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strwbrychffoncke · 2 days ago

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"—baby take off my clothes cause i got somethin' to show ya,, 1.9k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: your plan to make rafayel stay with you a little longer before his newest art exhibition works a little too well.... contains: nsfw! lnds rafayel x afab!reader ,mc!reader ,reader is wearing a dress ,teasing (giving) ,u get carried ,kissing ,making out ,marking ,biting ,missionary(?) ,needy!raf ,kinda whiny!raf ,overstimulation (brief) ,creampie ,some cute fluff afterglow ,implied cunnilingus ,thomas cameo at the end lmao ,think thats it note: (mostly edited pls standby....) released much later than i intended but i had sm trouble writing but we somehow prevailed..........

"do you really have to go, raf?"

he lets out a long sigh, strokes from the paintbrush light and airy on the canvas in front of him.

"i already told you that you should come with me."

"but i want you to stay here with me," you almost whine, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind and leaning forward, pressing you body against his.

his breath stutters ever so slightly at your clinginess, heart picking up its speed in his chest.

"and besides...."

you rest your head on his shoulder, lips just centimeters away from his ear.

"isn't this a little much for an art exhibition?"

your voice is a hushed whisper, the sheer sound and feeling of it sending sparks through rafayel's entire body.

he's long since lost interest in his current piece, vouching to save it for later as he feels you unravel your arms and step back to give him room to turn around.

and rafayel feels his breath hitch at the sight before him.

its nothing extravagant, but maybe the simplicity of it is what stirs something up inside of him: you're wearing a silk pink slip dress, the color resembling a seashell you once found on the beach and gifted to rafayel, for good luck you'd said with a smile— and he feels like he was feeling that look right this moment, being able to look at you like this).

the neckline is just low enough for some cleavage to peek through, the top part hugging your breasts so nicely, simple crystal-like ornaments embellishing the outline (reminding him of the way light reflects off of the ocean's surface) while the bottom accentuates your waist and falls perfectly around your hips, ending just above your ass— if you so much as bent over slightly, you'd easily flash someone.

"'too much?'" rafayel mumbles your words back to you, hands reaching out to grab a hold of your hips.

"if you ask me, this is too little."

you can't help but let a laugh slip as he pulls you closer, hands pinching and caressing the silk of the fabric hugging your hips, gaze roaming up your body before making eye contact with you.

"no way am i letting anyone else see you in this."

his eyes are narrowed but his expression resembles a pout as he holds you close against him.

ah, there was that possessive side of him.

you laugh again in amusement, short and sweet, hands moving up to cover his momentarily before slowly trailing up his arms then up to hold his face, one of his hands shooting up to wrap around your wrist, turning his head towards it and planting a kiss directly onto the pulse point.

you pull him closer towards you, leaning down just slightly as if you had some special secret reserved for his ears only (despite the studio being occupied by only you both).

"then take it off."

in the next second, you capture his lips with yours, and as rafayel kisses back with equal and slowly growing fervor, the last thing on his mind is the art exhibition he's supposed to be attending in a little under an hour.

rafayel thinks you must've cast some sort of spell on him

since the very first time he met you to this life, you've had him wrapped around your finger without even trying— the sea god, folding to your every will.

sometimes, he thinks you forget the sheer amount of power you hold over him.

you don't know when exactly he's carried you to his bedroom, but you feel the soft mattress beneath you as he continues devouring your lips, legs wrapped around his waist to keep him close as his hands roam over your body and slowly begin sliding the silk straps of your cute dress down, eager to free your breasts. he doesn't waste a second in leaning down to kiss and mark one, sucking hard on the nipple while squeezing and prodding the other in his warm hand.

"hah, raf—ah—"

your hands bury themselves in his unkempt hair, tugging at his lavender locks, pleasured sounds filling the room as rafayel switches to the neglected one, swirling his tongue around the bud, taking his time marking your tits in pretty bruises and bites.

after a couple of minutes he releases the mound with a pop, pulling back slightly, hair a mess and panting, taking in the sight of you.

he leans up towards your face once more. "you're terrible, y'know?" he mumbles against your lips before stealing kiss after kiss from them. "invading my mind like this... look what you do to me, princess."

he pins your wrists against the mattress, swallowing your whines when he bucks his hips between your thighs— against your dampening panties.

patience wearing thin, he leans back to his full height, ridding himself of his pants and freeing his hard, leaking length from their confines.

you feel your mouth water at the sight, wanting nothing more than to be filled of him completely.

rafayel smirks at the sight, stroking himself a few times before grabbing you by the ankles and pulling you impossibly closer, groaning at your choice of panties— a thong-shaped one with lace, color matching your dress— sliding them down your legs and tossing them to the floor. he grabs hold of your thighs, spreading you open, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder and holding it there with one hand, other aligning himself with your leaking entrance.

"ready, princess?"

he doesn't wait for your answer.

with a single thrust, he buries himself completely inside of you, immediately moaning at the feeling of your walls hugging him tight at the sudden intrusion and growing more aroused at the moan you let out, back arching off the bed and gripping the sheets tight.

already impatient, his hips quickly form a rhythm, throwing his head back and panting into the air of the room, pleasure heightened by hearing your sweet whines and groans.

"sl-slow, slow down, raf—"

"can't— you can take it, can't you? the way you're— ahh— squeezing me tells me en-ough—"

his voice is strained and god he sounds so needy despite being the one on top, and he is— he can never get enough of you; no matter how much time you spend together, its never enough.

he's been patient, so patient, and every day with you is a blessing and a curse because he always wants more.

and you can feel it in the way he's thrusting into you, beads of sweat forming on his body, hotly panting and whining as you squeeze his cock because he always felt too good to imagine.

you think he's a bad influence. his neediness has rubbed off on you.

but he's more than willing to give every part of himself to you in every way you desire.

"ah—!"

"that feel good, princess? there?"

he pries the leg against the mattress wider, granting him more space between you as he continues hitting the same spot within you that seemed to make you flutter around him.

at this point, he knew your body and mind exceptionally well, making his mark on you in every way that he could.

"you feel too good, too good— hah, ahh— should buy you more of those pretty dresses, yeah?"

you huff out a laugh that's quickly cut off by a moan, throwing your head back deeper into the mattress, hands flying up to grip his strong arms hard as you feel yourself coming undone.

"close— so close, rafa-yel, please—"

"gonna— hah— cum inside, ah—"

your arms reach up around his neck again, pulling him closer to kiss him.

your tongues dance to their own tune as his hips slam into yours, and with some final particularly hard thrusts you gush around his cock, breaking the kiss as you cry out in pleasure.

rafayel lets your thigh down in favor of leaning his body against yours, keeping you in place as his lips trail down your jawline towards your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin as he chases his own orgasm.

"too— much, too much, raf—"

you're whining into his ear, sensitive from your orgasm, overstimulation intense, legs wrapping around his waist and tugging him impossibly closer against you to try to ground yourself in any way.

"so good, so good, princess, i'm gonna cum—"

with a couple more thrusts and a harsh bite to your shoulder, he spills himself inside of you, cry escaping your lips at the sensation of his teeth as his warmth fills you.

he rides out his high with a few more languid thrusts, planting soft kisses against his marks on your neck and shoulder before his movements completely cease.

neither of you speaks for a long moment, only holding each other close as you both catch your breath.

you rake your hands through his messy hair (courtesy of you), giggling as he pushes into your touch, eyes flitting up to you.

"so needy," you jest with a little smile.

rafayel lets out a scoff, lifting his head to look at you properly.

"says the cutie that was vying for my attention," a teasing smile tugs at his lips. "it seems i'm rubbing off on you," he proclaims, all too smugly.

"you're a bad influence," you huff, pinching his cheek.

"your bad influence," he winks and you roll your eyes, reaching to peck the same cheek you pinched.

you both stare at each other for another long moment before the artist moves to get off of you, standing at his full height, holding your thighs as he slowly pulls out, rubbing them in an act of comfort when you let out a small whimper at the loss.

"hey," you breathe out, lifting yourself up onto your elbows. "aren't you going to be late?" you tilt your head, remembering the reasoning behind this passionate night in the first place.

he lowers himself to the ground, face level with your heat, watching the globs of cum drip and stain the sheets below. he can feel himself get hard again at the sight as his hands give your thighs a gentle squeeze, planting a kiss on the inside of one before his dark gaze meets yours.

"who says i'm still going?"

epilogue:

thomas called the familiar number for what felt like the upteenth time that evening, trying not to lose his mind outside of the venue where more and more guests began showing up.

"where the hell is he???"

by the time and hour had passed since the designated time of arrival, thomas had already baked up some half-assed excuse as to why rafayel wouldn't be showing his face at yet another exhibition.

thomas lets out a frustrated sigh once he gets the chance to take another breather.

"at least i have the paintings," he mumbles to himself, swirling the glass of champagne in his glass as he fishes out his phone from his pocket to check for any update.

1 new message.

he unlocks his phone to check it out, and in the next second, he's gripping it so hard he thinks he might crack the screen.

"oops left my phone off thx for covering for me"

the animated sticker that accompanies the message does nothing to quell his frustrations as he shoves his phone back into his pocket without bothering to answer and downing the champagne in one go.

he makes his way back inside, deciding he'll need a lot more than just one glass tonight.

a/n: why is rafayel so hard to write for i have to scroll through art to get inspo but i love him very much :x

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paulmescalsbiceps · 2 days ago

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hey it’s me again, sorry, but I’m completely enchanted by your james! soooo, you had written one where the reader went on a bad date, what do you think about doing the opposite? where james ends up going on a date and the reader starts feeling jealousy super strange emotions - 🍓

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞 ☾ *･ﾟ roommate!jamespotter x reader wc: 1k a/n: 🍓 anon you are literally my love <3

James left less than a half hour ago. He’d tamed his usually feral hair tidy for his date tonight. You’d spent the afternoon watching him meticulously as he got ready. He looked good. His red button up shirt looked incredible against his tan skin, and paired well with his dark eyes. Nerves seemed to cease when it came to James. He was nothing but confident when it came to dating, despite not even knowing the girl.

“So how’d you’d meet her?” You had asked, sitting perched on the edge of James bed. It wasn't unusual for the two of you to linger in each other's rooms as the other got ready. You can recall many weekend’s where James has sat comfortably in your bed admiring you getting ready for a night out. Now it was your turn to watch James, except it didn't quite feel the same as you sat with a sour feeling in your lower stomach.

“Sirius introduced me to her. Apparently she works near the same building as me so he thought it might be worth a shot, y’know similar jobs and all” James fiddled with the hem of his shirt, tugging it down. You were happy for James, really, he deserved to get to go out for dinner with a pretty girl. But that didn’t stop your heart from feeling weak.

Pining after James was exhausting especially when you share the same living space. You get to see him as honest as he can be. The way his nose scrunches up when tries really hard to focus on what's happening on tv. His cute little signs and groans when he’s bored and craves your attention. And now you have to watch him as he pulls at the strands of his hair, smooth tongue slightly stuck out the corner of his mouth, desperate for it to be perfect for this girl.

There’s a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach at the thought of him wanting to please this girl. You're sure she’s nice and as perfect as Sirius claims and really what more could you want for James? But the idea that some other woman could be James' girl and not you. Hurts.

Moving to the lounge room you decide you need to distract yourself from his date. Searching through the channels you settle on a nostalgic 2000s rom-com. 13 going on 30, a true classic. Bag of Malteasers by your side, your mind floats away from James as you lock in on the movie in front of you.

James is not slick with his entry home. His heavy body practically crashes into the wall as he attempts to take his shoes off while standing. You’d fallen asleep on the couch, movie long forgotten and eyes still adjusting to the light as you wake at the sound.

You can tell from his body language that James was happy, bringing an ache to your heart. God, was she really that good? James had never looked so happy after being around you before. At least to your knowledge.

“How was your date?” James was clearly not aware of your presence as he jolted back clutching his chest at the sound of your voice. “Didn’t think you’d still be up. Save any chocolate for me?” he grinned at you with a boyish smile, eyes beaming with glee.

He moved to sit next to you, knee now touching yours. He smelt differently than usually, like perfume. God that hurt to think about. Did he hug her, did he kiss her? Nope, do not think about him kissing her.

You could see him watching you spiral, warm eyes looking at your profile gently. He moved back on the couch placing an arm around the couch behind you, pulling you to move back so you were resting against his arm.

His touch was so gentle, as was his presence. He was as equally comforting as he was distracting. “It was good, we work in the same department, just different buildings so that gave us something to talk about.” He explained, laying his head back and resting his eyes.

“And..” You urged, wanting to hear all the details even if it made your stomach feel sick with jealousy. “And I don’t think we’ll be going on another date.” He confessed. His long fingers moved to play with the ends of your hair, fiddling the length between his fingertips.

You had to hold back from letting out a sigh of relief. It’s not that you don’t want James to be happy, it’s just that you want it to be you. He took care of you. He flirted and called you sweet names like “pretty girl” and "lovey". Can you really be blamed for thinking there could be more between the two of you?

Biting the inside of your cheek to hold back from exposing your satisfaction, you instead offer a small “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She wasn’t really my type anyways” James yawned his once smug expression now lost and replaced with complete contempt as if the couch was the most comfortable place he could be. “Spent the whole night waiting to be back home with you.” At that he stands, stretching his arms up high enough that it reveals his stomachs and the happy trails that lead down to his pelvis.

“Well, I should be getting to bed, gotta go to the gym in the morning. You alright here?” He breathes out, placing his hands on your knees and leaning down close to your face. Before you can answer he places a soft kiss to your hairline before pulling back.

There are no words to describe how hard your heart is beating. He leaned down. and kissed you. your hairline albeit, but he still kissed you. You couldn’t even make your voice speak to reply to him, afraid you'll just squeak. Instead you nod your head to assure him he’s ok to go to bed.

He turned to leave the room, not before noticing what’s playing on the tv. “I used to love this movie when I was little. They remind me of us, don’t you think so lovey?” Voice sleepy as he continued down the hallway not even waiting for a reply.

If James Potter had a nickel for every time he made your heart flip even just this evening. He’d be rich beyond belief.

find readers version at this drabble ₊˚⊹

#🍓 anon #james potter x reader #james potter fic #jamespotter #james potter drabble #jamespotterimagine

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lis-likes-fics · 3 days ago

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Just a Drink

Pairing(s): Tommy Shelby x bartendere!Reader Word Count: 2.5k words Prompt: Semi-Public/Public Sex Warnings: NSFW, smut, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, semi-public/public sex, caught, brief fingering, creampie... A/N: This made giggle and hot at the same time, lol. Enjoy and happy reading!

“Are we celebrating, drowning sorrows, or just drinking tonight, Tommy?”

You set the bottle on the counter, leaning against the bar as you await Tommy's answer. He sits at a stool, a cigarette between his lips and his eyes generally uninterested as he stares off.

The bar is mostly empty. Harry has already gone home for the night—you man the bar so often that the patrons know you and know not to give you any trouble. If anyone comes in looking for trouble, you send them on their way with a gun as a warning. If you ever need to pull the trigger, you've got the Peaky Blinders to clean up the mess for you.

There are two other men sitting around, holding their glasses in their palms and looking about ready to throw in the towel. Neither of you pay them any attention. They don't matter.

“Just drinking,” he sighs.

You hum, grabbing a glass and pouring his fill. “Thought so.” You pass it over, crossing your arms over the bar as you lean in. “You don't look sullen enough for drowning, and your brothers would be here if you were celebrating.”

He hums, taking a sip from his cup. “Aye,” he flicks the ashes from his cigarette. “Sounds about right…”

You smile, pouring your own glass. “Then you won't mind if I have a drink of my own.” You've already taken a sip before he can answer.

“Not at all,” he murmurs. He finally looks up at you with more thought than he had before. Tommy Shelby's always got a million things on his mind. If you take a few moments to come to the front of it, you will gladly wait your turn. He's saved your arse enough to earn the time.

You wait a moment before speaking, gaging the look in his eyes with another hum. “You've been busy,” you say. “This is the first sit-down you've had with me in…a few days?”

“Aye,” he says again. He brings his cup to his lips, his brows drawn like he's still thinking about things. “Have you missed me, luv?”

You shrug a shoulder. “Believe it or not, you're good company, Mr. Shelby.” You trace the rim of your glass with your lip, looking at him over the top before sipping once more.

A tiny smirk graces his lips as he takes in the look on your face. “Not just company, I assume…” He takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing it out as the smoke billows around his head. “Have I been that busy?”

You shrug again, looking back down at your glass to trace the top again, this time with the tip of your finger. “You know no one else treats me quite as right as you.”

You don't pay any mind to the scoot of a chair from somewhere in the pub. One of the two customers still left behind stands to take his leave, shrugging on his coat and letting his cap follow as he leaves a coin behind. The last man decides to follow suit, leaving you and Tommy alone.

“S’that so?” You pluck his cigarette from between his fingers as he speaks. “Must be a fuckin’ saint.”

Smoke puffs out of your mouth with your snicker, and you shake your head as your smirk curls around the silver air. “You are no saint, Tommy Shelby.”

He nods, accepting that with his own silent chuckle. “At least nothing’s changed then.”

You lean over the counter, swaying your hips lightly. The cigarette ghosts over your bottom lip as you bat your lashes at him. “So are you going to keep me waiting, or shall I drop my knickers now?”

You blow smoke from your lips and watch it curl around his face. He doesn't even flinch, staring back at you with eyes steadily filling with a veil of lust. They glance down at your cleavage, so expertly placed for his sneaking eyes.

He lingers for a moment, another hum slipping through as he grabs his glass again. “I'm going to finish this…” he takes another small sip, plucking his cigarette back from your fingers, “and then I'm going to fuck you.”

It's a fair deal. You nod, grabbing a rag to start wiping down the bar, retrieving the coins left behind on the unoccupied tables to place in your apron.

By the time you're finished, Tommy's finishing off his last sip and standing from his stool. You wander back behind the bar, grabbing both your glasses to clean them out. You don't look at him as he follows after you, lighting a new cigarette as he goes.

His hand settles on your waist, and you smile as you continue wiping down the bar. He catches you by surprise, pressing his palm to your back and pushing you down against the counter top. You grunt, clutching the rag in your hand as he lifts your skirts all the way up and over the curve of your hips.

Tommy shoves your undergarments down as he gropes one of your cheeks in his palm. He hums appreciatively, taking no time in teasing you. He just shoves two thick fingers between your folds, which are becoming wetter and wetter by the second.

You bite your lip to stifle the moan stuck in your throat. He works them into you, curling his fingers so much that your knees buckle under the pleasure. The hand on your waist lifts up just to slap down harshly against your warm skin. You nearly cry out at the sudden movement as you feel the sharp sting spreading over the expanse of your tingling flesh.

His fingers pull out of you, slipping forward to cup your cunt and wet his hand. They brush against your clit, and your hips nearly jerk backwards against him. “Has it been that long, luv?” he hums.

“It's your own fault, though I'm sure you're quite proud of it,” you huff, your eyes closed as your body keens against his touch, worse when he circles your clit in quick but light movements that would never allow an actual orgasm. Your voice shakes. “You ruined me, Tommy. Can't get this from anyone else.”

He smirks, though you can only hear it with the way he's got you bent over. He pulls his hands from you, and you yelp when he smacks your pussy, clenching around air and wishing it was him.

“I'm terribly sorry,” he lies, and you hear the dizzying sound of his belt clinking.

“You're not.”

Tommy chuckles airily. “I'm not.” He frees his cock with a stroking hand, and you try not to grind back against him in such a needy way as you anticipate the coming of his desire.

He fills you a moment later, thrusting his cock inside of you with a deep grunt as he bottoms out. You let out a heavy sigh, stifling the moan at the tip of your tongue as he presses against the deepest part of you.

Tommy holds his cigarette between his lips as he brings one strong hand to your hip and the other to wrap around your throat. You hum, letting him pull your head back as he begins to thrust into you with rough, quick snaps of his hips. Once he finds a steady pace, he lets go of your throat in favor of pinching his smoke between his fingers.

“You feel better now that your cunt’s nice and full, darling?” he taunts, pulling smoke into his lungs in a deep breath. It billows from his nose as he huffs on a harsh thrust.

You struggle to contain your moans, stuck on the pleasure wrapping around your throat and filling your body until your legs are weak. “Yeah,” you gasp, holding onto the edge of the counter for support. “Don’t stop, Tommy.”

“Now why would I go and do that, eh?” he hums, smacking your arse again before pressing down on the small of your back. Your body buzzes with pleasure, and you can feel it nipping at your heels and at your fingertips. Your breaths and the sound of his hips smacking into you fill the air, occasionally accompanied by a stray moan or grunt.

Your head turns when you hear the sound of the pub doors opening, a dramatic motion that could only come from one breed of man—a Shelby.

Arthur walks in with a strut that you find relatively unnecessary, worse when his eyes land on the two of you and a sly grin spreads over his lips. “I see you’re a bit too busy to pour me a drink, luv,” he quips, his cigarette dangling between his lips as he speaks.

Tommy’s movements don’t stop—it’s not like this is the first time one of his brothers have walked in on the both of you. You were once tending to him beneath his desk, and he didn’t even care to pretend to shield you from his brother’s gaze, encouraging you to keep going as he talked about business or something of the sort. You don’t remember much, you were a bit preoccupied with the way he tasted on your tongue to listen in.

Tommy thrusts harder into you, your moans catching in your throat with a shudder that sounds as though you might cry. “Aye,” he huffs. “What is it you want, Arthur?” His hair is falling over his forehead. He doesn’t even look at his brother as his eyes stay trained on you and the way his cock keeps disappearing into your tight cunt.

“Just a drink, as I said,” he shrugs, strutting forward and stepping behind the pub. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over the counter and burying your head as you focus on the overwhelming pleasure.

“You can h-have whatever you bloody want, Arthur,” you huff, a few whimpers slipping into your words as you speak.

He laughs, that deep, wheezing sound that means he’s enjoying himself as he looks around the shelves for his choice of liquor. He grabs a bottle of whiskey, clutching it in his hands before doing a little spin in search of something. “Where the bloody hell are the glasses?”

“You don’t n-need a fucking glass,” you gasp. A small cry takes you by surprise when Tommy brings you back hard on his cock in time with a rough thrust.

“Course, I do,” he says, entirely unfazed as he looks down at you. You turn your head in your arms to see him, a glare in your eyes only partially tinted with amusement at his antics. Arthur smacks his chest, puffing it out to look big as he watches you. “What do you think I am? A fuckin’ animal?” Tommy rolls his eyes. “No, a fuckin’ gentleman is what I am, and a fuckin’ gentleman don’t drink straight from the bottle. Isn’t that right, Tommy?”

You reach beneath the counter, clumsily grabbing a glass and shoving it out toward him. Tommy motions to it with his cigarette. “There you are, Arthur. Now take your glass there and go fuck off. As you can see, we’re both a bit busy right now.” He takes a drag from his cigarette and lets the smoke surround his head as he turns back to you. “Would you hold this for me, darling?”

He hands you his smoke, and you take it and set it between your lips gratefully. A moan catches in your throat when he free hands wraps around your waist, just to press a callused finger against your needy clit. Smoke puffs quickly from your mouth in a flurry.

You’d almost forgotten Arthur was there until the sound of the bar door slamming back down catches your attention. “Alright, alright,” he smiles, glass and bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Apparently,” a moan cuts you off, “not well enough.” He lets out another thundering laugh as he walks away, leaving the two of you be. Just in time too, because you feel like you will fall apart any minute now. “Tom, I’m so close.”

“I know, luv,” he grunts. “Just have another smoke, eh?”

You do as you’re told, bringing it to your lips and letting it feed into your system as you become looser and looser. Your head swarms with all the pleasure around you, and you’re finding it harder and harder to hold it together.

“That’s it,” he coos, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy and erratic as he nears his own release. His grip on your hip tightens, his circling finger on your clit intends to drive you mad.

Your thighs begin to twitch, the shocks of a coming release shooting off in your veins. It's only when his thrusts become short and deep and rough, that you're sent over the edge with a cry that you struggle to muffle behind pursed lips. You drop your head into your arms, pressing your mouth against your forearm in an effort to conceal an unconcealable sound.

Waves of pleasure crash down on you, dizzying you, filling you until you feel like you can no longer stand. Tommy's hand on your waist is the only thing keeping you up.

As your cunt flutters and clenches around him, his name crying into your arm, he feels his fuse running out. With a few final, untempered thrusts, he spills inside of you with a quiet gasp, his grunt rough in his throat. “Fuck, that's it,” he huffs, still shoving his cock inside of you to finish off the last of his release. “Take it all, darling. There you are.”

Your legs quiver beneath you, weak under the warmth spreading through you and the last sensations of your orgasm seeping into the fabric of your bones and your veins until you're nothing but a distant buzz.

You curse under your breath when your brain settles, and you feel like you can think straight again. Tommy pulls out of you, tucking himself back into his pants with a hum. “How are you now, luv?”

You nod, catching your breath as you stand up straight. You take a long breath of smoke into your lungs, stretching your arms over your head and sighing it all out as you feel the relief of the popping in your back.

Smoke curls around Tommy's face, and he doesn't even flinch. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in and taking his cigarette back. He kisses you, long and possessive but satisfied with the release of the tension in his body.

“Really fuckin’ good,” you breathe once he pulls away.

He nods. “Good.” He kisses you again, watching you bend down to pull your undergarments back up your thighs and smooth out your dress.

“Don't make me wait so long next time,” you smirk, pulling him in by his tie. Your noses brush, teasing one another before finally giving in to a third kiss. You try not to get carried away. You still have to properly close the pub before you end up in Tommy Shelby's bed once more.

“My apologies.”

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#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy smut #thomas shelby #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby smut

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crowsofdarkness · 2 days ago

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Vaz Prizrak: Chapter Six

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, violence, mentions of losing a pregnancy, thoughts of taking one's life, an attempt to take one's life. I will give another warning when that chapter is posted.

Summary: Bucky and Reader have been in their own solace while in Wakanda for years. They were finally happy to create the life they wanted and deserved. That was until a new foe came along to dust it all away.

Authors Note: This takes place during Infinity War and Endgame! If you haven't yet, please read Soldat and Dorogaya beforehand.

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole @j23r23 @baw1066 @capswife

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist | Vaz Prizrak Masterlist

FIVE. YEARS. LATER.

The rain pelted hard to the pavement under my feet while I chased the cries of the man as he crawled away from me. Blood pooled from the hole in his stomach and he pressed a hand against it, hoping it would stop the bleeding.

“Please, I’m not who you think I am!,” he cried, falling to his back.

He looked up at me, horror in his eyes as he pleaded for his life in Russian. The language was still familiar to me after all these years.

“I won’t stop until every single one of you Hydra dicks are bleeding out in the streets,” I hissed while pulling the large knife from the sheath of my black, leather suit.

His screams seized when the blade gilded across his throat, blood splattering over the exposed skin of my face. I wiped the blade on the arms of my suit to clean the blood before putting it back to its place. The mask on my face had protected it against the rest of the blood spatter, thankfully, so I looked up into the sky to let the rain wash away whatever blood I had left.

My fingers worked fast to braid my long hair to the side, the new length bothering me. A new message on my phone indicated a new address from my source and knowing that it was only a few blocks away, I let my heavy boots guide the way.

“You’re my everything, dorogaya.”

I shook the voice from my head, not allowing it to distract me from my current mission.

The flame shield in front of me saved me from the oncoming rounds of bullets as I walked with ease to the men who were behind the guns. The shield evaporated in my hands while I pulled a gun from my belt, firing my own rounds of bullets; all hitting their marks.

With their bodies lying scattered throughout the somewhat empty warehouse, I spent the new alone time looking through the countless piles of boxes, hoping to find what I needed.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” I muttered, fingers working through the piles of papers.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” A man yelled, gun shaking in hands with clear fear.

I peaked over my shoulder and with an annoyed sigh, I threw a fire ball towards the new soldier of Hydra who appeared out of nowhere and watched as he fell to ash.

“Weak,” I spat towards the pile of ash. “You’re all weak.”

“Check the file cabinet, dorogaya.”

Staring at the cabinet in front of me, I followed the voice's direction and once I opened the bottom drawer, I smiled in victory.

A red leather bound book with the black star on the front.

After all of the events in Germany, the book that had controlled the Winter Soldier went missing. There were rumors that Hydra stole it again, hoping to use it to create another Winter Soldier.

I refused to let that happen.

Once the book was safely in my backpack, I slung it over my shoulder before walking outside and checked my phone for another update from my source.

He’s at his house. It’s a four mile walk. I sent a car to your current location, and should be pulling up in seconds.

A slick black car pulled to a stop in front of me and with a smirk, I climbed into the backseat and gave the driver the address.

The heel of my boot pressed deeper into the guards throat, locking him into place on the hard ground. He struggled to breath while his hands failed to claw at my legs.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“Fuck you.” The guard struggled to breath under my boot. “Hail Hy-.”

He fell to a pile of ash at my feet, the flames burning through the leather gloves.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that line before.” I groaned, brushing the dust off of my boots.

The large double staircase stood in front of me and my gaze followed the marble floors to a random doorway at the end of the hall. It didn’t fit well with the other doors and satire of the home.

“Bingo,” I smirked when the door opened, showing a staircase leading somewhere underground.

My feet went to turn left at the bottom of the stairs but the soft voice in my head told me to go right; it never steered me wrong.

“I can’t believe he did it.”

Spinning on my heels, I brought the flames to life as I stared directly into the eyes of the man I had been looking for the past five years. He was the head of Hydra in Russia and rumor had it, he had a hand in making Bucky The Winter Soldier. The grey in his hairs indicated that he was a lot older than I had imagined.

He was the last one on my very long list.

“Pierce? Yeah, old news,” I shrugged.

The old man pointed towards my face. “You look just like Soldat, with his mask.”

The mask over my mouth felt heavy with the utter of the name that I hadn’t heard in so long. Not only had my suit changed, all black leather, I had decided to start wearing Bucky’s mask, the one he wore when I first saw him again; when Steve and I were chasing him on the roof.

“I heard he was a casualty of the snap,” the man clicked his tongue. “He became weak when he found you. I told them that it was a bad idea to let you in his life. Soldat didn’t need love.”

“Man, shut the hell up,” I cursed, ending his life with a fast bullet to the head.

I was so quick that he hadn't seen it coming; my powers intensifying my reflexes over the years.

As I stared at the lifeless body, my shoulders slumped with a loud sigh.

“Well this was very anti-climatic,” I mumbled.

After stuffing my bag with a couple handfuls of stacks of bills, I maneuvered over the few bodies that had run cold as I made my way back outside. The rain had intensified, coming down from the sky fast. I was drenched from head to toe in seconds.

“You’ve been busy.”

Raising my gun to the new voice, my hard gaze met with a pair of solid blue eyes that stared at me with sadness. Even under the darkness from his umbrella, I could tell who it was. I would never forget what the softness of his face looked like.

“Well if it isn’t Captain America, here to save the day. News flash, I don’t need fucking saving.” I seethed, pulling the mask off of my face.

“You’ve left a lot of bodies in your path, Y/N. What you’ve been doing is dangerous,” Steve said, trying to take a step towards me.

I jumped away from him.

“They deserved it,” I merely shrugged, as if the thought of killing people without a second thought didn’t bother me. “Clint tell you where I was?”

Steve nodded. “He mentioned that you two traveled together for a while before splitting up.”

It was my turn to nod. “Which means that Nat also found Clint.”

“I think you need to come home,” Steve said.

“I don’t have a home! My home dusted away in the snap five fucking years ago!” I yelled, my screams breaking the glass of the house behind me.

My screams have left Steve unfazed, almost becoming used to it.

I had turned my back on him, ready to walk away, but his next words caused me to freeze in place.

“We can bring him home, Y/N. We can bring them all home.” Steve's voice was soft but firm.

In a quick instant, I had Steve pressed hard to the ground, pinning him with my hips. My sharp blade was pressed hard into the vein in his throat. I could end it all for Captain America with one quick slash.

“Don’t,” my bottom lip trembled while I let out a shaky breath. “Don’t give me hope.”

Steve raised a hand to move a strand of hair that had fallen out of the braid and with a longing gaze into his eyes, I felt it in my heart that he was telling me the truth. He had somehow found a way to bring everyone back from the snap.

One mission had ended, another one began.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #the winter soldier #marvel #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x agent!reader #james barnes smut #james barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #soldat bucky barnes #vaz prizrak bucky barnes

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highlandhour · 13 hours ago

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Content warnings: dad!Charles, tooth rotting fluff, Charles Smith x fem!reader.

A warm breeze swept over your features, weaving through your hair to cool down your hot scalp. That morning had been a busy one, filled with jamming and pickling fruits and vegetables as well as canning any others you wanted to save without flavoured vinegars or sugar to preserve them.

You had just finished up doing the laundry, which had dried your hands out unbelievably so. The hot summer air wasn’t helping either as you peg sheets and various clothing items to the line. You lean to the side, groaning lightly as you do so, grabbing another damp piece of clothing from your basket and lifting it into view of the sun. The tiniest little off white dress lay pinched in your fingers. You flick the fabric lightly before grabbing wooden pegs from the front pocket of your striped apron, the one you made from one of Charles’ old shirts that got ripped beyond repair a few months ago.

You place one of the pegs into your mouth as you stretch the dress to drape it over the line, one peg, two pegs, you pluck the third from your mouth and slide it on the puffed shoulder of the dresses sleeve.

A teeny tiny cry catches your attention, making you lift your head towards where it was coming from. The little window by the line was open and the light pink floral wallpaper of your daughters room could be seen, as well as the lace of her curtains which are now flowing out the window thanks to the breeze.

“Charles!” You call out into the air. “Can you go get her! I’m just finishing up here!”

A heavy thump can be heard from the surrounding woodlands your little cabin resides in. Charles makes himself visible as he walks out of the covert, his shirt long discarded and tucked into his back pocket with his suspenders laying on either side of his hips.

“Was just finishing up myself.” He smiles as he walks by you, letting his hand trail across your stomach to waist before letting it run across your bum. You shoo him away innocuously, tapping your hand at his fingers to be rid of his flirtatious gesture.

“Go!” You laugh at him as he opens the bottom of your Dutch back door to walk inside with a proud smile on his face.

“Fool.” You shake your head smiling to yourself as you pick up another piece of laundry to put on the line.

You listen carefully for Charles as you hear him walk into your daughter’s bedroom. His soft coos just dampened to the point of incomprehension but your girls sweet little squeaks makes your heart swell. You squeeze one of Charles’ shirts in your hands looking down with so much joy. It’s the blue shirt. That old blue shirt he refuses to get rid of.

You quickly flick it out to undo all the wrinkles you gave it. Shoving your hand into your pocket again to grab a fistful of pegs and popping a few into your mouth this time.

“You wanna see your mama?” You turn slightly to look behind you, popping a peg from your mouth to slide it onto the collar of that blue dotted shirt.

Charles had her lay across his big arm, her head resting comfortably on his bicep. He takes her tiny little hand into his and makes her wave to you. As quick as you could, you put the rest of the pegs on the shirt before fully turning around. Outstretching your arms.

“C’mere sweetheart!” You ring as Charles waltzes his way towards you.

“Comin.” He replies with a half grin.

“Not you.” You scrunch your nose up at him playfully. Taking your daughter from his hold to let her lay her small head on your shoulder.

“Aw that ain’t fair.” Charles bends over, picking up a large sheet from the basket and spreading it out in his hands. “I was sweetheart first yknow.” He says to your daughter before kissing her on the top of her dark haired head.

“You’re also baby and honey and-”

Charles lets out a loud bellow of a laugh, reaching his hand into your pocket to take out a peg and slide on the corner of the sheet.

“Don’t I know it darlin.”

You step back to make room as he takes another peg from your apron and place it in the middle of the sheet.

“Darlin’s another one.” You say matter of fact, rubbing your hand up and down your babies back.

You both stay like that for the rest of the amount of time it takes to hang out the laundry. You stepping backwards a little with a pocket full of pegs whilst Charles hangs everything you washed. All the while your daughter made little noises in your arms and held the cotton of your dress in her teeny tiny vice like grip.

Such a difference from where you both came from. You could get used to this.

@hihomeghere @tortureddpoett @whoyacallinyellow

if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist just let me know.

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seitmai · 15 hours ago

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So many thoughts...

“Well, I hope you enjoy it all by yourself.” Your grin is sharp. “Like you probably have been every night for the last few years of your life.”

“Do you have any idea who I am in this town?” He’s turning red under the collar, eyes bugging out. “Nope.” You say the words flippantly, sipping on the last inch of the red wine at the bottom of your glass. You may not like the man, but he has good taste in wine. “Nor do I care to.”

Period 👏🏻

You’re still chuckling to yourself ten minutes later when a fresh glass of wine is set in front of you.

As she should, well deserved 😌

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, beautiful.” His eyes are searingly hot a few inches away from you. He’s got an arm wrapped around your waist, a big hand splayed just under your breasts. “But I’d very much like to take you home tonight.”

Nope, you are right absolutely great reading skills 🤭

You gasp at the feeling of his breath across your lips. One inch closer, and you’d be kissing him. “I shouldn’t.” Your voice is quiet, a little hoarse from the alcohol, nonstop chatter and laughter. “I don’t usually go home with strange men at the bar, no matter how attractive they are.” He smiles, tipping his head to the side. His voice is a rumble as he whispers into your ear, tone wheedling, his other hand trailing down the neckline of your dress, fingers hot over the delicate skin of your chest.

Ohe he knows what he is doing

“I promise if you want me to stop at any time, I will. I’ll call you a cab and send you home with my number saved in your phone as soon as you say the word.”

Hook, line and sinker 🤭

He leads you out of the bar with a steady, warm hand at the small of your back. Despite the crowded streets, a taxi shows up the minute he raises his hand, power and confidence an aura emanating from him. The taxi ride to his apartment downtown is an alcohol-fueled swirl of sensation. Your focus is split between the broad palm splayed over your bare thigh and the filthy litany spilling out of his bitten lips. He keeps the words just barely audible, a placid grin on his face every time the cab driver looks back, and you’re fighting the urge to drag him into filthy kisses the entire way.

What a foreplay 🤭😮‍💨

“Your apartment is beautiful.” “It’s not the only thing that is.” You whirl around at the words, fighting the heat threatening to overtake your face. If Bradley looked practically edible languidly sprawled over the barstool, long legs brushing against yours, he looks divine standing in his living room with his bright white shirt unbuttoned to his navel.

Good god 😮‍💨🫠

“Shh, sweetheart.” The pet-name makes you shiver, gooseflesh forming on your bare arms and pimpling over your collar bones. “I know you don’t. But we have all night to figure out what you like. We'll go as slow as you need.”

Can he get even hotter? 🥵

Fair 🤷🏻‍♀️

You’re growling when you wrench his mouth back down to yours. “I just want you to make me cum.” You say the words between needy kisses, pushing the shirt up until you can finally wrest it off. The heat of his skin feels so good against your own. When you look up, the smile taking over his face is breathtakingly gorgeous, eyes blown wide as he lays you down on the pristine, cool sheets of his bed.

I have a feeling he wants the same thing 😌🤭

When he presses into you, you nearly come at the first thrust. He’s big and thick, stretching you in a way you’ve never been stretched before. He settles into a languid pace. You feel claimed with each slow thrust, all friction and heat, pressure collecting at the pit of your stomach.

🥵🥵🥵

“There” It’s a soft, sub-audible moan as he hits that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars. He fucks you slow and sweet, right there, until you can barely feel your face and your eyes roll back in your head. You jolt when he brushes the pads of his fingers against your clit, massaging the hardened nub until you’re practically screaming his name. That’s how you cum, with soft kisses, shaking in his lap. His hands are big as they cradle your ass. You shiver as he thrusts half-a-dozen more times before finishing, his head resting on your sternum, breath hot against the sweat-drenched skin.

“You could stay, you know?” You shiver, tugging him into one final, soft kiss. “I could. But I won’t.” You step into the final heel before turning around again. His hands are gentle as they tug the zipper on your dress up. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.” Bradley nods, curls bouncing, throat working as he looks you over. You’re trying to look at anything but him, not wanting the temptation of his lean, muscular body.

Him even asking to stay over? I could never say no lol

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Law Firm of Kazansky, Mitchell, and Bradshaw.”

Well well well

Labrador retriever personality is so fitting for Mickey, love him 🥰

It’s just your luck you’d ended up having the man whose bed you were in last night as your mentor. And it’s just your luck that the first file you’d picked up had a post-it note on it asking for you to come by when you could.

Great start 🫠

“Nothing,” He leans forward with a grin. “I'm not sure what last night was like for you, but for me, it was just like any other. I met a passably pretty girl at a bar and took her home. She left in the early hours of the morning after a mediocre fuck. That's it.” You can feel rage rising, cold and sharp enough that it occludes the edges of the bleeding wound he’s caused with a few callous words.

Fucking asshole and lier! Yeah I'm sure you ask every "passable pretty" and "mediocre fuck" to stay the night 🙄 I would love to hear what Carole Bradshaw, one of the best lawyers and partner of the firm, would say if she could hear her son talking about women like that😒

Law and Order - A Once In A Blue Moon Story

Part I

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: When a blind date leads to disaster, you're almost ready to give up on men. Until he sits down on the bar stool in front of you. This man is different - sensual, gorgeous, confident. He makes you want to live a little on the wild side. What do you do when a night you don't want to forget turns into a forbidden relationship by light of day? How do you cope, especially when he doesn't seem to want a thing to do with you?

Warnings: Rough sex, illicit relationship, dom/sub overtones, toxic relationship, inbalance of power in the work place

Word Count: 5766

Author's Note: Hiya lovelies! It's been a while since I've posted a story on here. I kind of lost my muse and had to find her, and my love for writing all over again.

Thanks to @horseshoegirl @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern for chatting with me about this story and making sure I'm handling all of the things which happen in the best way I can!

This is going to be a multi-part story. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Part I

The noise washes over you in waves, inane chatter and shrieking from the velvet booths lining the walls, combined with the genteel clacking of cutlery against china in a migraine-inducing din. The bar you’re in is popular, with tables occupied from wall to wall. Normally, you’d consider yourself fortunate to be seated at one of them. There’s one reason why you’re not. Blind dates have never gone well for you. Either your dates are drab and dull, or you’ve been partnered with the worst men on the planet. Rude, boorish, vulgar, you name it, you’ve been on a date with a man bearing the unsavory trait. Tonight’s date isn’t shaping up to be any better.

You’re sitting at the tiny bar-style table playing with the wine in your glass, watching the carnelian liquid slosh as the liquid warms by the second. Your attention is completely on the droplets of wine sliding down the sides of the glass. Your date could care less. He doesn’t seem to notice your boredom or frustration. In fact, you’re not sure he’s even looked at you all night. He’s chattering about something involving stocks and bonds, the details so boring your eyes nearly roll back into your head while peering over the rim of his pint glass at every cocktail-dress-clad girl in sight. Drinks at this swanky bar were supposed to turn into dinner. You’re not sure this date is going to go that far.

Moreover, you’re not sure you want it to. You’re on this date as a favor for a friend. She’d sworn up and down that this guy was a real gem when she was setting you up with him. She’d spent days talking him up, pointing out how kind and hot he was. Sure, he hasn’t been the worst date you’ve been on. He is easy on the eyes, and nice at first impression. But he isn’t anything special. Maybe you have loftier expectations for your relationships than most. Or maybe you just want to go on a date where you can have a conversation, not be talked at in a mockery of one. In any case, you don’t find yourself too disappointed. You’re starting a new job in the morning and you should be fresh for your 8 AM orientation time - an early night would have been your preference. But your watch says it is already past 7 PM and getting later by the minute. This man can’t seriously think he’s so suave, can he? He’s been sending you alluring gazes and smug grins all night long, uncaring of your silence.

“So, whattaya say to skipping dinner and heading back to my place for the rest of the night?”

You’re not sure you heard him right. Mind churning, you sip on the wine, barely tasting the liquid. You’re not sure what he expects. Did he expect you to jump him the minute he offered? You’re resettling your mental estimation of his intellect downwards by the minute.

“I’m awfully hungry,” you demur. “Dinner sounds pretty good to me.”

“I’ve got something that’ll fill you up back at my place.”

His voice is greasy enough that you feel a little disgusted just hearing it.

“Yeah?” You make your voice breathy like you’re a little turned on by his display. You lean forward, knowing the deep vee of your dress is showing off the slightest hint of the lace edging your bra. He smirks pompously, chest-puffing outward, eyes tipping to your exposed cleavage like iron ore to a magnet. He has the audacity to lick his lips, and while before you would have let him down gently, now you want to hit him where it hurts - his ego.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it all by yourself.” Your grin is sharp. “Like you probably have been every night for the last few years of your life.”

He looks a little like he’s been slapped, this finance bro, with his lips gawping unflatteringly.

“Do you have any idea who I am in this town?” He’s turning red under the collar, eyes bugging out.

“Nope.” You say the words flippantly, sipping on the last inch of the red wine at the bottom of your glass. You may not like the man, but he has good taste in wine. “Nor do I care to.”

You lean in then, your off-putting grin widening across your cherry lips.

“I have no interest in getting to know a pompous, over-blown man-child who loves to flaunt their success in other people’s faces. So no. I won’t be coming home with you for a night in. I think I’d throw up if I saw the ‘something that fills me up’ you’ve got over there.”

He’s so angry, his face screws up at your words, the flush creeping up to his face.

“Bye-bye, now!”

He nearly knocks over a waitress and two fellow patrons on his way out of the door, sputtering impotently the entire way.

You’re still chuckling to yourself ten minutes later when a fresh glass of wine is set in front of you.

“That was artfully done.” You startle a little at the words, your head whipping up so fast that your neck hurts at the sudden motion. The new man settling into the barstool before you is a cut above the gentleman you spoke to. Your face must show some confusion because he continues, “I saw you chase that guy away.”

He’s gorgeous, broad shoulders clad in a perfectly fitted suit. Every inch of his appearance screams luxury and class, from his auburn hair to his well-groomed mustache. He’s got long-fingered hands, one holding a cut crystal glass holding amber liquid, the other bearing a signet ring on the index finger as it rests on the table between you. There are eyes on him from all over the bar, and yet he doesn’t seem to notice. His whiskey eyes settle only on you like you're all he wants to see.

“Thank you.” You grin, sipping on the wine, the rich red liquid delicious on your tongue. “But it was necessary, I’m afraid.”

You nearly gag just thinking about the last words that idiot said to you before he left. At least you had the good sense to cut him off before he tried to strong-arm you into getting in bed with him.

“I kind of overheard what he said.” This stranger is smirking, confidence exuding from every pore. You’re drawn by his easy demeanor, as much as you are by his opening words. Hopefully, they’ll lead to an actual conversation. “It’s obvious he has no idea how to get to know a beautiful woman like yourself.”

“Is that so?” You lean forward again, wondering if a flash of your cleavage will take him in. But he doesn’t take the bait you’re presenting so alluringly. All he does is take off the suit jacket he's wearing, revealing the tanned vee of his neck in a white button-up shirt. You have to hide your hungry glances behind the rim of your wineglass when he rolls the sleeves up to the crook of his elbow.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’d much rather get to know you instead.” He leans forward too, and as he does, you see gold glinting from between his pecs.

“I promise I’m nothing like that idiot you chased away with your cherry-lipped smile and acid words.”

You shrug, running a finger over the rim of the glass. “I don’t know anything yet.”

He shrugs then, sipping on his drink nonchalantly. You drag your eyes up and down his person. He lets you check him out with good grace, a smirk tipping his lips up and eyes hot as they return the languid glances. “But maybe, just maybe, I’d like to.”

As he’d introduced himself to you, Bradley is a breath of fresh air. You find yourself on the edge of your seat, hanging on his every word. He’s flirty, kind, yet down-to-earth. He's a professional working in the city, loves his family and friends, and reads actual, genuine books. If only your friend had set you up with Bradley instead. Under his knowing gaze, you find yourself spilling things you’ve never told another soul.

The crowd surges around you as the night deepens. But still, you stay, sitting on the stool, downing glass after glass of plush, rich reds and fruity, dry whites while wishing Bradley was drinking his whiskey off your lips. With each word shared, each story, the spark of attraction smoulders between the two of you. Between one trip to the bar and the next, he settles on the stool next to yours.

If you thought he was breathtaking across the table, he's heart-stopping sitting next to you. His effect on you is worse because when he's close, you just have to look down to see the mile-long expanse of his legs, muscular thighs practically straining against the expensive wool blend of his trousers.

You gasp at the feeling of his breath across your lips. One inch closer, and you’d be kissing him.

“I shouldn’t.” Your voice is quiet, a little hoarse from the alcohol, nonstop chatter and laughter. “I don’t usually go home with strange men at the bar, no matter how attractive they are.”

He smiles, tipping his head to the side. His voice is a rumble as he whispers into your ear, tone wheedling, his other hand trailing down the neckline of your dress, fingers hot over the delicate skin of your chest.

“I promise if you want me to stop at any time, I will. I’ll call you a cab and send you home with my number saved in your phone as soon as you say the word.”

You’re losing your words, your arguments at his voice. All the reasons why you shouldn’t go home with a near stranger dissipate with every minute you stare into his eyes.

“Take me home,” You gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as he plays with your necklace. You knew he was tall when he walked away to get your new drink, but when he helps you off the stool and drapes his suit jacket across your shoulders, he dwarfs you easily. You have a sneaking suspicion you may be in trouble.

Would you be able to taste the whiskey on his tongue? Or would he taste like the mints, sharp and peppery with an underlying hint of sweetness he’d popped as you left? You can’t know for sure, not until you’ve finally got him behind closed doors.

And what doors they end up being. When Bradley unlocks the doors and ushers you in, your jaw drops to the floor. His living room is a gorgeous, high-ceilinged room, with walls half distressed brick and half grey-toned wood panelling. The floors are soft, sandy wood. While you very much would like to see the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining two of the four walls, complete with a rolling ladder like you’ve only ever seen on television, your eyes are drawn to the massive windows showing off the beautiful San Francisco skyline, lit up in the night.

“Your apartment is beautiful.”

“It’s not the only thing that is.”

You whirl around at the words, fighting the heat threatening to overtake your face. If Bradley looked practically edible languidly sprawled over the barstool, long legs brushing against yours, he looks divine standing in his living room with his bright white shirt unbuttoned to his navel.

“I-I don't usually do things like this.”

You curl an arm around your waist, hugging yourself. Standing here in the center of his cookie-cutter-perfect living room, you feel like an outsider, like the speck of lint or dust spoiling the facade. You don’t belong here. You don’t deserve to stand opposite a man this beautiful, be propositioned or devoured by him. Yet when you glance upward, his face shows you nothing but heat and hunger.

You’re not sure what you’re looking for in his face. Reassurance? Compassion? Want? Hunger? You see all those things and more. He lets you stand there in silence, eyes drinking you in, comfortable just watching and being watched. The more you see, the more you can feel your mind change. With the haze of alcohol thrumming through your veins fading a little, your brain is making more decisions. It was lust, pure and simple which got you here. Now your brain has to decide what you want to do here. More and more, the decision seems to be following him, letting yourself fall. You’ve never been impetuous, not where matters of the heart are concerned. Maybe you should be for once. The words end up tripping off the edge of your tongue of their own volition.

“What if I don’t want to go slow at all?”

You know what it means when a man smiles at you like that, eyes molten, tongue sliding out to wet his lips. He prowls forward then, feline grace rippling the muscles of his torso. His arms feel like silk over steel as they crush you to his chest. Your heart stutters, breath catching as he leans forward. But he doesn’t kiss you. He seems content to breathe you in, foreheads pressed together. His mustache traces ticklish and light over your upper lip with every breath. You want nothing more than to smash your lips to his.

“I bet you don't, beautiful.” His eyes sparkle in the darkness as he traces one calloused fingers over your lacquered lips. “But I get the feeling you don't know what you want. You've spent all night so far telling me you don't let people take you home on the first night. But here you are, practically gasping for every touch of my skin to yours. So what’s going on in that pretty little head?”

The words make you squirm a little, thighs rubbing together futilely.

“I wonder,” His tone goes soft and contemplative yet light as he slides his hand up the expanse of your soft thighs, tenderly squeezing the muscular flesh. “Were you searching for a man to take you in hand? Someone who would smack that pretty little ass when you're being a brat? Is that why you chased that guy away so easily? Did you know instinctively he wouldn’t be able to do that for you?”

When you moan, it feels like you've lost the game he started playing. But you're not disappointed, not when his lips quirked upwards in a proud grin. And not when you feel his finger sweep over the damp gusset of your panties, teasing and light.

“Fuck, I knew you'd be gorgeous like this.”

You shiver against him, muscles trembling, fighting against the urge to move his hands where you want them most. But even the slightest motion has those big hands clamping down over your wrists or swatting at the meat of your thigh, just harsh enough that you jolt. Your head is spinning already.

“You're so quiet, so compliant and obedient, my good girl.” You have to swallow your whimpers at the term of endearment. “I can’t wait to see how good you can be.”

You nod, maybe too eagerly, if the smirk taking over his face is proof.

“See?” The phrase is almost mocking as he purrs, “So damned pretty and soft and sweet.”

Your voice shakes as you try to collect your composure, breaking despite all the force of your will.

“I'm not that sweet. I can be rude and domineering and brash.”

He chuckles, pointing to a dark hallway, branching off the living room.

“Go to my bedroom, sweetheart. Take that sinful little dress off and sit on the bed.”

You're so gone for this man already. You don’t know his last name, what he does for work, or anything important. But you don’t care. As you trot into his bedroom, all you can think about is how his lips looked as they said, “good girl,” and how desperately you want to be good for him. Your hands are rough as you tug at the suddenly constricting fabric of your dress. You want it off; need the suddenly scratchy fabric away from your skin. When the dress lands on the ground in front of the bed in a bundle of dark fabric, you feel like you can finally breathe.

“Such a pretty girl.”

You startle at the whisper. You hadn't turned the lights on when you walked in, navigating in the half-light of the streetlights below. A switch clicks in the silence, and you're surrounded by a halo of light. Bradley's in the shadows still, and you can’t see even a glint of his eyes.

“Turn around, baby.”

You feel exposed all of a sudden, wearing only your lacy bra, barely there panties, and heels. His voice seems to echo around you, muddled and sibilant as they murmur words - orders - your way.

“Hands on the bed frame, beautiful.”

You stumble over your own feet as you rush to follow his instructions. With your eyes next-to-useless in the cool darkness of the room, it feels like your other senses are in overdrive.

“You look hotter than sin standing there like that, gorgeous.”

You can feel the puffs of his breath over your sensitized skin, the fine hairs covering your arms standing on end at his presence ghosting over you.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet, so compliant and obedient for me. Keep those legs apart for me, now.”

He chuckles darkly, the sound deep and velvety soft. You have to fight your whine as your knees nearly buckle at the way he sounds.

“You like that?”

You whine when his big hand smooths over the expanse of your back.

“I knew you’d like having someone tell you what to do. I knew you’d look delicious like this, spread out for me like that. Pretty girl, my pretty, pretty baby.”

Your brain fritzes out at those words, all higher-level thoughts blanking out at the possessive curl to his voice. Your prior dalliances - you'd never call them relationships because they were too short to be labeled as such - were never bold enough to become so possessive with you. You never thought you would like it. But hearing Bradley call you his, even when you know this is only for tonight, makes your toes curl and your panties uncomfortably wet.

“What happened to that fire, huh? What happened to the feisty little thing who sent a man away for asking you to hop into his bed on the first meeting?”

His words are a little mocking as those big hands smooth over your waist, plucking at the waistband of your panties.

“Bet his eyes would fall out of his head if he could see you standing here, just like this. With your pert little ass on display and your pussy all wet for me.”

You moan at the words, gasping at the feeling of his hands as they tug the lacy fabric down, flinching at the snap of the clasp of your bra as he pulls that away, too. Your skin flushes with heat at the feeling of the soft kiss he presses to the small of your back. But the tender teasing touches disappear shortly after. He leaves you standing there, wearing only your red-bottomed heels, aching for his touch, shivering as the cool air wafts over your heated skin. You have a feeling he’s still there, your ears picking up each infinitesimal rustle of fabric and soft brush of footsteps on the floor. He’s just left you standing splayed out for his own amusement.

How is it possible for you to feel both turned-on and uncomfortably exposed at the same time? Your fingers ache from holding onto the smooth wooden surface of the bed frame. As your patience wanes, your fidgeting increases.

“Bradley?”

You’ve never heard yourself sound like this, plaintive and strung out, aching for someone else's touch. It feels like you’re breaking down walls you’ve never known you had put up. All you can do is hold onto the bedframe and pray you aren’t vulnerable with someone dangerous.

“Nuh, uh, uh, pretty.” The hushed admonishment comes with the press of lips against your shoulder blade.

“If you want me, then you have to tell me exactly what you want.”

You tremble at the words, grip tightening on the burnished wood until all you can feel is the tug of stressed muscles. You let your head fall until your hair is obscuring everything from sight. You’re not sure you can say these words, not without feeling horribly, uncomfortably exposed.

“Touch me, please.”

It’s the barest whisper, but you know he hears you. His hands are hot against your skin as they draw you up. You surrender to the sensations of his calloused fingers trailing over your stomach. They’re teasing and light as they shape your breasts, palms hot as they hold you close.

“Oh, baby, you feel better than I even thought possible.”

Pleasure sinks molten and sweet through your veins at the gorgeously rough purr in his voice. You sag against him, barely trusting in your limbs to hold you. You can feel his smile as he presses hot kisses down the side of your throat. The scratch of his stubble makes you gasp. With every press, the ache between your thighs intensifies even further. But Bradley doesn’t move his hands, no matter how you wriggle or try to push his hands down to where you so desperately need them.

“Please, Bradley.”

It feels like you’ve been begging for his touch forever when he finally moves. His hands twirl you around, and you find yourself crushed to his chest. His eyes are molten, prismatic as he tugs you close. It feels like you’re drowning in him. You curl your arms around his muscular neck, staring deep into his eyes as he peers at you.

“Please, what, baby?”

There’s a mocking tilt to the smug grin on his face as he looks you over.

“I told you what I need from you tonight.”

You whimper at the words, trying to surge up, aching for some more contact from him.

“Kiss me.”

“Good girl.” You’re not sure you’re ever going to get tired of hearing him call you a ‘good girl”. But then his lips cover yours, and you’re not thinking about anything but him. These kisses, just like all of the others tonight, are hot and claiming. You twine your fingers into the curls at the base of his skull, gasping at the press of his tongue.

“You’re such a good girl, sweetheart.” His lips slip down the side of your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse in a knee-weakening manner. “Mmmm, darling, do you want this to go any further?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to respond in anything other than a breathless, needy moan.

“Well, you know what you have to do, beautiful.”

“You’re too beautiful to be real.”

You shiver as he places a kiss against your sternum, open-mouthed and wet. The shiver turns into a moan when he wraps his lips around one taut nipple and sucks. Each rough pass of his tongue has pleasure coiling in the pit of your stomach. It feels like you’re searching for oxygen like you’ve never breathed it before when he finally pulls away. You’re half expecting him to tease you again, when he laves his tongue over the other, nipping and biting. Your moans spiral through the air. You know what he’s doing when he traces those kisses down your torso, but you don’t have the patience for any more teasing.

You tug him into a messy kiss. Your teeth clash against his somewhat painfully, but when he crawls over you, you can’t find it in you to mind.

“Baby, you have to let me make sure you’re ready.”

“I don’t care.” You’re aware you sound like a complete brat, but Bradley seems endeared by it. He lets you manhandle him onto the bed, eyes shuttering as you settle on his lap, core settled over the sizable bulge in his trousers.

“I want you,” you’re practically sobbing as you grind down in his lap. “I’ve wanted you since you sat down on that bar stool.”

“Please.” It’s a desperate plea. “Stop teasing me. I’m ready.”

“Shh, beautiful. I’ve got you.” He smoothes a hand over the plane of your stomach, uncaring of all the places you hate about yourself.

You can’t believe your eyes when he finally pulls the remainder of his clothes off. He’s golden and gorgeous, tan glowing as the moonlight loving highlights every muscle. You’re still not sure why a man like him wanted to take you home, not when he looks like he does. His hands smooth over you, parting your legs as he kisses you. Each press of his lips to yours are deep and tender. You search for his lips every time he pulls away and gasp when he nips at the pout on your lips in retaliation. You can feel the blunt head of his cock against your folds as he grinds into you, the rough slide of skin against skin easing as you grow wetter, needier beneath him.

“Please,” you babble, pleading for him to continue, “Don’t stop, please.”

It feels like there’s lightning in your veins. Lightning which crackles and sparks until it feels like you’re one exposed livewire lying on the bed. He gathers you up then, settles you down on his lap, hands clamped on the corded muscle of his shoulders as you go ragdoll-limp in his arms.

You slump to your side, boneless and exhausted, relishing in the cool press of the sheets. He slumps with you, still buried in you, closer than you’ve ever been to another person. You could drown in the molten sweetness in his eyes, the deep caramel depths drawing you in until it’s all you can see. He kisses you until your lips feel puffy and bruised. When he slips out of you, you ignore the mess, beginning your slow progress as you slide to the edge of the bed. He doesn’t stop you, long limbs sprawled over the sheets of his bed like a Greek god in repose.

He lifts his head, eyes blinking blearily, sleepily as you collect your clothes, pulling on each piece methodically.

“What are you doing?”

You flush in embarrassment. “I’m heading home.”

You can hear the rustle of the sheets as you pull the wrinkled fabric of your dress on. His hands are hot as he turns you around. You’re unbalanced, only one heel on as you look into his eyes.

“You could stay, you know?”

You shiver, tugging him into one final, soft kiss.

“I could. But I won’t.” You step into the final heel before turning around again. His hands are gentle as they tug the zipper on your dress up.

“I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Bradley nods, curls bouncing, throat working as he looks you over. You’re trying to look at anything but him, not wanting the temptation of his lean, muscular body.

“Be safe.”

Your Uber home is quiet, tense. Half your heart, it seems, is left in that posh bedroom, wrapped in cool Egyptian cotton, drowning in whiskey eyes. Your sleep is just as disturbed.

You wake in the morning sweetly sore and groggy. But you can’t focus on a mind-blowing fuck, not this morning. Warring with exhaustion this morning as you take a tram downtown are your nerves. You’re nervous. This is the job you’ve been working towards your whole life. Call it fascination from a lifetime of watching legal dramas combined with a love for arguing and here you are. Three years of law school at Stanford and near perfect exam scores and here you are. Standing in a richly appointed conference room with five other rookie law school graduates waiting for orientation to start on your first day.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Law Firm of Kazansky, Mitchell, and Bradshaw.”

Your head seems to fly up at the words, and at first, you’re not sure whether you’re still asleep or drunk out of your mind. Because your eyes have to be deceiving you. There is no way Bradley is standing in the conference room with you. He’s flanked by a tall flaxen-haired man with a cocky grin and a buxom brunette in the snazziest pantsuit you think you’ve ever seen.

“I’m Bradley Bradshaw, senior counsel at the firm. My specialty is contract law. With me are my colleagues and fellow senior counsel, Jake Seresin, with a speciality of criminal law, and Natasha Trace, with a speciality in corporate law. We’re going to be your mentors at the firm. Let’s get one thing clear. We ask you all to jump, you ask us how high. Work hard, and we’ll have you taking cases of your own in no time.”

You feel like your skin is crawling with each word and each elapsed minute. Your palms are sweaty and your heart is racing as you distractedly count each minute until you’re left in a barren corner of the office in front of two empty cubicles with your training partner, a sweet-hearted brunette with a labrador retriever’s friendly personality named, Miguel “call me Mickey” Garcia. He’s already digging deep into the files Bradley handed over while you take a short walk to Bradley’s corner office. It’s just your luck you’d ended up having the man whose bed you were in last night as your mentor. And it’s just your luck that the first file you’d picked up had a post-it note on it asking for you to come by when you could.

Almost all the shades are drawn when you knock.

“Come in.”

He holds one of those long fingers up as he finishes up the conversation he’s having on the phone. You feel like you’re seconds away from being fired with every insolent look he sends your way.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Bradshaw?”

He smirks then.

“Yeah, I did.” He shapes your full name with his pouty, kiss-bitten lips, lips you bit last night, as he looks over you.

“Obviously you know nobody can know what happened between us last night.”

“Yeah, obviously.” You wrap your arms around yourself, pretending not to notice how your body aches at the sight of him, for want of him. “So what do we do?”

You can feel rage rising, cold and sharp enough that it occludes the edges of the bleeding wound he’s caused with a few callous words.

“Now, I'm your mentor and boss. Professionalism is everything to me. My mom is the best lawyer I know, and one of the partners. She can’t know I fucked up so prodigiously with one of our rookies. And I will do anything to make sure she never does.”

It’s obvious last night meant little to him, much less than it meant to you. You wanted to track him down tonight, wanted to see if he would want to go out with you again. Obviously that isn’t an option anymore.

“Enjoy the files. Let me know if you or Garcia see something I didn't see in them. That will be all.”

Your head is reeling when you walk away, and you're quiet, withdrawn. Garcia doesn’t notice how your skin crawls with every footstep walking past the door of your small office or how you flinch at every laugh and loud conversation. Last night you were a nervous professional, worried about the job but hopeful for your date to go well. Now you’re the rookie who slept with her boss. You're his dirty little secret and he's yours. Your career, your life, and everything you've ever worked for hangs in the balance.

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