Once she was fully seated, Emily began to ride, her hips moving in a fast, punishing rhythm that had Y/N's eyes rolling back in her head. The dildo slid in and out of her, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her body. She had never felt so alive, so in tune with her own desires. Y/N's thighs tensed beneath her, the muscles of her stomach rippling as she watched Emily take control.

With a flick of her thumb, Y/N turned up the vibration on the strap-on, sending a jolt of pleasure through Emily's body. The alpha's eyes snapped open, and she let out a guttural groan, her teeth gritted against the intensity of the sensation. Y/N's own clit was throbbing in time with the vibrations, the friction against the base of the toy bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

Emily's breasts bounced freely with each movement, the sight of them making Y/N's mouth water. She reached down, her hand cupping one of the firm mounds, her thumb flicking over the sensitive nipple. Emily's back arched, her pussy clenching around the dildo as she felt the pleasure spike.

"Fuck me harder," Y/N panted, her own arousal building with every second. "I want to feel you come apart on me."

Emily's eyes narrowed with determination, her hands gripping the headboard as she began to move faster, the strap-on hitting that perfect spot within her with each downward thrust. Y/N's fingers tightened on her hips, urging her on, her own pussy leaking with arousal.

The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, the scent of their desire growing stronger with every passing moment. Emily's pussy clenched around the dildo, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through her body that seemed to have no end. She could feel the pressure building, the coil in her stomach tightening with every stroke.

But she was an alpha, and her instincts demanded that she not find release until her omega had reached the peak of her pleasure. She leaned down, her teeth scraping along Y/N's neck, her breath hot and ragged against her skin.

Emily's movements grew more frantic, her hips snapping down with an urgency that spoke of her own need. She could feel her orgasm building, the pressure in her stomach tightening like a coil ready to spring. But she held back, her eyes never leaving Y/N's, watching for the signs that she was close.

Y/N's eyes were squeezed shut, her face a mask of ecstasy as Emily's mouth closed around one of her pert nipples. She bit down gently, the slight pain mixing with the pleasure, sending a jolt straight to her clit. Y/N's moan was music to Emily's ears, a sweet symphony that grew louder as she switched to the other breast, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

Her hips began to move, a slow, deliberate grind that had the dildo sliding over Y/N's swollen clit with every downward press. Y/N's hands clutched at her shoulders, her nails digging into Emily's skin as she tried to hold on, to keep herself from shattering under the onslaught of pleasure.

Emily's mouth found Y/N's nipple, the tight peak begging for attention. She sucked hard, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, and was rewarded with a sharp gasp. Y/N's hips jerked up, seeking more friction, more contact, more of everything. Emily's mouth moved to the other side, giving it the same treatment, her tongue swirling around the hardened nub before biting down gently.

The vibrations from the strap-on, the relentless grinding against her clit, and the exquisite torment of Emily's mouth on her breasts created a maelstrom of sensation that Y/N couldn't fight. Her body tensed, her toes curling, her nails digging into Emily's back. She could feel her orgasm building, a storm cloud on the horizon, ready to break.

"Emily," she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm gonna—"

Her words were cut off by a scream as Y/N's orgasm crashed over her, her body convulsing under the relentless onslaught of pleasure. Emily watched, transfixed, as her omega's eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth open in a silent cry. And as she watched, she felt the knot on the dildo inflate, filling her completely, stretching her tight and triggering her own climax.

The feeling was indescribable, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent her spiraling over the edge. Her own pussy clamped down on the knot, holding it deep within her as she came, her body shaking with the force of her climax.

As the waves of pleasure receded, Emily collapsed onto Y/N, their bodies sticky with sweat and juices. They lay there, boneless and spent, the harness still attached to Y/N's hips. The vibrations of the dildo had stopped, but the feeling of being filled remained, a lingering echo of the intensity they had just shared.

Emily could feel the knot inside her slowly deflating, the thickness of it a gentle reminder of the power Y/N had wielded over her body. She looked down into her omega's sated eyes, feeling a surge of affection and respect. This was a new side of their relationship, a place where power and submission danced together in a delicate ballet of desire.

Y/N reached up, her fingers tracing the line of Emily's jaw as she whispered, "Thank you, alpha." She leaned down, capturing Y/N's mouth in a gentle kiss that spoke of promises yet to be fulfilled.

The room was still, the only sound their heavy breathing and the slowing of their racing hearts. They had five more days of this, five more days of love and lust that promised to be more intense than any they had ever experienced. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a delicious ache that thrummed through their veins, setting their nerves alight with every touch.

Emily pulled away, a smug smile playing on her lips as she looked down at the spent omega beneath her. She knew they had only just begun to explore the depths of their synchronized heats, and the thought of what was to come had her own arousal stirring once more. "We have five more days of this, omega," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with desire. "Five days of me claiming you, of us losing ourselves in each other."

Y/N's eyes sparkled with excitement at the prospect, her body already responding to Emily's words. "And what do you have planned for me, alpha?" she asked, her voice a soft purr.

Emily's smile grew wicked. "Everything and anything that will make you scream my name, omega."

They looked forward to the week ahead of them, a week of unbridled passion and primal need. Each day promised a new horizon of pleasure, a chance to explore the uncharted territories of their shared heat. Their eyes held a fierce excitement, a hunger that was only just beginning to be sated.

"Promise?" Y/N whispered, her voice a soft echo in the quiet room.

Emily's eyes held a fierce determination. "With every fibre of my being, I promise." She leaned down to claim another kiss, her tongue delving into the warm cavern of Y/N's mouth, tasting the sweetness of her omega. Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, a silent vow to the week of passion they were about to embark on.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #masterlist #emily prentiss x reader smut #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss smut #a/b/o #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss one shot #paget brewster smut #paget brewster #alpha emily prentiss

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twistedchatterbox · 1 year

Text

insatiable

Summary. No plot

tags. Jade Leech. This gets suggestive though it is not explicit, GN-ish reader? This was written for me by me though, You/your pronouns, your boyfie sleeps without his shirt on, he hides his sweater so that you gotta cuddle him instead, some making out? idfk, fluff, slice of life, domestic fluff, college AU if you know me, SFW intimacy, skin-to-skin contact, cuddly loverboy for you, no beta we overblot like men and this drained me of life, tumblr refused to process it for over seven times ffs

Wordcount; 2000+ | Masterlist & Taglist

Cold; it's late at night, or too early in the morning, but either way you lay awake in the arms of your soulmate, clicking away at a console to tire yourself out until you can sleep again. The winter time weather's thawing meant for more rain, yet the white noise couldn't be further from your mind, not able to relax as his body unconsciously and habitually sought after yours, your touch, clumsy in his sleep yet yearning for you.

His body feels warm against yours, though cooling off, most likely leeching off of your warmth. The thought makes you huff in amusement, faintly shaking your head against the pillow, making yourself comfier in the process, and making him seemingly more aware of you as well. Touch of his nose against your shoulder blade makes you tense at how cold that part is specifically, eliciting shivers down your spine when he cuddles up right against your back, holding you against his body with nothing separating skin-on-skin contact between you two. Well, the knowledge of your boyfriend sleeping shirtless and hooking his limbs around was surely stirring you awake into what could be considered a good time as well as torture for your racing heart. Whether fueled by you, or his ever curious wandering hands, you are not sure, but you will settle for the answer of both, swaying in favour of the latter when he lazily repositions himself, caging you within his body, curled up like a shrimp as if trying to protect you in his sleep. The idea makes your gaze soften in adoration, even if your feeling heart continues to march on far too fast for your liking; unable to hold still as the object of your affections nuzzles and cuddles his face further onto the spot where the side of your neck meets your collarbones. You unhurriedly save your process before turning off your console, feeling that you won’t be focused enough to get anything useful done somewhere in the back of your mind. Carefully placing it back into its holder within your nightstand, a plastic divider separating it from the couple of jewellery boxes that held your boyfriend’s piercings and such, you close the drawer. The half asleep vicewarden half-trills, not awake enough to stir from your momentary reach, he settles for gently squeezing you as he cuddles you back into place like a body pillow, acting very adorably similar to a koala. You smile at the passing thought, momentarily pausing to slow down and properly admire such a cute mental image closer as it fills you to the brim with the happy feeling you’ve grown to call love. Some days you feel so emotionally fulfilled knowing that only you get to see him like this. And that train of thought abruptly reaches a stop when he slips in his knee, bringing you out of your love dazed daydream, his thigh moving between your thighs and drawing up until it reaches the apex between, unsure of how awake he is, you try to hold as still as you can. Thankfully, he was happy enough in dreamland to settle for that, for reasons unknown to you. You take another moment to note how he has subtly shifted in place while you were deeper in thought, namely, the way his face now rested comfortably against your hair, making you unable to ignore the warmth breathes that traveled down your neck. Sighing, you close your eyes and simply let yourself rest against the bicep below your head, your hands just resting idly next to your body. High waisted, soft pyjama shorts unaccompanied of the matching blouse, you lean back into your boyfriend’s body for warmth under the covers. Knowing him, he stuffed his sweater, your favourite, under his pillow, making it more convenient to cuddle him instead. Not that he’d ever admit if you called him out on it, but really, there was no reason to. You enjoyed having a convenient excuse to enjoy this, it was mutually beneficial banter if anything; and some part of you rolled eyes at that train of ideas, perhaps the benevolent dorm of dubious arrangements brought the worst(best) out of you in this regard. Your thoughts began to act as your white noise. Unable to pinpoint when the white noise turned static, resting hearts and soft breathing filled the room. You dreamt of something idle, dreaming nothing, yet accompanied by the smell of mushrooms and coffee, the serenity-inducing scent of rain and earth mixed like a wonderful blend of things that felt a lot like love. Something in the back of your mind stirred out of sleep, barely dragging you up with it, far too warm to consider opening your eyes until a pair of cold hands made way onto your bare skin; making your soul flinch out of your body like a knee-jerk reaction, as your thighs trapped his where it idly rested. Damn-near fully conscious, you blink once, twice, slowly allowing your mind to catch upon your body. Your boyfriend hugging you was one of the first things, feeling his bare chest against your back made you shiver for reasons unrelated to the cold night time temperatures of octavinelle. And as your mind cleared enough to focus on sound, you heard trills. It almost sounded like crooning noises, muffled by his face buried in the tangled mess of hair he surely contributed to the making of. Next, the sheets, which were a jumbled mess, unlike the now-rare times he slept on his own, the soft comforter and everything were folded and skewed around, pulled and pushed off, half-half, so-so and most definitely a mess. The sweatpants he put on the prior night ever so slightly slipping off by the side of his hip, which you can feel very clearly, yet choose not to for the sake of your own clarity, Surely, not meant to last for long if he had a say in it, leaning down to nuzzle and press sloppy, sleepy kisses up and down the pulse beating against your neck. The beat of your heart raced– but maybe it wasn’t yours, maybe it –your heart–, really was for him to keep. Some part of you becomes sure of it when you feel the rows of teeth, sharp, giving you the softest nip he can manage. Not wanting to prick you by accident, and perhaps it was habitual, if the rumbling noise from his chest in response to you tucking hair out of his way is anything to go by. You blink away some sleep caught in the corners of your eye, opening them properly.Morning.. you attempt to say, to greet him, yet It’s barely a whisper, drowned out by the drowsiness and the sea of sleep in your body...you sighed; alright, you could improvise. Above your shoulder, you can see.. light rays peeking through the curtain. Light often does not reach the octavinelle dorms, for most people, the dorm is resided and encased in cold, deep depths beneath the waters’ surface, though some days you find yourself amused by the idea of it having a comedic vendetta against your beloved; as it passes through the curtains, landing right on his eyes. You swear you feel bad, you swear you do internally to yourself but you must laugh if not at the comedic irony, then at the sour, pouty expression of Jade’s, and the way he stubbornly hides himself from light’s way by acting like a cat, nuzzling onto you, face first. Jade makes an immensely upset and sulky noise, though you can hear it in his voice that it’s not against you. He really is not a morning person, you giggle, placing your palm above his eyes in mercy. He sighs,content with your touch, and being as cuddly as he is, makes no resistance when you softly tug onto his arm; making himself comfortable and snug with his arms wrapped around your hips and waist, leaning on one cheek as his head rests on your collarbone, right above your chest; comfortable with your new arrangement, you wiggle a little to make it cosy and settle your hands within his hair, soothing it out in slow, relaxing motions that make him trill and croon. Once again, you compare the cunning, widely feared vice warden to a cuddly, lovey teddy bear. Or.. teddy-eel? Well, you weren’t awake enough to care about shower thoughts. As the idle, repeating motion goes on and you are lulled by the white noise of water, too awake to fall asleep again, yet unwilling to leave the bed, you resort to watching the aquatic life of the dorm’s outside waters, reflected by the mirror on the door with half-lidded eyes. And, really, the feeling of your boyfriend’s sizable hands- now warm, you sigh in relief- redirecting your attention towards him was to be expected from you, knowing just how cuddly he really is; only for him to squeeze the skin and softness in his palms ,making you more flustered than you’d like to admit for how often it’d happen. His hands repeated his previous gesture, softer. His voice was whispered and mumbled against your skin, the volume akin to his soft breathing, yet you found it so easy to focus and hear over your own heartbeat, which beat like a drum in your ears. He murmured mostly to himself, half awake and nuzzling his cheek against the pulsing vein on your neck, clearly enjoying himself. His talented, uncalloused hands rubbed circles on the sides of your hips, letting go so that he could properly hug you from behind, encircling his arms around you. Slowly, you reach out to him with one hand, following muscle memory to tuck the long stand of his hair behind his ear, relishing in the way he nuzzles into your palm, making you lose your breath as you can sort out the distinctive feel of a smile on his pretty face. You do not hear the words, but you feel them on his lips, and you feel the rumble of its soft nature resting against his lungs. Good Morning. You feel the rumbling of it against your back, it’s pleasant. He slowly closes in on you, unhurried, sleepily and guided by muscle memory, closing the gap between your lips and his; you meet him in the middle where a sigh melts into an exchange of feather light kisses, only when the kisses begin to last longer, when he keeps diving in for more, you close your eyes under his intense gaze.Feeling the air in your lungs grow thin; finding a stable hold on his hair, you try not to tug too hard, pushing lightly when you need to pull away. He slowly lowers himself to rest his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose onto your cheek in amusement when he opens his eyes, not even sure at which point he closed those, and sees you well-kissed, well-blushed, and certainly well-loved. Feeling dizzy by the end of the exchange, no longer sure where it began or ended, you let him settle as he wishes, obviously happy with himself as he held you like a little spoon, once again.

Nuzzling against your hair, Jade lets out a sigh that sounds far too relieved to be unintentional, and you swear his pupils have dilated enough to cover the colour of his two toned eyes back then- though it was hard to tell with his eyes being nearly closed. ”-You just look so tasty-” he mumbles with a chuckle that only means trouble, the playful kind that makes both of you late on any other day, he faux-nipped onto a lock of hair, making sure not to make a mess of it, “-I might just never have enough” ; and you might just be starting to believe him if he keeps whispering these things against your ear. it was all entirely silent from there, the waters as white noise and humming tunes.. Until; Jade smile against the crown of your head, mischievous in tone, “Hm~ Darling, We were quite.. pressed up close and personal in our sleep, it seems” He hints, “it was quite lovely to wake up to.” Jade emphasizes, pressing his knee against the back of your legs- Oh. “Oh fuck you-” You laugh, hsyterical when you meet Jade’s gaze and see his playful expression as he raised his eyebrows. “I might just take you up on that offer next time, my treasure-” he says, probably jokingly in a sing-song tune, and you lose it; while he gazes tenderly, nuzzling into your hair.

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