i need frenchie x reader hcs. smutty or not, i need them.
A/N: ooooo a lil bit of frenchie!!! Enjoy ✨ warning for drug use mention and canon violence
SFW:
- level 10 yearner. Nothing is stopping this man from loving on you any chance he can get.
- He’s the one you warm up to first. Yes, he can be a little bit intense especially with his drug usage, but he’s someone who cares deeply, empathetic- you can see that in that way he treats others and you’re absolutely no different.
- Has offered you hallucinogens to trip with him, obviously respects you if you say no. If you say yes however, he looks after you through every step.
- Won’t ever hesitate to kill for you. He’s very protective, loyal, your guard dog. On missions he is always standing at your side or in front of you. When there’s any signs of danger he is ready to be your shield.
- Overshares his stories, but you love it because he’s always got something to talk about.
- Very touchy. Any opportunity to be shoulder to shoulder with you, holding onto your hand, he just wants to feel that connection with you- it’s his love language.
- loves kissing, absolutely adores it. All affection where it means he can kiss or taste your skin even just a little bit, he’s 100% on board.
NSFW:
- SUBMISSIVE.
- Absolutely lives to worship and please you.
- Frenchie would try everything at least once. He’s an open book, and is just happy to try new things that would make you both feel good.
- Talks dirty to you in French. Especially when he’s taking you in a position where he can press his lips to your ear, so he can feel the chills jolting in your body as he purrs sweet words.
- you’re stressed? He’ll go down on you until you’re boneless. He’s stressed? You’re going down on him until he’s a mess, whimpered from how overstimulated he is.
- Thigh/ass man. Loves to bury himself between your thighs, will tell you to suffocate him with them. Bonus points for sitting on his face, even more so if you sit in reverse cowgirl.
- Begs so hard for you. He would be on his knees, kissing your feet, grabbing at your legs to just have a taste of you, to feel how warm you are wrapped around his cock.
Warnings: SMUT, mdni, 18+ ONLY, NSFW, CNC
Summary: Your mate has been working so much lately that the distance leaves you restless and needy, so you decide to take matters into your own hands late one night.
A/N: Inspired by these gifs that I have not been able to stop thinking about.
You couldn't sleep. You had been tossing and turning, staring out the window for what felt like hours now.
The hazy effects of the wine you’d had at dinner had long since faded, leaving only a restless energy beneath your skin.
Well, restless and horny.
Your mate had worked you up all evening without even realizing it. The soft, absentminded caresses of your back and shoulders whenever he passed behind your chair. The gentle way he would rest his hand on your thigh beneath the table, giving it a lazy squeeze every so often.
His sweet kisses pressed to your temple. His genuine attentiveness—always making sure you were comfortable, that your wine glass stayed full, knowing precisely when to switch it for water before you’d had too much. Keeping your plate filled with all the little things he knew you loved most.
He was just so perfect. And you loved him so much.
You had loved Azriel long before either of you knew what the bond between you truly was.
You’d met before Rhys went Under the Mountain, when Azriel had been sent on some mission to the Summer Court, your home. You had been visiting a friend near the palace when someone barreled into you from behind hard enough to send you sprawling. You’d landed badly on your arm, the sharp pain immediate and blinding.
The poor male had looked stricken. Truly horrified. He had insisted on escorting you all the way to the healer’s cottage himself, hovering like a silent shadow the entire time, refusing to leave until the healer declared the break clean and easily mended.
Taking pity on the beautiful, guilt-ridden stranger, you’d informed him the only proper way to make amends for breaking your arm was to have dinner with you and your family.
Reluctantly, and with a suspicious narrowing of those hazel eyes, he’d agreed.
Eventually, friendship blossomed where neither of you expected it to. Azriel began finding reasons to return to the Summer Court. Then reasons for you to visit Velaris. Rhys and Cassian quickly became like brothers to you, welcoming you into their circle as if you had always belonged there. Azriel never once asked Rhys for special favors, but Rhys had always suspected something deeper lingered between you long before either of you were ready to see it.
It was after Rhys was trapped Under the Mountain that the bond finally snapped into place.
In the midst of fear, grief, and helpless waiting, you and Azriel found solace in one another. Pain forged what fate had already begun, tempering it into something unbreakable.
And maybe it was because he was grieving. Maybe because the walls he’d built around himself were too exhausted to stand. But for the first time, Azriel truly let you close.
He let you love the parts of him no one else saw. The quiet, gentle pieces hidden beneath the deadly reputation of the Night Court’s spymaster. The tenderness in him. The softness. The sensitivity he guarded more fiercely than any secret.
You loved all of him equally.
Azriel adored you just as deeply. The newness of being mates had never worn away, even after all these years. You were still just as enamored with each other as you’d always been. He was your best friend, your better half, everything you could have ever asked for.
But gods, did he keep you worked up.
The intimacy between you had never been anything less than devastatingly perfect. Equal parts worship and ruin.
You rolled onto your side and looked at him now as he slept peacefully beside you. Thick dark lashes brushed against his cheeks. His full lips were slightly parted, his handsome face stripped of its usual tension and vigilance. He looked younger when he slept. Softer.
Your mate was so unfairly pretty.
You loved looking at him—always, if you were honest. But especially like this, when he was asleep and couldn’t tease you relentlessly for staring. Though, truthfully, you quite enjoyed when he did that too. Being teased by Azriel was equal parts torment and reward.
Your gaze traced slowly down the sharp line of his jaw, where the faint shadow of stubble had begun to grow in. Along the strong column of his neck. Across the broad expanse of his chest and the sculpted planes of muscle that had no business looking so sinful in moonlight.
The dark swirls of his tattoos beckoned you, winding over golden skin like promises meant only for your eyes.
A soft sound nearly escaped you as you clenched your thighs together, your gaze catching on the small script over his heart.
Your name.
The tattoo that had appeared the night you accepted the mating bond. Not carved by hand nor inked by needle, but etched into his skin as when fate itself had marked him. Elegant script over the place where his heart beat strongest, a vow written in flesh that he would love you beyond breath, beyond death, beyond the final beat of his immortal heart.
Even now, seeing it made warmth bloom in your chest.
You were carried with him always. Into battle. Into sleep. Into every quiet breath he took.
Azriel sighed softly in his sleep, the sound drawing your attention from the broad planes of his chest down the hard lines of his stomach. Moonlight traced every sculpted ridge of him, and your mouth nearly watered at the sight.
You could wake him. You could climb over him right now, sink down onto him, and take exactly what you wanted. He had told you often enough to do just that.
The memory of his deep voice, rough and breathless in your ear as he made love to you, played through your mind.
"I’m all yours, baby. Use me. Love me. Take me whenever you want me…whenever you need me."
Your gaze wandered back up his body, lingering on the powerful lines of his arms and those rough, beautiful hands. Dark tattoos curled around corded muscle, veins tracing beneath golden skin. Even in sleep, there was strength in every inch of him.
Your breathing grew heavier as the scent of your own arousal filled the room.
Still, you didn’t want to wake him. Your sweet mate had been working himself ragged lately—long nights, early mornings, sent to Windhaven for training more often than not. You missed him terribly, but you knew he needed every scrap of rest he could get.
So when his tongue darted out in sleep to wet his lower lip, your resolve shattered.
Slowly, carefully, you slid your panties down your hips and legs, tossing them onto the floor beside the bed. Your fingers slipped between your thighs, finding yourself slick and aching.
You ran your fingertips through your folds, coating your clit before circling it gently. A shaky breath escaped you. It felt good, good enough to make your back arch, but not enough.
You had been spoiled for decades by your mate’s thick, calloused fingers. Your own touch never quite compared.
As you continued stroking yourself, your eyes landed on his large hand resting beside your hip.
Fuck.
You needed it.
Gently, trying not to wake him, you lifted his hand and guided it between your thighs. You pressed his fingers where you needed them most, using your own hand to move them through your wetness.
Your eyes fluttered shut at the feel of his rough skin against your most sensitive places.
You were just beginning to find a rhythm that might finally send you over the edge—rubbing his middle finger over your swollen clit with the perfect amount of pressure—when his fingers twitched.
Then slid deep inside you.
Your eyes flew open. Panting, you turned to look at him.
Azriel still appeared peacefully asleep beside you, lashes resting against his cheeks, expression calm. Yet his fingers were buried knuckle-deep inside you.
A helpless whine escaped as you rolled your hips, trying to coax movement from him, trying to make him hit that spot only he ever seemed able to find. Your own hand returned to your clit, circling quickly as you rode his fingers.
Pleasure built fast, hot and relentless.
Then he gave the slightest curl of his hand inside you.
You shattered.
Your mouth fell open, unable to hold back the soft cry that spilled free as pleasure rushed through you.
The mattress shifted sharply beside you.
Azriel jolted upright, instantly alert, eyes sweeping the room before landing on you as if checking you were unharmed.
His dark hair was tousled from sleep, lips swollen and soft. It took him only a heartbeat to understand what he was seeing.
His gaze moved over your flushed face, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the rise and fall of your chest. Then lower—realizing his hand was no longer resting at your waist where it usually stayed while he slept.
A low sound rumbled from deep in his chest when he found his fingers still buried inside your trembling body.
Experimentally, he curled them deeper.
You gasped.
His groan answered you.
“What’s this, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep as he slowly withdrew his fingers. You whimpered at the loss, and a smirk touched his lips. He brought those same fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them as his gaze darkened over your body. “Just for me?”
Your cheeks burned.
“I needed you,” you said, reaching for him with a pitiful pout.
Immediately, he moved over you, covering your body with his own. The delicious weight of him pressed you into the mattress, and you felt how hard he already was against your thigh.
He brushed his nose along the side of your neck before pressing a soft kiss below your ear.
“Poor girl,” he murmured. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
He kissed your pout, then drew back to frown down at you.
“I’m supposed to be taking care of my mate.”
His hands slid up your sides, pushing your nightgown higher as they went.
“You’ve been working so hard lately,” you said seriously, catching his right hand and pressing a kiss into his palm. “I wanted you to rest. I’m sorry for waking you. I should’ve gone to the bathroom.”
He frowned harder at that.
“Don’t ever hide from me. Not for anything.” His voice softened, but the intensity in it made your chest tighten. “I hate being gone so much. You’re all I think about when I’m away.”
He brushed his knuckles over your cheek.
“You waking me in the middle of the night for time with me is never something I’d refuse. Whether it’s to talk, to hold you, for you to boss me around…” His mouth curved wickedly. “Or for whatever wild little thing you were just doing with my fingers.”
You covered your face with both hands, mortified.
Azriel laughed softly and pulled them away, threading his fingers through yours before pinning your hands above your head. He crawled closer until every inch of him surrounded you, then kissed you slow and sweet.
“I love touching you,” he murmured against your lips. “Even in my sleep.”
His hazel eyes held yours, molten with affection and heat.
“Don’t insult me by denying yourself something I’m more than happy to give you. I’ve already told you that.”
Warmth flooded your chest at the look on his face, the love there so open it nearly stole your breath.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs hooking around his hips as a smile curved your lips.
“Then I suppose,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “you’re going to have to remind me just how much you love touching me.”
Azriel went still for half a heartbeat, hazel eyes flashing with something hot and possessive before a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
“Is that so?” he murmured. “My sleepy little thief steals from me in the dark, then gets demanding when she’s caught.”
You tugged him down by the back of his neck, smiling against his mouth. “I’m your mate. It’s hardly stealing.”
A low laugh rumbled from his chest. Gods, he loved his mate. And Cauldron help him, you knew exactly how to make him weak in the knees. Waking to the feel of your tight warmth wrapped around his fingers, using his hand to chase your own pleasure, had nearly undone him on the spot.
His wicked little female.
Azriel moved over you with practiced grace, shedding the last of his clothing before reaching for the hem of your nightgown. He peeled it slowly over your head, tossing it somewhere into the darkened room without care. His gaze swept over your bare body, open admiration written plainly across his face.
“Beautiful,” he said, voice rough with sleep and want. “Always so beautiful for me.”
Heat climbed your cheeks, but he gave you no time to answer.
He bent to your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there. His mouth trailed lower, down the line of your neck and across your collarbone, lingering over the swell of your breasts. He groaned softly as he took one nipple into his mouth, tongue circling it with maddening precision while his scarred hand slid between your thighs.
You gasped, back arching as his fingers found the slick heat waiting for him.
“There she is,” he murmured against your skin. “So ready for me.”
His fingers drew slow, rough circles over your swollen clit, the callouses on his hands sending pleasure skittering through every nerve in your body.
“Azriel—”
“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed between your breasts, then lower. “I know exactly what you need.”
He moved down your body, kissing a path across your stomach. When he reached your belly, he paused, nuzzling there affectionately, almost reverently, before pressing one soft kiss to the skin. The tenderness of it made your chest ache.
Then he breathed warm air over the place you needed him most, and every coherent thought vanished.
“I need to taste you,” he growled.
Before you could answer, his tongue swept through your slickness in one long stroke. A deep groan tore from him at the taste of you, like it was something he could never get enough of.
Your fingers buried in his dark hair instantly, tugging hard enough to earn a pleased sound from him. He looked up at you from between your thighs, hazel eyes dark and hooded, mouth shining.
The sight alone nearly sent you over the edge.
“Gods,” you breathed.
“That’s right,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Look at me.”
He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. Your legs trembled around his shoulders.
“I need you inside me, Az.”
The words came out broken, needy, and Azriel swore under his breath. Who was he to deny you anything? Especially this.
He kissed his way back up your body, leaving your skin flushed and sensitive in his wake. When he reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
Then he settled between your thighs, broad shoulders fitting there like they belonged nowhere else.
His arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. You glanced at them immediately, at the flex of muscle, the elegant swirl of tattoos disappearing over powerful forearms.
Azriel caught you staring and smirked. He knew exactly how much you liked his arms. You’d told him enough times.
So, being the arrogant male that he was, he flexed them for you.
Your lips parted. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he said, dragging the blunt head of himself teasingly along your entrance, “you’re soaked for me.”
He nudged against you once, twice, making you squirm.
“Azriel.”
“What?” he asked innocently. “I’m just enjoying how pretty my mate looks when she’s impatient.”
You reached for him, nails scraping lightly down his back. “Stop teasing me.”
That breathy plea shattered whatever restraint he had left.
His teasing expression softened into something molten and hungry. He bent to kiss you once—slow, deep, claiming—before guiding himself inside you in one steady thrust.
Both of you moaned at the same time.
He buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, forehead dropping to yours as he fought for breath.
“Every time,” he whispered hoarsely. “Every damn time, you feel like the first.”
Your arms wrapped around his neck, legs locking around his hips. “Then stop talking,” you murmured against his lips, “and show me how much you missed me.”
Azriel caught the challenge in your voice, and something heated flashed through his gaze.
“Careful what you ask for, sweet girl,” he murmured.
Then he moved.
The first slow roll of his hips stole the breath from your lungs. He held himself over you on those powerful arms, every line of muscle flexing as he set an unhurried rhythm that felt designed solely to ruin you. Each measured thrust dragged a gasp from your lips, each retreat making you chase him helplessly.
“There you are,” he said softly, watching every expression that crossed your face as though it were something sacred. “Missed this look on you.”
You could barely form words. “Azriel…”
“I know.” His mouth found your throat, kissing the spot beneath your ear that always made you shiver. “I missed hearing my name like that too.”
His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding the place that made your body tighten instantly. The contrast of his rough touch and the tenderness in his eyes nearly undid you.
He always knew exactly how to touch you. Exactly how to take you apart and hold you together all at once.
The room filled with the soft sounds of breath and whispered praise. Azriel never stopped speaking to you when he loved you like this, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he missed you, how perfectly you fit him, how he thought about you every night he was away.
You clung to him, nails dragging lightly across his back as pleasure built hot and relentless inside you.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice roughening. “Let me have it, baby. Let me feel you.”
Your body trembled beneath him. He dropped lower, bracing on one forearm while the other arm flexed beside your head, bicep taut beneath your grasp.
When release finally crashed through you, you cried out and bit down on his bicep to muffle the sound.
Azriel groaned low and deep at the sensation, the sound vibrating straight through you. Instead of pulling away, he pressed closer, letting you hold onto him however you needed while waves of pleasure rolled through your body.
“Good girl,” he whispered against your temple, kissing there gently. “That’s it.”
Your legs tightened around him, body still trembling.
The feel of you coming apart around him was what finally shattered the last of his own control. He buried his face in the curve of your neck with a broken sound, arms tightening around you as he found his own release, holding you so close it was hard to tell where one of you ended and the other began.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Then Azriel lifted his head, hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes heavy with satisfaction as he glanced down at the mark blooming darkly across his bicep.
A slow, smug grin spread across his face.
“You bit me.”
You buried your burning face against his chest. “I did not.”
He huffed a laugh, wrapping an arm tighter around you before lifting the marked arm into the moonlight like evidence.
“This says otherwise.” He admired it shamelessly. “Think I’ll need to get this tattooed. Memorialize the best morning of my life.”
“It is not morning,” you mumbled into his skin.
“Feels like it.” He kissed the top of your head. “Waking up with my mate using my hand to make herself come, then leaving me a pretty little mark while I finish the job?” He gave a thoughtful hum. “Best way I’ve ever woken up.”
You groaned and tried to hide deeper against him. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you love me.”
He tipped your chin up just enough to kiss your pout away, smiling against your lips.
“Next time,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “bite harder.”
Summary: No one expected you to understand fae customs just yet—much less Illyrian customs. So maybe Azriel should have made his intentions a little more obvious. He began to understand that mistake as you began to pull away.
Word count: 4k
Warnings: Biggest miscommunication trope lol, angst, pining!, idiots in love, Archeron!Reader but really only that she was human and now fae
a/n: This is the second and final part for this little two-shot!! It was so fun to write I love miscommunication (when it gets RESOLVED lol)!! Thank you for reading ilyyyy 🫶
Read part one here!
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
You bundled yourself into a thick wool sweater to stave off the chill of the night. After your proclamation and the awkward silence that followed, Azriel had stood, faltered in his stance, and then excused himself while running a shaky hand over his jaw.
The picture of relief; he was finally free from your needy confines.
Your chest felt heavy as you walked with no destination in mind. Perhaps you should find a date for the night. You had been fae for a while now, and so perhaps it was time for you to truly settle in—to find relationships beyond the family you acquired. Sure, you’d made friends, but there was something more you desired, and it was clear Azriel wasn’t going to be that for you.
You shook off the thoughts—both of finding a date and of being with someone who wasn’t Azriel. It would take a lot more than a simple whim to get over him, and although disheartening, that revelation was crucial. You needed to move on. You needed to stop reading into every small move he made. He was just nice, just giving to his family.
Frustration and tiredness gripped you next, so you set course for the Sidra. You figured the lapping tide would calm your mind and ground you, and when you plopped onto the first bench you could find, you found your suspicions were correct. Closing your eyes, you let the water take over.
It wasn’t until you started to notice the chill under your legs that the air shifted. You could tell it wasn’t Azriel instantly, something about the movement of the air not feeling like him. Instead, the swish of wings caused you to snap your eyes open to find Cassian standing before you, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow raised in silent accusation.
“That was cruel,” he said, tone not unkind. “You’re not cruel. Not on purpose. What did he do to make you so upset?”
He did several things to make you upset, but they all sounded childish, even in your head—childish and not even his fault. But you weren’t even sure what Cassian was referring to, so you started with that.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Cassian sighed like he was getting ready for a long night. He tugged at the seams of his pants and sat beside you on the bench. “Come on. Don’t be like that. Tell me why you said you have a date when you’re sitting by yourself right now.”
It was your turn to sigh. You leaned back and looked out to the Sidra instead of at Cassian’s patient gaze. “Don’t make me talk about it. It’s bad enough that you’ve caught me in my lie.”
“Yeah, no offense, but I didn’t actually think you had a date.”
You huffed out a humorless laugh. “Am I really that pathetic?”
“Well… No,” Cassian slowly replied. “But I never thought you would do that to Az. And I’m sure he doesn’t think that either. But it hurt him to hear you say that, and I guess I’m trying to understand why you did. Like I said, you’re not cruel.”
Something felt like it was running in circles in your head. You kept your arms crossed over your chest, but craned your neck to look at Cassian again, trying to find answers in his features. You found only open searching from your friend.
You shook your head slightly. “I did it to protect myself,” you stated obviously. “I needed to let him go, and he needed to know that I would be fine without his constant attentiveness. It’s never been fair to him.”
For all of his gusto in entering this conversation, Cassian now stared at you with an utterly blank expression. Not even his wings twitched as you both looked at each other. Cassian had his arm hooked over the back of the bench, and it looked to be cemented there as he processed your words.
Feeling uncomfortable in the silence, you continued. “I’ve been his responsibility ever since I was Made, and it’s not fair that my feelings have kept him trapped for longer than he’s needed to be. I’m so grateful that he’s been here for me while I’ve been getting adjusted, but I’m adjusted now, and he needs to start living again.”
Another pause. Cassian turned your words over in his head. “Your feelings?”
“Of course that would be the only thing you catch—Yes, Cassian, I have feelings for Azriel. But you and I both know that’s ridiculous.”
He blinked. Something close to irritation stirred in your gut.
“You think—” Cassian began, before stopping himself and moving back on the bench slightly. “You—But Azriel… and you—”
You followed each sentence he uttered, only for them to trail off. Some of the irritation mingled with embarrassment within you, and you clenched your jaw, gripping the stone beneath you. “Yes, Cassian, I know it’s very hard to believe and probably quite a comical thought, but if you could gather your words that would be very appreciated.”
Cassian muttered a silent ‘comical?’ to himself that made you raise your brows, but the Illyrian seemed to finally land on a solid thought and quickly reached out to shake your hand. Your wrist flapped in his grip.
“You’re wearing this,” he started, forefinger tapping the ring on your pinky.
“Yes? And? It was a sweet gift,” you offered.
“It has—the siphons.”
“It has what?”
“The blue. It’s part of the siphon Azriel wears on his chest. The underside.”
You looked away for a moment, searching the surroundings for nothing. “Why on Earth would he put that in there?”
Cassian gave you an incredulous look. “What about the flying cloak?”
“What about the what?” You jerked your head back slightly, now completely and utterly lost. “You mean the coat Azriel was letting me wear when he flew me places?”
“No, the cloak. It’s tradition. His mother—” Cassian cut himself off again, releasing your hand finally. He’d been shaking it around since he started talking, and you were glad to have it back. You clutched your fingers in towards your chest and stared at your friend, suddenly worried about his sanity as he squinted his eyes up at a passing cloud.
“Cass, are you alright? I don’t—I’m confused.”
“You’re confused,” Cassian nodded to himself, words final. He remained squinting at the sky.
“Right. So, can you explain this psychotic break to me, or am I meant to pick up on context clues or…”
Cassian suddenly stood, the wind taken up by his wings startling a small screech from your lungs. You followed him up on pure instinct, and the Illyrian grabbed both of your shoulders. “Come on then.”
“Come on? Come on, where? Cassian, I still don’t—Cassian!” Your questions were lost to a scream as Cassian practically shoved you into his arms and took to the sky. You pushed your face into his chest and felt the cool whips of night drive into your skin, missing the “cloak” Cassian was going on about on this impromptu journey.
Your one saving grace was the view of the ring on your finger as you flew. It seemed to shine against the wind, sparking bright blue with each gust against the stone. The color warmed on your skin, a small comfort in the otherwise jarring flight. Just as quickly as you took off, Cassian deposited you on the balcony of the House of Wind. He marched forward instantly, leaving you in the dust with more questions than answers.
Now you were trapped. You shifted your weight onto your heels and accepted defeat without putting up much of a fight, rolling your eyes at Cassian’s retreating form. There was a fleeting second you considered taking the stairs back down to Velaris, but your legs were all but frozen, and you were hoping to give Cassian a piece of your mind. You had almost forgotten about your disastrous night with Azriel. That was, until your gracious sister alerted you to her soothing presence.
“I take it you figured it out?” Nesta drawled, snapping her book shut, her rigid posture hidden behind a rather tall chaise.
“Figured what out?” you tiredly sighed, rounding the room to sit beside her. You watched her eyes dart up to the ceiling in the same way Cassian’s had just minutes ago. The only difference was that hers looked markedly less confused and entirely more agitated.
“Absolutely no one listens to me in this family,” she hissed to herself before turning to you. “Do you remember when you confided in Feyre about loving Azriel?”
You reared back, gripping Nesta’s arm in alarm. “Keep your voice down. What is the matter with you? And yes, I remember confiding that in her. Something I will never do again, it seems.”
“Enough dramatics. Do you remember what she said?”
“Of course not, Nesta. That was months ago and I was half-delirious on fae wine.”
Nesta was looking up the ceiling again, counting something, maybe, or just sitting in her breaths. She jutted her jaw to the side and then dipped her finger along her neck to snag on a chain there. With a quick tug, a ring fell from behind her bodice, dangling from the gold it was looped to.
“Look,” she ordered. “I have the same ring you do. Only different in one way.”
You examined the red twining along the edges. “Okay?”
“Feyre has one as well.”
“A welcome gift?”
Nesta’s eye twitched. “Elain does not have one.” You stared blankly back at her until she stood from the chaise and took her book with her. “I swear you were not this dumb when we were children.”
“Nesta!” you called out, offence lining your tone.
Your sister did not even look over her shoulder. “If you cannot put together the pieces, save for your lack of self-worth, then I do not have the time for this. Open your eyes to how he looks at you, I swear.”
Her last words were filled with such exasperation that you felt chastised. You slumped back into the chaise and chewed on your lip, running over the jarring events of the evening. You certainly were not turned in early with a warm drink and a book as you had planned. No, instead, you were analyzing how Azriel last looked at you, using lingering crumbs to put anything together.
He had already been looking at you when you said you had a date, his gaze tracking your voice the second you opened your mouth. He always seemed to do that, so attentive in the way he listened to others. You remembered how he had started listening with rapt attention, gaze flickering down to your mouth and then back up to your eyes. There had been nothing assuming there, no expectations; he always watched you like he was simply there to listen, to be there and let you be heard.
And then you had said it, and things shifted. His expression flashed; his jaw had twitched. He had already been looking at you, but it seemed he somehow lost the sight of your face because he was quickly refocusing, brow curling uncomfortably. When you thought back on it now, he had looked… hurt? Lost? Your initial assumption was relief, but that had been a terrible conclusion. That had been an unfair judgment and you were now left wondering how many assumptions you had been making.
Because you had never really asked him, had you? You had always seen yourself as an unwanted burden he was too kind to brush off, but maybe you hadn’t been unwanted, not at first. And maybe you inserted your opinion of yourself too rashly in your relationship with Azriel. Maybe he liked the responsibility, and you thought you knew what was best for him.
Maybe you loved him too much to be selfish, and that was the problem.
Or maybe…
Could he love you? Was that the point Nesta was making with the rings?
An idiotic thought, even for you. And you were being called dumb and confused quite a lot today.
Your racing conclusions were cut off by yet another presence entering your space, but this time, you knew it to be Azriel. You could hear the gentle undercurrent of his shadows and just knew it was him as if by some instinct. Steeling yourself, you turned your gaze up to meet the Shadowsinger.
And you looked at him—you stared up at him as he looked at you.
He looked strained, at odds with himself.
“Cassian said we needed to talk,” Azriel offered, this being the third time he opened his mouth to speak. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted space. I left because I thought you did.”
You didn’t move from your seat. His shadows swarmed beneath your feet, unwilling to listen to their master. “Space for what?” you almost whispered.
He raised his brows, shifting his gaze to the floor. “To think, I suppose. I’ve made you angry, done something to ruin this. I didn’t want to make it worse.”
The picture was falling apart again. You’d finally pieced something together after Nesta’s words, but this was not lining up with your conclusion. You stood, taking a few steps towards the Shadowsinger.
“Why would you think that, Az? I’m not mad at you.”
“Why would I—Y/n, you’ve been avoiding me for weeks now. You hardly speak to me unless I prompt you. You don’t stay at the House.”
“I wanted to let you have your life back,” you earnestly replied. “It’s probably what Cassian wanted us to speak about. But then… he said I was confused and maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was pushing my thoughts onto you and you didn’t want so much space.”
“I want no space,” Azriel affirmed. He took a step forward and met you in the middle of the room. “And my life—there is no life I would want back. My life now is… you are everything to me.”
That gave you pause—a stunning, all-encompassing pause. You felt your eyes widen and your mouth fall open, but nothing could stop your reaction. Several of your conclusions, your assumptions, somersaulted in your mind.
“What?” you whispered.
Azriel shook his head, reaching a tentative hand out to cup your jaw. “I’ve tried to be subtle, to go slow, but you have to know. If you’re thinking I want space from you, then I haven’t made this known enough. You know that I love you. Tell me how to show—”
“You love me?” you blurted out, lost in the soft touch on your cheek and still more alert than you’ve ever been.
Azriel’s expression morphed into hurt again. “Of course I love you. That’s why we’ve been courting. To take things slower until you were ready.”
“Courting?”
The hurt was wiped clean. Azriel’s brows came together, his next words sounding punched from his lungs. “Yes, angel. Courting. Since Starfall.”
You temporarily spun at the name, but you had no time to focus on that. “Since Starfall?” you gaped, once again offering nothing but repetition.
Still holding you in his hands, Azriel searched every inch of your face. He didn’t let you go, but you felt his grip reposition as if to ground himself. He ducked an inch lower to fully catch your wide eyes.
“Did you—not know?”
You gave the slightest shake of your head. “You never…”
The air in the room shifted again, and Azriel was clearly panicking. He bit into his lip and searched your features again, looking for something to make sense of this. It was a mirror of your last few weeks. You wanted to provide him with some comfort, but nothing came to mind.
“The ring,” Azriel finally landed on, tilting your chin up with his thumbs. “I gave it to you then. I-I told you I wanted you to keep it close, as I would keep the other piece.”
“You said that?” you asked, trying to remember his words after he had slid it on your finger. Everything had been a blur of giddiness.
“Yes. I told you it would always guide you back to me. You—I haven’t seen you take it off since. It was a courting gift.”
“I thought it was a normal gift.”
Azriel’s expression widened. “Illyrians always give it to their partners. We have it made when we meet.”
“You had this made for me when we met? In the human lands?” His nod was hurried and disjointed. “But I—I didn’t know that.”
Azriel’s panic increased. He ran his hands down from your jaw to rest at the back of your neck. “The jacket,” he quipped. “You accepted it. You wore it everywhere I took you.”
“To keep warm!” you exclaimed, feelings of hysteria taking over. “I thought you were letting me borrow it for convenience!”
“It’s a tradition—the flying cloak. Illyrian men are meant to take their partners everywhere. We guide them. The cloak goes along with that. I had it tailored into a coat for you to be more comfortable.”
Breath escaped your lungs. “Cassian called it a cloak,” you said to no one, pulling yourself out of his hands to pace the room. You moved your palm to your forehead. “Am I—am I missing anything else?”
Azriel stared back at you with a beseeching expression, hands limp at his sides. His shadows were swarming, some batting at his head, and his wings were pulled tight against his back. Not sprawled out for you to see. They were always out for you.
“Just… small things,” he spoke quietly into the air between you. “But, I had thought you knew. I thought—”
Silence blanketed the air, your pacing now taking up less room. You went one way and then the other, your hand on your chest as you tried to quell the pressure there. It was aching somewhat, but you also couldn’t catch your breath and your world was turning upside down.
So many things you had missed. So much confusion and heartache and this was all right in front of you. But how were you supposed to know? How were you meant to understand the idiosyncrasies of Illyrian traditions when you were still discovering how your ears worked, for God's sake?
Azriel loved you.
He was standing before you and telling you he loved you, that he had been loving you, and you were blind to it all. You were too caught up in your doubt and confusion to see it.
You finally stilled, fingers curling into your palms as you faced the man before you. He had been watching you, and something settled when you caught his eye—when you stopped looking like you were about to bolt.
And then realization struck him. He frowned. “But you asked about my history. You asked about my life before you.” He was grasping at straws himself, trying to find hints that maybe you knew all along. But he was not going to like this answer.
You pressed your lips together. “I was asking you about your hobbies, Azriel. I was trying to tell you to do more things you enjoyed instead of watching over me.”
“Things I enjoyed?” he almost deadpanned.
“Yes.”
“And I told you I went to pleasure houses.”
“Yes, Azriel.”
An agonized sound left him. Azriel covered his face with his hands and then moved them to his hair, tugging at the roots. “Gods, I—I am so sorry. I thought you were asking about my romantic history.”
You shrugged slightly, unable to offer anything beyond that. He couldn’t know that it had hurt beyond belief then, because it was silly to acknowledge that now. You had only been hurt because he hadn’t been yours, but that wasn’t even true. This pain and hurt had been of your own creation, spurred on by your lack of insight.
Azriel seemed to catch onto your train of thought. He cast his woes aside and leaned down to find your gaze from across the room. “This is not your fault. This is entirely my fault. I should have been clearer with my intentions. I should have known this was confusing. Nesta mentioned it, but I thought—” You pressed your nails into your hands until they hurt. “—I thought it was clear how much I adore you.”
You let out a breath, trying to release some of this tension within you. It didn’t work. Obviously it didn’t work. How were you so blind? So caught up in menial things?
The rush of hearing those words from Azriel warred with the feeling of incompetence at your confusion, leading to a silence that you didn’t realize you were maintaining. Azriel caught it, though. He caught everything when it came to you.
“Do you…” At the broken sound of hesitance in his voice, you shot your wandering gaze back to him. “Do you not want me? Is that why you’ve encouraged me to… get my life back?”
He said the last few words through gritted teeth, and everything fell apart. All of your confusion and frustration and hurt. The world felt lighter, as if you might pass out.
“Azriel, of course I want you. I have wanted you since I met you. I thought you didn’t want me,” you explained, watching the way his shoulder slumped.
“That’s insane,” he muttered.
“It wasn’t. It made sense to me. I thought I was a burden to you. I thought Rhys was making you help me.”
“I asked to help you. I begged him to let it be me.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I know,” Azriel softly replied. He found you again near the fire, taking careful steps to capture your hands in his. He raised them and kissed the ring against your skin. “I know.”
You looked at him with a fondness you reserved for when his back was turned, finally feeling free to put it on display. He winced as if it hurt him to see, and knowing what you knew now, you were sure it did. Because while you had been pining after him, he had been seeking affection. Searching for even a morsel in a one-sided relationship.
So much wasted time.
“Why have you never tried to kiss me?” you asked when he began tracing the contour of your jaw. “Perhaps that would have made things clearer.”
Azriel smiled softly, the expression a tinge forlorn. He tilted his head to gaze at you fully. “I told you—I was willing to take things as slow as you needed me to. To be subtle, even when it was hard to do so.”
“Is that why Feyre and Nesta didn’t have the… courting period?”
Azriel tucked your hair back with gentle fingers. “They had entirely different circumstances, but yes. I was doing things the more traditional way to give you more time to adjust. I didn’t want to scare you.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Will you let me start again, then? Let me show you how I love you?”
You were going to say yes. Even so, you reminded him, “I’ve been so confused, Azriel.”
“I know,” he whispered again, his nose now nudging yours. “I know and I want to fix it. Let me fix it.”
You placed your hand over his heart, the ring on your finger clicking against his siphon. “Okay,” you whispered.
And he kissed you, then.
Your chest lit up with a foreign glow, and he kissed you harder.
"Hold It" | Rafael Barba x F!Reader [Kinktober Day One]
Kinktober Collection | Main Masterlist
Pairing: Rafael Barba x F!Reader
Prompts: Masturbation + Voyeurism + Orgasm Control
Warnings: Smut (18+), PWP, masturbation, vibrator, established relationship, orgasm control/denial, (slight) voyeurism, use of "good girl", Spanish pet names, alcohol consumption
Word Count: 1.7k
A/N: This isn't the best or the sexiest thing I've ever written. I've had a rough week, but I wanted to get this done and posted because I had a vision for this year's Kinktober and this fic, and I just wanted to write it down anyway, even if it's not my best. So... let’s just pretend everything makes sense, and enjoy!
Read Me On AO3!
You weren't sure how you ended up in this position, spread out on your king-size bed with a vibrator buried deep inside your pussy, while, illuminated by the soft yellow glow of the lamp next to the armchair on the other side of the room, Rafael Barba sat unnervingly still, watching the toy disappear in and out of you with the focus of a man far more patient than you'd ever seen him.
He had a glass of Scotch resting on his thigh, his long index finger drawing circles around the rim. He was still dressed, too—dress shirt, suspenders, and those perfectly tailored slacks he always wore, struggling to keep his cock contained as it kept hardening to an almost painful degree. He didn't pull it out, though. Rafael just quietly sat there, watching, and he refused to touch you.
Fuck him.
"Rafa," you breathed, shifting your hips ever so slightly, forcing the toy even deeper and the knot in your lower belly closer, closer, closer to bursting.
His piercing green eyes flicked from your dripping cunt to your face. His brow twitched, as did the corners of his mouth, and he clenched the glass a little tighter in his hand. God, you thought, he was probably imagining that it was his cock, or your throat, or both, and when you glanced down for just a moment, you could see the faint patch of pre-cum soaking through his pants already.
The self-restraint he was showing was so unlike him. It was so unlike the impatient, passionate man who liked to go down on you for hours, then fuck you raw until you were screaming, never wasting a second between rounds to worship at the altar of your body like the devout Catholic the cross around his neck made him seem to be. Except that in the bedroom, right now and any other day, the only entity he truly worshiped was you.
It was torture of the highest order, to be watched—no, ogled, and not touched, or kissed, or even loved.
Again, your hips shifted. Your other hand trailed down from where you were gripping the sheets so tightly to the pulsing bundle of nerves that felt just as neglected as the rest of you—neglected and on fire, burning all over the more his eyes bore into yours. You could not come from the toy alone, not without a hand to touch you anywhere else, anywhere at all, and Rafael knew that. He always knew that because he knew you better than he knew even himself.
He licked his lips, the sound almost as obscene as the wetness between your thighs. "Don't," the word came out in a puff of air, a warning, but he did not move, that bastard.
Your hand stopped just over your mound, and the whimper you let out was downright pathetic.
"Please," you begged again.
"Please what?"
"Please, I need—" You choked on a moan, the vibrations settling deeper into your walls, yet never quite getting you there. You wished it were his cock, dragging in and out of you, filling you until all you could feel was him.
"Mh. What?" Rafael took a sip of Scotch. "Use your words, cariño. What do you need?"
His voice sounded so much softer. For a moment there, you actually thought he would have mercy on you.
Oh, how wrong you were.
Your lips parted in a desperate plea, "Touch me," you begged, your hand reaching out for him.
He appeared to think about it, elbows braced on his knees, but his answer was as clear as day, "No."
You'd only wanted to touch yourself until he got home; that was what you kept telling yourself. You'd wanted to get the edge off until he could spread your legs himself and make you come until your legs were shaking and the sheets were soaked through. You'd wanted to imagine bouncing on his cock while fucking yourself with your vibrator because he'd told you he would be home late, and you knew what that meant. He'd told you not to wait up for him, so you'd felt like you had no other choice but to take matters into your own hands until he would finally have time for you again.
Rafael Barba was the last man to ever judge you for taking care of yourself. He encouraged it, even, but tonight… Oh, tonight, he was a changed man, more pent-up than usual, and he was going to make you suffer for making him find you like that—for not telling him. It was punishment, it was torture, and yes, it was fucking vulnerable to expose yourself like this in front of him, with your legs spread wide and a vibrator buried inside your pussy, but, like the needy little thing you were, you just couldn't get enough of it. For the first time in a week, you had his undivided attention, and it felt good.
He recognized the slight uptick in your already labored breathing. "You close?" he asked.
You barely managed a nod.
"Good." Rafael emptied his glass in one sip, and then, "Stop."
You almost cried out of sheer frustration.
"Turn it off."
You did.
His lips quirked into a smirk. "Good girl."
You moaned. It was an instinctual response; those two godforsaken words were nearly enough to make you come right then and there. You weren't proud of it, not at all, but they did something to you, or perhaps it was the way he said it with just the slightest crack of his voice that told you that he was about to fold—that you were about to get your sweet, sweet reward for being so patient, his good fucking girl.
Rafael reached for his cufflinks as he rose from his seat, revealing his forearms, his tan skin, and the veins stretching all the way to his knuckles, appearing much more prominent in the soft lamplight. You had a weak spot for his hands, his arms, and everything else, really. You could never get enough of him.
He fiddled with his cufflinks agonizingly slowly, watching as you writhed under his gaze, the vibrator off but still inside you, and every twitch of your hips forced it a little deeper, a little closer to where you wished he was instead.
"Pull it out," he told you, his voice calm but wavering. When you didn't comply, too hazy and stubborn to do so, he sighed and tugged at the base of the vibrator until your cunt was painfully empty, and he was holding it in his hand. There it was again, that smirk.
He was so close now. You reached out, your fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. You stared into his green eyes, the way they gazed upon you, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. You reached higher in the hopes of maybe, just maybe, touching his cheek, or pulling him down for a kiss. For a second, he seemed to consider it, too, his lips parting in the softest, barely audible sigh, but before he could cave too soon, he pulled away again.
"Rafa, c'mon," you tried.
He shushed you. "Almost," he said. He switched the toy back on. "Hold it. Right there," and he placed the tip of it against your clit.
You cried out. Your head fell back into the pillows, your back arching as lightning struck, and the wave of an orgasm approached at a force you did not anticipate. Your hand wrapped around the base of the toy instinctively, around Rafael's wrist, and your legs drew closed at the sheer force of it all.
He clicked his tongue, forcing your legs apart. "Don't hide from me," he said.
His name turned into gibberish on your tongue. You were so close…
"Fuck," it was the most coherent word you could choke out, a warning.
"Don't come yet."
"Rafa."
"Shh," he shushed again. "I know. I know… Just hold it for me, mi amor."
His hand slipped from yours. You were still holding the toy against your clit—how could you not?—but he was no longer close to you. Instead, he stepped back.
He stepped back, pulled his suspenders down, followed by the button on his slacks, then the zipper until he had enough space to free his aching cock from its confines, and oh, you could not look away. It was leaking already, hard and thick as it rested in the palm of his hand, and you watched almost in awe as he started jerking off to the mere sight of you and your cunt clenching around nothing. Finally, you thought, it was your favorite movie to watch.
Rafael shook his head, only the faintest twitch, but you saw it. You wanted to be good, you really did, but it was killing you. Your orgasm was an avalanche about to crash in, and you had no control over it, none.
You breathed his name again. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can," he said. "Focus."
But watching him stroke his cock was too much to bear.
"Look at me."
Your eyes fluttered open.
"Focus on me," he said. "That's it. That's my girl."
One.
Two.
Three.
Four seconds passed. Four seconds that felt like four hours or four days before, finally, he said, "Come."
You came so hard you swore you must have passed out, for when the stars and the galaxies behind your eyes stopped dancing, your walls stopped fluttering, the vibrator rolled from your limp hand, and his name turned into a helpless whisper from your lips, he was right there on his knees next to the bed, kissing you, finally, as he came, too.
"I love you," was what he said—what he moaned into your skin like a permanent tattoo.
"I know," you whispered back, cupping the back of his head and bringing him in for another kiss, his lips hot and wet against your own.
A beat passed, then two. Your heartbeats aligned. His head dropped down against your bare shoulder, breathing from his lungs into yours, and you, too, told him, "I love you," because God, you'd never loved anyone more than him, and you never would.
shane: fuck off. have you been a worm the whole time or did you just become a worm?
ilya: i have been turned into a worm. by a witch. but it’s permanent
shane: oh okay. um. well…i would be sad but i guess i would do a bunch of research about what kind of soil and food and light worms like best and build you a tank with what you need. or maybe two so you could be in the bedroom with me at night and in the living room to see anya and the tv during the day. and maybe let you lie on a wet sidewalk sometimes? i don’t know if worms actually like doing that or if they just like being outside in the rain and the sidewalks get in the way. and i would get you a phone or tablet so you can type to me, but that’s only if you still have your brain and can understand me. if you don’t have your brain and just have a worm brain then i’ll miss you but i’ll still take care of you. though i’d probably do more research to make sure it really is permanent and there’s not another witch who can turn you back. but i’ll take care of you either way
Notes: Oof, I've been sitting on this one for a while. Not beta-read. Never beta-read.
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Early established relationship; office make-out
Summary: It’s a real shame that Rafael will be stuck in his office…But you could always drop off something sweet.
He leaves three things on your voicemail: A reason, an apology, and a murmured petname—mi vida.
You have to google what that means, and when you do, it kicks off butterflies in your stomach. Of course, most messages from Rafael do, even when he’s standing you up for a date.
Well. Does it count as standing up if he called and told you that he wouldn’t be able to make it after you showed up at the bar where the two of you were meant to meet up?
Probably not—it is probably, technically, just cancelling. And it’s something that you’re rapidly coming to realize is simply a reality of dating Rafael Barba.
You toy with your phone as you consider what to do next. You’re already out, you can just grab a bite, maybe a drink. It’s a real shame that Rafael will be stuck in his office…But you could always drop off something sweet.
--
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh, uh—" You look between Carmen and Rafael as they both wait for you to answer, a guilty smile curling your lips. "I just figured you'd have a late night. I was dropping off something for you to have later." You hold the bag up as you say so, melting a touch as Rafael's surprise shifts to warmth.
"Come in," He nods you closer. You give Carmen another flighty smile before hurrying closer, sliding past him and into his office. You take a quick look around as Rafael closes the shades on his door and windows. You've been in there a time or two, but only for a couple of minutes at a time. Your eyes sweep across the open files spread over his desk, accompanied by legal pads, a couple of pens, his open laptop.
"I'm sorry," You blurt as he rounds closer, clarifying when confusion washes his handsome face again. "I mean, I didn't mean to interrupt your flow or anything, I—I was planning to just leave this with Carmen."
"Well," He takes the bag from you. "I'm glad you didn't just leave it with Carmen."
"I would've if you hadn't come out."
"I heard your voice," He sets the bag down on his desk before he takes one of the chairs in front of his desk, carrying it around to set it beside his and setting his hands on the back of the seat. "C'mere."
You settle down in it, smiling as Rafael joins you, unpacking the cherry empanada and breaking it in two. You reach for the smaller piece, but Rafael tuts, holding out the larger of the two.
“Rafael,” You tut, waiting for the smaller one regardless, “All of this was supposed to be for you, that’s why I only got one. Gimme.”
Rafael pouts before he does as you ask, passing you the smaller piece. He leans in as he does, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You smile at the touch, leaning back and relaxing in your seat.
"Are you headed for a late night?" You ask, fighting the urge to get a closer look at his files.
"It would appear so," Rafael sighs, glancing toward his desk. "We got some evidence late from the defense."
"You can't ask for an extension?"
"We did."
“Yikes. Sorry.”
“Mm. What’d you get up to today?” He asks before raising the empanada for a bite.
“Oh, you know, work. Put off some errands I’ve been meaning to run.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Honestly? I just didn’t feel like it. It’s been so gross out,” You wrinkle your nose, nodding toward the window. “I hate that you’re working late, but at least you’re working late in air conditioning.”
“Tell you what,” Rafael dusts his hands of the remaining flaking pieces of pastry, “We’ll do them together this weekend.”
Your brows tip up in surprise, and Rafael chuckles, “What?”
“You wanna come grocery shopping with me?”
"I'd love to. You can learn a lot about someone from how they buy their groceries. Besides," He nudges his knee against yours. "I haven't seen you all week."
You swallow a comment with your next bite, but Rafael seems to read your silence all too well, tacking on:
"I know that's my fault."
You shake your head. "Fault isn't—I mean, it's work, Rafa. Besides, it's not like I didn't know what I was getting into."
"Still."
"No 'still.' You set those expectations early. And you don’t do this all the time. Just, you know. Some of the time."
Rafael smiles, and appears to be winding up to say something else when there's a knock at the door. He tips his chin up, calls out, "Yes?"
Carmen opens the door, offering you an apologetic smile before turning the full force of her attention back to Rafael.
"Carisi called, said he found new footage of the victim. He’s sending it over.”
"Thank you."
You lean back in your seat as Carmen shuts the door, popping the last of the sweet morsel into your mouth.
"I should get out of your hair."
"Stay a couple more minutes."
You give Rafael a chastising smile, nodding toward his computer when it chimes with an email.
"You should check that. I'm sure it's important."
"So are you."
"It's different."
Rafael lets out a soft, dissatisfied grunt as he turns to his laptop. You gather the scraps of packaging, throwing them out before you turn back to give Rafael one more goodbye. Or, at least, you mean to—but the man is hunched over his laptop.
"Have you been sitting like that all day?" You tut.
“Hm?...Oh—most of it, I guess.”
You hesitate, swiping your hands against your pants before rounding behind his seat. His head tips back toward you, but his eyes stay set on the screen.
“Can I touch you?” You murmur. It takes him a moment, but Rafael nods. You reach down, sliding your hands over the back of his neck. You watch him draw in a deep breath, his shoulders lifting and falling with it. You work your fingers under his collar, massaging at the base of his neck. You hear and feel his soft hum, and you increase the pressure just a touch, sweeping your thumbs up and rubbing in small, firm circles.
You consider stopping when Rafael doesn’t move or make another sound—and then his laptop screen dims, and you eye his reflection. Your lips pull with a self-satisfied smile as you see his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly. You use the palm of one hand to massage the base, sliding the other up into his hair and gently combing your fingers over his scalp. You glance toward the computer as it chimes again, and you lean back reluctantly, smoothing Rafael’s hair back and lifting your hand out of his collar.
“Okay,” You sigh, “Really getting out of your hair this time—literally.”
You step back out from behind his chair, ready to leave, but Rafael catches hold of your hand. You look down at it, then catch his eye as he pushes his chair back, tugging you to stand between his legs. You drag your feet just a little, brow furrowing as you take in his face. There’s a slight flush in his cheeks; his eyes are dark as he smooths his other hand over your thigh, hooking it around the back to guide you even closer.
Rafael raises your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles before he rises from his seat, chest brushing yours. His eyes sweep across your face before he leans in, catching your lips in a kiss.
You think, at first, that it’ll be a quick goodbye kiss—but the slide of Rafael’s hands around your back tells you that he intends it to be otherwise.
There’s a tang of cherry on his tongue as he dips it between your lips, a soft groan falling from him as you tip your head to the side, deepening your kiss. He eases you a step back, then another, and you barely startle as the backs of your thighs bump against the edge of his desk. Your arms lift to curl around his shoulders, pressing your chest against his as he settles between your thighs. Your thighs twitch around his hips as his hand smooths down your back, his fingers bruising tantalizingly at your waistband.
“Rafa,” You breathe against his lips, the murmur of his name chased by a moan as he ducks his head, nipping tenderly at your jaw. You slip your hands beneath his suit jacket, easing it from his shoulders, and grinning as he lets go of you just long enough to shake it off. You part your lips as his tongue sweeps between your lips, teasing at yours as his hands grasp your hips.
You curl your hands around his suspenders, prepared to haul him closer—and freezing when there’s a knock on the door.
Rafael calls out, “One minute!” as you dip your head, resting your forehead against his shoulder.
“Got carried away,” You mumble.
“We both did.”
“You really do need to watch it with that tech-neck.”
“Mm.”
“I mean you were bent all over that keyboard—”
Rafael’s hand curl around your jaw, tipping your chin up to meet his eyes.
“I’m fully aware, mi vida.”
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning, give him a small nod. His eyes narrow slightly, head tipping.
“What’s that face for?” He prods.
“Nothin’. Just—Liked hearing it on the phone, like it even more in person.”
Rafael grins, leaning in and brushing his lips against yours. “Mi vida.”
“Okay,” You chuckle. “I really should go, ‘cause it’s late, and someone is waiting on you. Shouldn’t hold them up. If we're not careful, you’ll be snoring in court tomorrow.” You lean in, pressing another soft kiss to Rafael’s lips before you gently dislodge yourself from him, stepping around the desk. Rafael sticks close, taking your hand in his and giving your knuckles another kiss.
“I’ll make it up to you,” He promises.
“There’s nothing to make up for, Rafael, honestly,” You swear. “Text me when you get home?”
“It’ll be late.”
“S’alright.”
“Okay.”
You give his hand one more squeeze before opening the door to his office, giving a quick wave to Carmen and Detective Benson before hurrying to leave.
"Entirely Selfish" | Rafael Barba x F!Reader [Kinktober Day Three]
Kinktober Collection | Main Masterlist
Pairing: Rafael Barba x F!Reader
Prompts: Oral Sex
Warnings: Smut (18+), PWP, established relationship, mentions of a blowjob, oral f!receiving, fingering, (kind of) pussy worship, allusions to sex, implied dom!Rafael & sub!reader, mentioned multiple orgasms
Word Count: 1.7k (I got carried away)
A/N: Posting this 2 days later than planned. I wasn't happy with it, so I had to take a day. Still not sure what to think of this, but I suppose it could be worse. I'm a sucker for writing my favorite fictional men being obsessed with giving head to the point they see it as a reward for themselves. I just know this man gives excellent head. Thank you for cumming coming to my TED talk.
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Sometimes, after watching the love of your life obliterate the worstof humankind on the stand in a crowded courtroom, wearing one of his perfectly tailored three-piece suits that suited him so well as he strutted across the marble floors like he owned the place—after the jury had come back with a clear and unanimous 'guilty', and the judge banged her gavel for the final time—as the voyeurs in the gallery scrambled to get out, you found yourself thinking, that man deserves to have his cock shoved as deeply down my throat as he damn well pleases.
On the other hand, though, Rafael Barba did not think he deserved to have his dick sucked. Or maybe he did—God knows he was a smug little shit—but his idea of a reward was not, like most men, to ask his partner for a blowjob. Yes, it felt good, and yes, your mouth would be the death of him someday, but so would your cunt. In fact, whenever he won and he saw that look on your face, the look of a giver, from across the room, he knew it would be easy to get what he wanted, and what he wanted was to have his head buried between your thighs and suck on your clit until you'd soaked his face at least twice. It wasn't what you deserved. Oh no, he did not believe that. To think that would have been selfless, and he'd been selfless for weeks now—toward the victims and their families, and everyone else who needed him.
No, to eat your pussy as if it were his last meal on death row was what he deserved—what Rafael had worked toward for weeks because between the trial and his stress-induced migraines, he'd barely had the time to touch you, and if there was one reward he wanted, it was this, and only this. He would take your mouth, too, eventually. He'd fuck you until all you could do was scream his name, that much was certain, but it would not be his first pick when he got home.
He knew you would probably be waiting, too, possibly even kneeling for him already. He would spread you out and take you. Yes, he would. If that was what you wanted, of course, but knowing you and the look you'd given him in the courtroom just then, you would be waiting; that was as much a certainty as the indescribable warmth of love that filled him whenever you were around him and rendered him blind to anything and anyone else.
God, he was already half hard on the elevator ride down to the foyer of the New York Supreme Court, surrounded by press and jurors and his colleagues from SVU—except for you; you and Carisi had taken the victims out back to make sure no one would dare talk to them. Once again, he found himself astounded at your caring nature and your big heart that kept getting you almost killed, giving him a heart attack every fucking time the phone rang and Olivia Benson's name flashed across his screen.
He didn't want to think about that, though, about the dangers you always put yourself in for the greater good, for the people. Not now. Not ever. The fact that life was short and that losing you was always a distinct possibility made him sad, and he didn't want to be sad right now. He wanted you, only you, all to himself, without danger breathing down your necks. He could die a happy man in your arms, he was sure, because at least then he would be with you.
As suspected, the moment the door to your shared apartment shut behind him, you were on him, not on your knees but on him. "Hi," you breathed as you kissed him, tugging at his suit jacket until it came off and fell to the floor.
Rafael smirked, and he pulled you closer until he could kiss you properly, unhurriedly. He took charge, as always. His lips moved against yours, warm, soft, and wet, and you moaned against them. Your entire body turned to putty in his hands. Every time you did, his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. How could one person mean this much to another, he wondered. How in love could one be before the feeling became so crushing that it turned deadly? He didn't know. He didn't understand, but he was utterly addicted to it—to you.
"Hi," he whispered back.
You slid his suspenders down, without hesitation, then undid the first few buttons of his shirt to get to his tie. You undid that one, too. He was wearing the red one you liked so much, but all niceties considered, it was in the way. He was wearing far too many clothes.
Rafael exhaled a pleased noise, watching your shaky fingers fidget with the fabric. "Oh. Straight to the point, huh?" His smirk widened. "You're not even gonna buy me dinner first?" he teased.
Your lips brushed his again, trailing lower, lower, lower, until they pressed over his pulse point. "Mhm," your hum reverberated against his skin, fingers sliding into his now-open shirt, over the faintly silver hairs on his chest and the golden cross around his neck that caught the light so deliciously well. "Thought you might prefer this over a steak," you said.
He whimpered at the feeling, at the goosebumps traveling down his spine and straight to his aching cock. "I do," he said. "God, I do."
And there were not many things he preferred over a thick, fat steak, but you? You always came first.
Your lips curled into a smile. "You did good, Guapo. You deserve a reward…" And just like that, you sank to your knees.
Rafael breathed a faint tsk, his hand coming to rest just below your jugular, and he stopped you. "Not like that, mi amor," he said.
You pouted, "But–"
"You know how much I love having your lips wrapped around my cock, I do, but… that's not what I want."
"What do you want?"
His smirk turned into a smile, soft as silk, yet nowhere near innocent. "I think you know what I want," he said.
"Tell me."
"You." He popped open the button on your jeans. "On the bed." The zipper followed. "Legs spread. Naked. Fingers in my hair…" He guided your hand to the now messy curls on the top of his head. The way he cradled you then should've been illegal, too soft for what he said next, and he whispered, right into your ear—your bloodstream, "My head between your thighs."
Your knees buckled.
"You want that?" he asked, softly. "You want me to eat you out?"
You did. God, you did, but… "That'd be a reward for me," you said.
His brows quirked up, as did his lips. "For you? Oh, cariño, no. I'm afraid my motivations are entirely selfish in nature."
That was all it took. Five minutes later, and you were spread out on the duvet covering your shared king-size bed, the lights of New York City behind the windows illuminating your bare skin in a mosaic of colors, and his head was buried deep between your thighs, where he rightfully belonged.
He'd meant it when he said that his motivations were entirely selfish. You realized that quickly when his lips closed around your clit and sucked, hard, his hands keeping you pinned to the mattress with nowhere to run—all you had to do was take it. He ate your pussy the way he always did, slowly, passionately, precisely, and with the utmost attention to detail that only a prosecutor could display. He made out with your folds, lips moving across the sensitive skin, feeling you, tasting you, his tongue darting in and out of you, before he returned to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top.
He spread you open, admired you, kissed your bare pussy with the kind of gentleness that made you want to close your legs and hide away, but he would not let that stand. He would not let you hide.
Rafael sucked, licked, traced his tongue between your folds, up and down and up and down—he flicked his fucking silver tongue in all the places he knew like the back of his hand, the places he knew would drive you batshit crazy, up the walls.
He used his fingers, too, though only to provide him with more access. He dipped the tip of his index finger in, just so, feeling you clench around him, and the moan you let out was as much a plea for more as it was a sign of submission; you were willing to let this man do anything to you, anything he damn well pleased. You were probably going to thank him after, anyway.
One of your hands came to tangle in his dark, unruly hair. You wanted him closer, deeper. The wave of your orgasm was so close yet so far away, and you just wanted to ride it already. You wanted to come so badly, and he wanted you to come, too, but not on your terms; he wanted you to come on his terms, because this was his reward, not yours.
Rafael slapped your hand away.
"Rafa," you moaned.
He hummed against your pussy, dipping his tongue inside. He drank from you as if you were the fountain of youth or an ancient spring that would somehow grant him magical powers. Though Rafael Barba already had magical powers, and they were all in his mouth.
He drove you higher, higher, higher, higher…
Before you knew it, the knot in your belly tightened impossibly, and then it snapped. You couldn't even warn him, that was how fast it crashed into you, how sudden. Your lips parted in what could only be described as a borderline scream. Your back arched, your legs closed tight around his head, and you let the current drag you under.
He didn't stop, though.
He didn't stop until you came again and again, and again, on his mouth, his fingers, and eventually, his cock as he bent your knees against your chest and fucked you, hard—until all you could feel, all you could breathe, was him.
Summary: Barba acts like he hates you because it's the only way he can keep his cool in your presence. Things come to a head and you call him out on it...
Warnings: cursing, Rafael is a bit of a dick at first. Use of nicknames (baby, cariño, querida, etc.). SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V)
A/N: Spanish translations in brackets/italics after each sentence.
cariño/querida: sweetheart/dear/darling/baby/etc.
por favor: please
qué: what
hermosa: beautiful/gorgeous
"Right...and what makes you qualified to make that determination?"
You glared at him. "Eight years of education and ten years of practice."
"Fine, but how long did you actually talk to him?" he countered.
"Four hours."
"So now you're an expert in his mental health?"
You groaned. "He belongs in a psychiatric facility, Barba. Not a prison."
"I disagree. He raped and murdered five women."
"I'm not defending his actions, but I'm telling you he's incapable of understanding the consequences of his actions."
"She's right, counselor," Olivia Benson cut in. "I got the same feeling she did when I first talked to him."
Rafael Barba let out an annoyed huff. "Fine. What do you propose?"
"Offer him a deal," she suggested. "Send him where he can get the help he needs."
Barba nodded, expression still slightly annoyed. "Fine." With that, he walked out of the precinct, presumably to go write up a deal.
As soon as he was out of ear shot, you turned to your friend and colleague. "He argues with me for ten minutes straight, but you tell him the same damn thing and he immediately agrees?"
Olivia shrugged. "You know how he is."
"Pompous, arrogant, rude, and downright insulting?"
She laughed. "All of the above, but he's also a pretty damn good ADA."
You sighed. "I would absolutely love to disagree with you, but you're not wrong. Part of me hates that he's so good at his job. And I hate his smug face and his attitude and those damn three piece suits he looks so goddamn good in," you finished your ramble with a groan.
"Maybe if you told him you thought he was hot, he'd be nicer to you," Olivia said with a wink.
"I hate you."
She laughed. "No you don't."
"Fine, I don't, but I will do no such thing. He quite clearly despises me."
"Does he?"
"Does who what?" Nick Amaro asked as he entered the squad room.
"Does Barba hate (Y/N)?" Olivia asked.
Nick chuckled. "Without a doubt."
"See?!" you said smugly.
Olivia rolled her eyes. "One of these days you're going to have to talk to him. Tell him off for being such an ass to you all the time."
"Now that I agree with," Nick cut in.
"If he pushes the right buttons, I will."
**********
Little did you know that two days later, Barba would push the exact right button.
Olivia, Nick, Amanda, Fin, and yourself were gathered in the squad room discussing your latest case. You had two dead girls in two days and 1PP was already breathing down your necks.
You were going over the profile with the team when Barba walked in. "I know it sounds crazy, guys, but I believe the perp is a girl...probably the same age as the victims."
"Why?" Fin asked.
As you started to explain your reasoning, to include the lack of sexual assault, the relationship between the two girls, and the anger clearly present in the attacks, Barba cut you off with a harsh laugh.
"You think a 10 year old girl is capable of inflicting that kind of trauma?" he interjected. "There's no way."
You took a deep breath in through your nose and exhaled from your mouth before responding. You needed those ten seconds to calm yourself so you didn't murder him. "Were you ever a 10 year old girl?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Obviously not."
"Are you a forensic psychologist?"
"Again, no."
"Have you been working violent sex crimes for 10 years?"
"No..."
"Then be quiet and listen," you finished harshly.
You'd never snapped at him quite so intensely before and he was taken aback. He was also very aware that he may have taken it a little too far this time. He'd made it a point to keep you at arm's length (or farther) for the past 6 months, and he was belatedly realizing he may have been too cruel.
You finished your profile, answering the questions posed by the rest of the squad, before everyone went about their assigned duties.
Barba announced he was going back to his office to update the DA and you were thankful to be rid of him.
"Maybe you were right, (Y/N)," Olivia said softly. "He either hates you or he hates shrinks."
"Likely both."
"I'm proud of you for clapping back," Amanda said warmly. "Someone's gotta put that guy in his place every once in a while."
You smiled mirthlessly. "Once this case is over, I may have more to say to him, but for now, let's focus on finding the person who killed those girls."
**********
Three days later and you had your suspect in custody. You'd been right in your assessment of the perp...it turned out to be a 10 year old girl who had been relentlessly teased and bullied by the two victims for an entire year. The girl finally snapped and killed them both in a blind rage.
After hearing all of the terrible things that had been done to her, you felt sorry for the girl. You understood why she'd killed those girls, even if you didn't condone it.
"Hey, (Y/N/N)," Fin called. "We're going out for drinks. My treat."
"I think I'll take a rain check guys...I've got something I need to do."
"Awww no fun," Amanda teased.
Olivia gave you a look, but you smiled at her reassuringly. She took it to mean you were okay, so she followed the others out.
You'd decided to pay a very special visit to a certain ADA...
You arrived at his office 20 minutes later, and you belatedly realized you probably should have checked to see if he was even there still. It was already after 6pm, but you hoped since he was a workaholic, he would be unaware of the late hour.
When you reached his office door, you found yourself taking a deep breath. You started to question yourself and whether this was a good idea, but then you thought about the way he'd been treating you and you got a burst of courage.
You knocked on his door and waited. You heard a slightly annoyed "Come in", so you opened the door and stepped into his office.
Barba looked up from the paperwork he was buried in, a look of surprise ghosting over his face. "Dr. (Y/L/N)...to what do I owe the pleasure?"
You shut the door behind you and took a step towards his desk. "Do you have a problem with me?"
"Excuse me?" he asked in surprise.
"Do you have a problem with me, specifically, or is it psychologists in general?"
"I don't have a problem with psychologists."
"So it's me, got it. Do you mind telling me what the hell I did to you?"
He had the grace to look sheepish. "You didn't do anything to me."
"Then why do you treat me like I'm some sort of imbecile?"
"I...I never intended to make you feel that way," he said honestly.
"Really? How did you intend to make me feel? You belittle me, insult my abilities and my intelligence, you're unnecessarily rude to me in front of my colleagues..." you trailed off.
He rose from his seat and came around the front of his desk. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders had slumped slightly. If you didn't know better, you'd think he actually felt bad for the way he'd been treating you.
"You're right," he admitted. "I have treated you entirely unfairly."
It was your turn to look surprised. Out of all the things you'd expected him to say, an admission of guilt was certainly not one of them.
"I don't want you to think, for even a moment, that I don't think you're brilliant. You are the sharpest woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and you're downright phenomenal at your job."
You opened your mouth and closed it a few times before you could formulate a coherent response. "How in the hell was I supposed to know that?"
He blushed and cast his gaze to the floor. "I suppose there was no way for you to know, given the way I've treated you."
"Why, then?" you asked softly.
He sighed deeply and ran his hand over his face. "It's--complicated."
"Enlighten me, Barba. I've got time."
His green eyes raised back up to meet yours and you found yourself nearly breathless--and not for the first time. His eyes were beautiful, typically sparkling with whit and mischief; but in this moment, they shone with emotions so complex you couldn't begin to comprehend them.
"I never intended to be cruel to you, only distant. But I found that being aloof wasn't enough to keep you at bay--I needed something stronger. So...I started treating you as if I hated you. It was just easier, and perhaps safer."
"Safer?"
He nodded, but neglected to clarify. "Keeping you out of my life has become a necessity, Dr. (Y/L/N)."
His formality annoyed you, but you didn't comment on it. "Then why didn't you just tell me you didn't like me?"
He groaned and turned back to his desk to pour himself a glass of scotch. "Because it's not true, and I'm many things, but a liar isn't one of them."
"Okay, but you want nothing to do with me?"
"Exactly."
"You do understand how contradictory that sounds, correct?"
He took a long drink from his glass and leaned back against his desk. "It sounds moronic, yes, I am aware."
You debated your next words with care. You knew if you said what was on your mind, you might regret it, but you also knew if you didn't say it, you would regret it.
"When I met you, I was instantly intrigued by you," you began. "It was obvious you were highly intelligent, but you were also funny, charming, and impeccably well-dressed. It's a rare combination."
You crossed your arms and sighed. "At first, you were friendly and I quite liked you, but things between us turned icy in an instant. I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now, but what I can tell you is it hurt me. It hurt me deeply, Barba, and it still does."
If he'd felt like an ass before, he felt 1,000 times worse now. "I never intended to hurt you," he said quietly. "You're a kind and loving soul...and you don't deserve to be treated the way I've been treating you."
"You're right," you whispered. "I don't."
He winced slightly and downed the rest of his scotch. "I am truly sorry, (Y/N). More than you'll ever know."
His use of your first name was not lost on you. You could count on one hand the number of times he'd said it and you'd reacted the same way each time. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, your breath caught, and your heart began to speed up.
Rafael had never noticed before...had never really paid attention to you the very few times he'd said your name, but he saw your reaction this time. For the first time since he'd met you, he began to wonder if you shared his feelings...
You quickly recovered yourself--praying he hadn't noticed. "I appreciate your apology." Your voice was slightly off pitch and you wanted to kick yourself for letting any emotion show.
"May I ask you something?" he said suddenly.
You nodded, not trusting your voice in the moment.
"You said what you thought of me when we first met--what do you think of me now?"
"Do you really want to know?"
He nodded.
You swallowed thickly. "Everything I said is true. You're a brilliant man and an even better lawyer...and you can be funny and charming, when you want to be. But that's not the Rafael Barba I get. I get the one reserved for the criminals and defense attorneys you dislike. The ones that make your skin crawl. You're pompous, arrogant, and cruel."
He closed his eyes tightly. Hearing you say what you really thought of him was much more painful than he'd anticipated.
"But I don't believe that's who you really are," you said so softly he almost didn't hear.
He looked back up at you in surprise.
"I think it's a facade you put up--a mask you wear to hide behind."
"What makes you think that?"
"Call it intuition, or perhaps training," you said with a shrug. "Either way, I am certain you really are the man I met in the beginning--not the man you've been the past several months."
"How could you have that much faith in me? After the way I've treated you..."
"Perhaps it's foolish...or maybe I just want it to be true."
He stared at you with a strange look on his face. It was as if he was trying to decide if you were playing him or being sincere. His expression slowly morphed as he realized you'd meant every word you'd said.
"May I be honest with you?" he asked.
"I want nothing less."
"Truthfully, I'm terrified of you. Absolutely, 100%, completely terrified."
Your jaw dropped slightly. Once again, he’d caught you off guard.
"You got under my skin the moment I met you and I haven't been able to get rid of you since. I've never felt like this--like I can't control my own actions or my emotions--and it's petrifying. I thought pushing you away would change how I felt, but it only intensified it. I think that's why I became crueler over time--I was angry at myself and angry with you for making me feel this way. It's not fair to you, I know, but it's the truth."
You were once again shocked to the core. You almost couldn't believe what you were hearing...if you weren't so good at reading people, you'd be convinced he was lying, but as it stood, you knew it was the raw, painful truth.
"You can't control everything, you know," you said quietly.
He laughed harshly. "God, how I wish I could."
"What are you so afraid of?"
He took a moment to answer, but once he did, the words poured out of him. "I'm afraid the way I feel about you will ruin both of our careers. I'm afraid that once you see the man behind the mask, you'll run and leave me broken. I'm afraid that we'll fall apart...that we won't stand the test of time. I'm afraid of falling so deeply in love with you that I lose myself completely. But most of all, I'm afraid that I've already screwed this up beyond repair."
For all your education and all the eloquent words you've learned in your lifetime, you found yourself stunned into complete and utter silence. No words came to mind, no coherent thoughts emerged. You stared at him and he stared at you, as the silence dragged on.
After what had to be an eternity, Rafael spoke again. "Please say something. Anything. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you never want to see my face again. Tell me you'd rather jump off a building than be with me--"
"Stop!" The intensity of your demand silenced him. "Just stop talking…I…I can't find the words I want to say, but I do know one thing: I'm not afraid."
Out of all the things you could have said, all the beautiful sentences you could have strung together, those three words were the perfect response. Fueled with sudden courage, Rafael crossed the space between the two of you in three long strides, coming to a stop a few inches from you.
With a shaking hand, he gently stroked your cheek. "May I?" he asked quietly.
Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes met his and you softly begged, "Please."
He leaned into you, lips pressing against yours with soft insistence. The kiss ignited something within you--a desire so deep and powerful it almost frightened you. You grabbed ahold of his suspenders and tugged his body closer to yours as you deepened the kiss.
Rafael moaned softly against your lips, tongue pressing forward, requesting access. You obliged, lips parting to allow him entry. His hands traveled down your soft curves until they landed on your hips. He used his gentle strength to pull you flush against him, his own body backed up against his desk to support him.
You could feel his need for you in his kiss, in his touch...and in his pants. His growing erection was pressed against you, so close to where you wanted him, yet so far away.
Rafael broke the kiss for a moment. "Carmen left for the day."
"Mhmm," you hummed in response.
"But I don't want our first time together to be on the couch in my office."
"How 'bout the desk?" you teased lightly.
He groaned. "Don't think I haven't imagined it, but I'd like to take you home...do this properly--in a bed."
You stared at him for a moment. "If we stay here, it can be casual, unassuming. If I go home with you...that changes everything."
"I don't want casual. I don't want a fling. I want you--and everything that comes along with that."
You studied him closely before responding. You noted the sincerity in his voice and his expression and decided to--for once--allow your heart to lead your decision. "Take me home, Rafael," you whispered.
He breathed deeply, as if trying to control himself. It appeared that you had the same effect on him as he did on you when you called him by his first name.
He didn't say a word--you weren't even sure he could have if he'd wanted to. He simply grabbed his jacket, took your hand, and practically dragged you to the elevator. Once outside, he hailed a cab and helped you into the backseat before sliding in beside you.
As the cab began to move, you rested your hand on Rafael's thigh. He glanced at you, but didn't say anything. You were feeling bold, so you slid your hand slowly up his thigh, inching closer to his evident arousal.
When your fingertips brushed against his clothed cock, he hissed slightly. He leaned over to whisper into your ear so the cab driver wouldn't hear. "Careful, querida. O puedo perder el control [Or I may lose control]."
You inhaled sharply--something about his tone mixed with the hushed Spanish words, sent a jolt of pure arousal straight to your core.
Your reaction didn't go unnoticed by Rafael. He smirked as he discovered one of your kinks. He tucked the knowledge away for later use.
You managed to behave yourself for the rest of the short ride to his apartment, but once inside the building, all bets were off.
His lips were on yours the moment the elevator doors slid closed, pressing your body firmly against the wall. Your fingers tangled in his hair, messing up the perfect locks.
As the elevator dinged and the doors began to open, you reluctantly pulled away from each other. You saw the desperation in his beautiful green eyes and you knew the same look reflected in yours.
He wasted no time guiding you to his apartment and the moment you were both inside, he had you spun around and pressed up against the door.
“Querida,” he whispered hungrily against your lips, fingertips dancing under your shirt.
You moaned softly as you tugged harshly on his suspenders, pushing them out of the way so you could remove his shirt.
Within moments, your clothes and his were strewn across the house as he carried you to his bedroom, nothing left between you but underwear.
Rafael tossed you gently onto the bed before climbing on top of you. He eyed you hungrily—sprawled out beneath him, desire evident on your face.
“You are perfect, hermosa.”
You blushed. “Rafa…”
He groaned. “Fuck. Don’t do that.”
Confusion clouded your expression. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong…
He’d closed his eyes and his face gave away the internal struggle he was experiencing.
Realization suddenly crossed your features and you grinned. You gently raked your nails down his chest as you murmured the nickname again, “Rafa.”
His eyes shot open and he rutted his hips against yours, mouth pressing wet kisses to your heated skin. His teeth nipped at your neck and collarbone, leaving love bites in his wake.
He was taking his time with you. Wanting to explore every part of you, taste every inch of your skin, catalogue every detail in his mind.
You whimpered softly, not used to such attention, nor such deliberate slowness. “Rafael, please.”
He looked up at you with his trademark smirk. “You ever been with a Hispanic man before, Cariño?”
You blushed and shook your head.
His smirk widened. “We like to take our time, make sure our lady is properly loved and appreciated. This is about your enjoyment, (Y/N/N), not mine.”
“I want you to enjoy yourself too…”
He kissed you gently. “You keep making those pretty sounds for me, querida, and I promise you, I’ll enjoy myself.”
You found yourself unable to respond as he continued his slow descent towards your core. Each gentle caress of his lips against your skin seemed to set your nerve endings on fire--the need within you growing exponentially.
You whined prettily, hips shifting upwards, desperately seeking his lips where you needed them most. "Please," you begged.
You didn't know it yet, but Rafael would never deny you--not in the real world, nor the bedroom. The moment he heard your soft voice begging, he glanced up at your face. You already looked so far gone--your hair was a mess, your lips swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your breathing was ragged. He smiled to himself as he lowered his head, giving you no time to adjust as he dove into you with abandon.
You gasped as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. As skilled as the man between your legs was in the courtroom, he was even better suited with his mouth hungrily devouring you.
In the span of mere minutes, he'd turned you into a gasping, moaning mess--every one of your senses overwhelmed with feeling.
"Rafa--I--I'm close," you gasped.
He hummed against you, lips wrapping around your clit to increase his assault. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, holding you in place as he sped up his ministrations.
Your jaw dropped as a flurry of sounds--some of which were intended to be his name--slipped from your lips. Your orgasm sent wave after wave of intense pleasure through your body, but that pleasure soon turned to sensitivity.
"Rafa, too much--" you whispered as you tried to pull away from him.
He laid his arm across your lower belly, effectively holding you in place as his mouth continued to work you. His eyes flicked up to yours to check if you really did want him to stop, but your head was already thrown back, chest rising and falling rapidly as the familiar knot tightened in your stomach.
The moment your cries turned to moans and pleas to continue, Rafael stopped and lifted his head. "Did you want me to stop, querida?"
"No!" you cried loudly, fingers grasping his hair in an attempt to guide him back where you wanted him.
He smirked as he complied with your direction, lips and tongue once again sending you into a spiral of pleasure you'd never experienced before.
As you came down from your second high, Rafael finally slowed his assault and allowed you to pull his head up when it became too much.
He placed soft kisses against your heated skin, gently soothing you as the aftershocks shuddered through your body. His lips traced the curves of your face with gentle affection until your breathing had begun to normalize.
Rafael kissed you deeply, desire evident in the action. In response, your hand slowly descended down his chest and abdomen, until you reached his throbbing cock. You lightly ran your nails across the still clothed member, enticing a groan from the man above you.
You teased him for a few more seconds before sliding your hand beneath his boxer briefs and palming his cock in your warm hand. He groaned loudly--hips rutting against your hand instantly.
"I wanna taste you," you murmured against the shell of his ear.
"You don't have to..." he said softly.
There was something in his voice that caused you to pull away so you could see his face properly. He looked worried and perhaps a little apprehensive.
"But I want to," you reassured him.
"You do?"
You nodded. "It's something I enjoy very much, Rafa, so if you're okay with it, I would really like to suck your cock."
His eyes closed briefly and he moaned softly, forehead dropping against yours. "Por favor," he begged in a broken voice.
You grinned ear to ear. "Stand up."
"Qué?" he asked in confusion.
You nudged him gently and tilted your head towards the edge of the bed. "Stand up, handsome."
He did as you asked and watched in surprise as you lowered yourself to your knees on the floor in front of him. He felt like he needed to remind you again that you didn't need to do this for him, but when he saw the hunger in your eyes, he fell silent.
You slowly dragged his underwear down, freeing his cock from its constraints. You were a little surprised by his size--he was longer than average and quite thick--but surprise quickly turned to hunger.
You looked up at him, a playful smirk dancing on your lips, and all his worries faded away. It was obvious you wanted this...perhaps just as much as he did.
You wasted no time in wrapping your mouth around his cock, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could, eyes never leaving his face.
You gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, but you pushed past it, determined to provide him with as much pleasure as you could muster.
As you began to move, his fingers intertwined in your hair and his hips stuttered forwards occasionally. You knew what he needed, but it was clear he wasn't going to do it without some prodding.
You pulled off of him with a *pop* and waited until his heavily lidded eyes met yours. "Rafael, I want you to enjoy this."
"I am, cariño," he said in confusion.
"Not as much as you could be." You licked the tip of his cock for emphasis and his hips jumped slightly. "I want you to use my mouth for your own pleasure, Rafa. That's what it's there for."
He shook his head rapidly. He'd been expressly told not to do that by several women before you.
You rubbed his thighs reassuringly. "I want this, baby. Please," you begged. "Please fuck my mouth."
The moment the words were out of your mouth, you sucked his cock back into the warmth of your lips, hoping he would take you seriously. You pressed yourself forward, pushing past the gag reflex to take his entire member into your mouth.
Without hesitation, you began to guide his hips, urging him to give in and take what he wanted--what he needed.
You flicked your gaze up to meet his and nodded your head as best you could, hands still encouraging him to move. He very tentatively began to move his hips and you smiled, fingers digging into his thighs.
When you didn't pull away, he started to put a little more force into the movements. When you still didn't pull away, he sped up, fingers wrapping in your hair to keep you still.
You let him take control, eyes still trained on his face. He slowly began to thrust in earnest, fucking your mouth like it was his favorite place to be. You watched his head fall back, moans of intense pleasure leaving his lips.
You held onto him and focused on breathing as you let him use you. A few minutes passed before his hips began to stutter and you knew he was close.
You prepared to swallow everything he had to give you, but he surprised you by pulling away, your mouth coming off of him with a *pop*.
His breathing was ragged and his eyes were wild--pupils blocking out the brilliant green. "I need you," he said, voice raw and husky.
You understood his meaning and quickly crawled back onto the bed. He was on top of you almost immediately, lips latching onto your neck, teeth nipping at your flesh.
His cock rubbed against the outside of your pussy and you both groaned.
"Fuck," he mumbled. "Do I need a condom?"
"Pill," you gasped as you shook your head. "Wanna feel you fill me up, Rafa."
He let out a low growl and his eyes turned even more feral. He gave you no warning as he plunged his cock deep inside of you, stretching you in ways you'd never been stretched before.
"Rafael!" you cried out at the sensation.
Normally he would have forced himself to give you time to adjust, but his mind was too far gone. He set a brutal pace almost instantly and you were simply along for the ride.
There were so many new sensations that you were having a hard time staying focused. Everything just felt so incredible.
Your pussy throbbed around him, pulling him in even deeper. "Te sienetes muy bien, querida." [You feel so good, sweetheart.]
You moaned loudly, nails digging into his back as you arched against him.
"Te gusta cuando te hablo español, ¿no?" he growled into your ear. [You like it when I speak Spanish to you, don't you?"]
"Yes!" you gasped.
"Chica sucia," he chuckled darkly. [Dirty girl.]
"Rafa, please--I'm so close."
He groaned. "Quiero que vengas conmigo, cariño," he mumbled. [I want you to cum with me, sweetheart.] "Can you do that for me?" he asked in English.
You nodded your head rapidly.
"Esa es mi buena chica," he praised. [That's my good girl.]
You moaned lowly, preening at his praise. He smiled and picked up his pace, not wanting to stop until he felt you fall apart. "So close," he mumbled.
"Don't--stop!"
He knew you were close--could tell by the way your pussy fluttered around him--so he whispered, "Cum for me, baby."
You cried out as your orgasm hit you with more force than either of the two you'd had earlier. Rafael groaned your name as he spilled his seed within you, filling you up as your walls milked him dry.
You both began to come down from your highs, the intensity of your orgasms taking the wind out of both of you. Rafael pulled out and collapsed beside you, completely spent and satiated.
"That was pretty decent," you said between breaths.
He snapped his head in your direction and started to laugh when he saw the mischief in your eyes.
You grinned and joined in on his laughter, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer to him.
"Very decent," he muttered against your hair.
You laughed again. "'Fucking incredible' would be a more accurate description."
"I couldn't agree more." He sighed softly. "I don't wanna move."
"Who says we have to?"
"We probably should...we do have work in the morning after all."
Your body tensed slightly and he felt it, realizing how his previous statement may have sounded. "I want you to stay, querida. I'm just saying we should probably get up and shower before we fall asleep."
You relaxed. "You may have to carry me."
He chuckled and dragged himself out of bed, pulling you along with him. He scooped you up despite your protests and carried you to the bathroom, placing you on the counter while he started the shower.
"I was kidding, Rafa!"
He smiled. "If my girl can walk immediately after sex, then I did something wrong. I'm always happy to carry you."
You smiled back at him, realizing he was completely serious. You watched him quietly, completely lost in thought.
"Where's your mind, querida?" he asked softly.
You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. "I'm happy...that's all."
Rafael kissed you gently. "Me too, hermosa. Now come on, let's get you cleaned up."
Once you were both clean and dry, he carried you back to his bed and laid you down gently before crawling into the bed beside you. He tugged you in closely against his chest and you sighed contentedly.
"Go to sleep, cariño. I'll be here in the morning when you wake up."
Somehow he seemed to know exactly what you needed to hear. Knowing he wasn't going anywhere and feeling his strong arms wrapped around you, allowed you to feel a calm peace you'd not felt in years.
Within minutes, you'd drifted off to sleep in his arms. Just before he fell asleep too, Rafael kissed the top of your head and whispered, "Te adoro con locura." [I adore you madly.]
You aren’t looking at him, which is good. Perfect even. Hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, frustration and grief taking up more space than the room has to offer — and it just. Comes out. Fast and quick, like an objection, like he’s already arguing because he knows this has gone too far and he’s ready for a fight. He wants one. He’s not done with you, he wants more more more, always more. Selfish. Always selfish with you.
What he’s not ready for is you leaving, so —
— the words spill out and they taste like iron but when has that ever stopped him?
“You’re angry with me and I get that, but you know that I care about you. More than I should. And I know you know that because you care about me too. And I know you’ll say we can’t do this and you’re right that we can’t. But —”
And suddenly he’s out of words. Of things to say. Which doesn’t really happen to him, not like this, and he’s pretty sure it has something to do with the way you’re looking at him. You’re furious, hand still gripping the doorknob (— in an effort to not hit him, maybe?) but you’re facing him now, so angry with your eyebrows pinched together, your mouth twisted into a scowl, and eyes burning into his. He’s never seen you like this and his gluttonous pride swoons at the thought that maybe only he can make you feel this way.
“You can’t be serious. You — that’s what you say? I’m halfway out the door and that’s what you end this with?”
He’s suddenly not sure what to with his hands. He makes up for it with his silver tongue.
“Might as well get it out in the open.”
He hears it. His tone, the tone. Pompous. Cocky. Sarcastic. It only serves to rile you up more which thickens something in his blood. He likes you riled up. Way more than he should. You blink at him and rip your hand from the door.
“Out in the open?” You parrot, stalking towards his desk. He stands his ground because he’s not afraid of you and will really take any excuse to be closer to you. He does wish the wood between you would disappear but maybe it’s a good thing it’s there. He’s still not completely convinced you aren’t going to hit him.
“This is how you want to do this? Right here, right now?”
Hands slam on top of his files scattering some papers and his brow cocks at the aggravated display. You’re wound up, angry at him for bringing it up, frustrated about the case, no doubt still sleep deprived from everything and he should be the adult and calm you down. Pivot. Change his approach.
He’s not really one to back down though.
“You think I want this?” He hisses, all venom and poison, happy to meet you where you’re at. “You think I chose this? This,” he gestures between you, gaze never dropping from yours, “could be career ending — for both of us. But I can’t do my job with this hanging between us.”
You’re sneering at him and he’s struck with the ridiculous urge to kiss you. His teeth grind together instead.
“You’re such an ass.” You spit, whirling away from him and subsequently taking his vexation with you. The fight is leaving him, as quick as it came, and he’s struck with just how tired he is. It’s amazing, the way you control him like this, pulling at his proverbial strings like a puppet master. Only you don’t know the entirety of the way you own him — it’s something he keeps tight to his chest. You take a few steps away before facing him again, eyebrows still pinched in agitation.
“What now, Barba?” He closes his eyes, stung by you forcing distance with his last name, as you continue your questioning.
“You brought it up. You gave it weight. What do we do now?”
The sound of squeaking leather has him opening his eyes to find you sitting in one of the chairs, eyes bright with anger. Accusations. He sighs and sinks into his own chair with a shrug, silver tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. You tilt your head back and face the ceiling with a breathless laugh devoid of any humor. It’s quiet, for all of two stifling minutes, before you break it apart with barely a whisper.
“We just need to stop.”
He frowns as you pick your head back up to look at him, defeat heavy on your shoulders like weights dragging you down.
(Take him with you at least — he’ll go anywhere with you, he thinks. Especially now.)
“Stop?” He repeats, brow furrowed. “Stop what?”
(And of course he knows exactly what but he’s selfish and he wants to hear you say it. He needs to hear you say it.)
“This. All of it. The —” you pause and loop your hand in a circle as if that explained everything, “the back and forth, the tip toeing around each other. You’re …. not wrong —”
(Victory.)
“But … You know and I know what this is. We know it can’t happen. So we just … need to stop.”
(And now defeat.)
The buzzing in his ears is abnormal but not foreign to him. It happens whenever a judge overrules his objection, whenever he loses footing with a case.
He doesn’t want to stop.
But —
“Fine.”
His response is clipped. Professional. He’s got you under a microscope — wants to know how you take it, wants to see you. He’s studied you like he studied law, he knows you and can see the hurt, the understanding. He can pick out where your stubbornness ends and your exhaustion begins. You feel as he does, two unyielding forces moving in synchrony. The waves and the rock, as it were.
(You’d be the waves, pushing and pulling against him — wearing him down, smoothing him over, shaping him into something else.
Fight me, he thinks. Push me. Push me.)
“Fine.” You repeat, faster than he expected. But you’re softer. Quieter. It fractures something in his chest.
You get up, clearly done with the conversation. With him. He watches you walk back to the door, ready to let you leave and drown everything he has into the scotch he keeps on the other side of the room — only to frown when you stop, eyeing something on the floor by his desk. You disappear from view, crouching down at the knee, and he stands to follow you.
Ah. The papers.
“Don’t — don’t worry about those.” He’s walking around the desk to stop you and then holding back a sigh as you stand, handing him the parts of his files you’d scattered. When he doesn’t move to take them, you roll your eyes and toss them on the desk. Petty. It makes him fight a smile and you snort in response, shaking your head and turning to leave.
Only he moves a lot faster than you, going off of that ridiculous urge from earlier that reared its head, unstoppable and fast.
The kiss is tight lipped. Strained. It’s tense enough for him to regret it and start to pull away, to let your arm go (he doesn’t remember grabbing it?) but you chase him, catching his bottom lip between yours. The change in pace makes the synapses in his brain start firing too fast for him to follow, the fracture in his chest is repairing, and his hands are now cupping the sides of your face.
Bad idea. Stupid. Stupid.
Even so — he was never one to do as he was told.
It doesn’t go past what it is. You don’t even touch him, minus your mouth moving against his, but his heart feels like it’s going to punch through his skin and suit. You eventually tilt your head away and shudder, shaking your head and making his hands drop to his side. He can feel your breath against his jaw and wants — he wants to —
“We can’t.” You interrupt, voice cracking. He winces at the sound.
(— and his chest was just starting to heal itself.)
“I know, I know.” He placates and you look away from him, tongue coming out to lick your lips. He zeros in on it, clearing his throat when you catch him and give him a scathing look.
“Goodbye, Barba.” You’re firm now, professional, and he nods — stepping back to prevent himself from reaching for you again.
“Court prep starts tomorrow.” He reminds, clipped and awkward. You nod sharply, turning on your heel and quickly exiting. He watches you go, letting a piece of himself leave with you, before rolling his neck and returning to his desk.
Summary: Sometimes, you can't help but objectify the ADA who has turned your head. Not when he looks that good. Lucky for you, he is just as obsessed with giving you what you want as he is with winning cases.
Warnings: Smut (18+), porn without plot, office sex, mentions of murder (that has nothing to do with the porn), established relationship, mentioned unprotected p in v, mentioned choking, body appreciation (is that a warning? i don't even know), mentions of blowjob, implied soft!dom!Rafael, oral f!receiving (that man eats pussy like it's his last meal don't argue), coming untouched, sexting, fluff
WC: 1.9k
A/N: Heh. Hi. I'm new here. Not to Tumblr (I’ve been a Daredevil Fic Writer for 3 years now), but to the SVU fandom. First time writing for Rafael, too. Bit scary, not gonna lie, but he came on screen, put a belt around his neck, and I fell in love. He's my new blorbo. I'd die for him. I'd kill for him. I do not want to talk about The Undiscovered Country. I just need to love this man, be loved by this man, and let this man do unspeakable things to me. With his slutty little outfits. Fuck him. Literally. This is inspired by that dress shirt suspenders sleeves rolled up situation he had going on that one episode in Season 18. I am not sorry. Don't have a tag list for him yet, but I'm working on something else right now (something a lot longer), so I might start one then. This was written in, like, 2 hours, but I hope you like it anyway!
The way he looked should have been illegal.
He stood behind his desk in that tight-fitting dress shirt you loved so much, with those brown suspenders holding his perfectly tailored trousers up by the hem while simultaneously keeping them hanging dangerously low on his hips, and his shirt sleeves rolled up far enough to reveal every last vein stretching from his forearms to the back of his wildly gesturing hands.
The streaks of grey in his dark hair glistened in the usually so unflattering ceiling light as it danced over every inch of his tan skin. You sat there and counted them one by one, wondering what he would look like in a few years when it would all go grey and maybe, just maybe, you could convince him to grow out his beard. It would be grey, too, you thought. It would be grey and it would be beautiful because either way, it would match his piercing green eyes.
It wasn’t fair how good he looked without even trying. And he wasn’t trying, by any means. He wasn’t trying to look good or sound like sex personified while talking about a gruesome murder you were still gathering evidence for, but he still managed to do so.
You shifted a little further back in your seat to ease the erratic pulse between your thighs—to no avail.
That nose… sometimes, you looked at him and all you could think was, I want to sit on his face. You knew how good it felt when it rubbed against your clit. When his tongue was so deep inside you that you were starting to fuse.
You would have spread your legs for him right there if he’d asked, if he’d commanded you. You would have let him dive in and eat you out. You would have done the same for him, too, gotten on your knees right there and then, putting his thick cock into your hot mouth and sucking him off until he was writhing beneath you. You would have let him grab your hair and push you up against the wall, the fireplace, or one of those huge windows that gave him a perfect view of the city, and the city a perfect view of you.
You would have let him fuck you from behind in front of all of New York City until his cum was seeping out of you. Hell, you would even have let him wrap those long, slender fingers around your throat while he was pounding into you over and over and—
“Are you even listening to me?”
You snapped out of it. “I’m sorry, what?”
The corners of his mouth twitched, and fuck him, he put his hands on his hips as if he knew exactly what you'd been daydreaming about.
“You okay?” he asked.
You bit your lip. Why did he have to be standing? This way, you had a perfect view of his waist, his perfect tummy, and God, his—
“Cariño?” he sounded a little more concerned now.
“I'm fine,” you choked out. “What were you saying?”
You needed a cold shower, or a gun to your head. You just had to drop off some files after your shift, knowing he would be busy for a little while longer. You wanted to see him, yes, but this was more professional than personal. Except that it was personal. It always was with him.
Fuck. Now you were wet and embarrassed.
“I was saying that I need more evidence,” he said. “I couldn't even convene a Grand Jury with what you have so far.”
“You always need more evidence,” you said.
“Because I want a guilty verdict, not to be humiliated by a public defender in open court.”
He was always so wound up. It was sexy but utterly exhausting, considering you were trying to do your job right.
“Well,” you rose to your feet, “once I've figured out how to make evidence magically appear out of thin air, I'll get back to you. But first, I'm gonna need some sleep.”
He said your name in that low tone of his that always made goosebumps travel like dominoes down your spine. You stopped.
“C'mere,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I know you've been daydreaming about my head between your legs for the past ten minutes, and I'd like to spend the next ten giving you exactly what you want.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Rafael,” you gasped.
He smirked, reaching a hand out to you. “Come here,” he echoed, firmer this time.
He smelled like sandalwood and coffee. Like heaven and hell. Like home.
Rafael cupped your face. “Hi,” he whispered.
“Hi,” you whispered back.
Every time he looked at you, you found yourself drowning in his eyes. They were always so soft with you, so gentle and loving and full of a kind of passion—lust, even—you had never experienced before. You'd never been wanted like this before, and it was utterly terrifying yet so incredibly fulfilling at the same time.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
You barely managed a nod.
He didn't waste another second, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. It was nothing more than that, just a brush, the softest of kisses. You tried chasing him for more, but he pulled away.
Rafael placed his thumb against your bottom lip. “Shh,” he cooed. “It's gonna be a while 'til I can get out of here, so…” He traced his other hand up your thigh and under the sundress you'd decided to change into.
“So?” you asked.
“Sit your ass on my desk and spread your legs for me.”
Fuck his silver tongue. Literally.
You complied almost instantly, and he was on you like a man possessed just as fast. His lips crashed into yours. His hand tangled in your hair and pulled, hard, so your head was angled back. Teeth scraped down your throat to your collarbone, then back up to your lips.
A moan slipped past yours into his mouth, and Rafael swallowed it like it was the best meal he'd ever had. He was getting hard in his slacks, but he didn't even let you think about touching him.
Oh, if there was one view you could never get sick of, it was the sight of Rafael Barba on his knees.
“Rafa,” you breathed.
You couldn't get more vulnerable if you tried.
He shushed you again. Spanish curses tumbled from his lips. You could have sworn you heard him pray to God at the mere sight of the wet patch on your panties, and when he glanced up at you, pure adoration was all there was.
“You're beautiful,” he branded those words into your skin with his breath.
His fingers dug into your thighs as he threw them over his broad shoulders, his lips drawing trails of fire up and down the inside of your thighs, though every time he got close enough to your throbbing cunt, he pulled away again. He covered every last inch of you in him. He consumed you, and then, only then, when you were quivering from the sheer force of his lips on your skin, did he push your underwear aside.
And he feasted.
You cried out so suddenly and so fucking loudly that he reached up and slapped his hand in front of your mouth. He loved it whenever you screamed his name, but he couldn't let Carmen walk in on you like this. He didn't want the entire DA's office to know that he was eating you out, that he got you like this, because you were his and no one else's to enjoy.
You grabbed his hair.
That godforsaken nose.
Yes.
Fuck.
You shifted your hips against the thrusts of his tongue, his nose bumping your clit just right, and you dug your teeth into his palm like a fucking animal.
Rafael groaned, but he didn't stop. He would never stop. Not when he could feel what this was doing to you. Not when you were thrown back on his desk in utter ecstasy with his head between your legs, your dress bunched around your waist, and your pussy dripping wet for him as you rode his face. It was as close to heaven as he would ever get.
The knot in your belly kept growing tighter and tighter and tighter; every nerve in your body was alight with the heat of a thousand fires, and it just kept burning and burning and burning and—
Your orgasm slammed into you so hard that your vision turned from black to white to black again, and you fell.
Rafael didn't stop until the aftershocks had subsided. Until you stopped shaking and twitching, and your fingers unclenched from the upper edge of his desk. Until you finally, finally, let go of his hair and he could breathe again. Not that he would have minded to die right there, with your cum in his mouth and that sweet, sweet whine of overstimulation in his ears. He would have been a happy man if your pussy had killed him, but he preferred the thought of being able to do this for many, many years to come.
Your clit was swollen, throbbing, pleased yet angry, but that didn't stop him from giving it one more gentle kiss.
“¿Bien?” he asked.
Your eyes fluttered open. “Uh-huh,” you breathed. “Fuck.”
Rafael gently lifted your legs off his shoulders and helped you sit up.
“You sure?” he asked again.
You nodded. He looked so good with your cum glistening on his lips. They were pink, swollen, and oh-so-kissable.
“Yeah,” you said. “I just think I died there for a second.”
He chuckled breathlessly. “The feeling's mutual.”
Your eyes trailed down.
Oh.
His dress pants were adorned with a dark patch of cum right where his hard cock had been when he started kneeling at the altar of your body.
“Did you just–” You stared at him.
“I've had a long day.”
“I didn't even touch you.”
“You don't have to touch me to make me come like a 15-year-old Catholic school boy, mi amor.” His voice was deliciously rough. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he said, followed by something so filthy that his Cuban ancestors would have turned in their graves.
You reached out to cup his face in your hands. He rose to his feet with you. One kiss landed on your forehead, one on your cheek, before he pressed his lips to yours. He tasted like you and him, and you instinctively pressed closer to him.
“You gonna come home with me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Make love to me?”
Rafael downright whimpered. “I still have work to do,” he said. That look in your eyes, though…
Make love to me? It wasn't right to say no to that. It was illegal to say no to that, but he had to, and you knew he did.
You nodded, slowly, lowering your forehead against his.
He inhaled your scent with another kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Wait up for me and I'll make it up to you later, okay?”
A tired smile grew on your face. “Okay,” you said.
With a heavy heart, he watched as you pulled away from him. Your hands touched until you were too far away, then you dropped his and made your way out.
He missed you already, terribly.
“I love you, mi amor,” he called after you.
You poked your head around the corner, still smiling, and said, “I love you too.”
Though it wasn't even five minutes after the door had fallen shut that his phone vibrated with a text from you.
Thanks for the orgasm, counselor.
Another ping.
Can't wait to feel you inside me x
Needless to say, he finished four hours' worth of paperwork in two.
The guys take care of her when she has a migraine.
There is a tiny (blink and you'll miss it) hint to Stomach Flu in here too.
---
You were lying on the couch watching Set it Up on Netflix when the aura started. At first it was almost like you were just getting tired. You rubbed your eyes trying to clear the slight blur. Quickly it got worse and you felt like you could barely see anything.
“Ugh! Why?” you whined to the empty living room.
You tried to continue to watch the movie in spite of the aura since no pain had set in yet. Until eventually, the nausea started to build.
You decided to just take Tylenol to head off any headache and go to bed hoping to wake up feeling better when Buck and Eddie got home.
As you pushed off the couch, dizziness rose. You gripped the armrest and took some deep breaths.
About half an hour worth of fumbling through your nightly routine later, you flopped into bed. Before plugging in your phone, you pulled up the group chat with your boys.
Seconds later, the typing bubble popped up just before texts came through.
You smiled at the barrage of questions. They had always been worriers and protective but after you got the flu a few months ago and didn't call them, they were all the more protective.
The typing bubble popped up again and you waited for a response.
You smiled as you replied with a “love you too” then plugged in the phone and set it on the nightstand.
–--
Crushing pain. That was what woke you from a dead sleep.
You knew you should have gotten up to take your migraine medication but the idea of moving sounded unbearable. Even rolling seemed like an impossible task.
Eventually you managed to fall back into a fitful sleep. At some point, it occurred to you that Buck had told you to tell them if it got worse but you knew there was no way you could have handled the light from the screen.
The next thing you were vaguely aware of was the sun glaring through the window. You slowly curled into yourself and threw the blankets over your head.
What felt like only minutes later, the bed dipped on either side of you. Then a hand started rubbing up and down your back as the covers were pulled back. “Full migraine set in?” Eddie asked.
You hummed a response, unwilling to even nod your head.
“I knew we should have come home,” Buck said softly. “You were supposed to call if it got worse.”
Whining, you gestured with just a finger to where your phone was. “Too far. Too bright,” you mumbled, trying to pull the cover back up.
One of them ran a hand over the top of your head.
“Have you taken your sumatriptan?” Eddie started to pull the covers further down already assuming the answer.
“No. I hate it.” The autoinjector medication always burned and left a bruise behind. Eddie stood and then you heard the bathroom cabinet open and close before he came back.
“We know you do, baby,” Buck tried to sooth you. “But it'll make you feel better.”
You shifted just enough to bury your face against Buck’s hip. He took your hand as Eddie wiped a cold alcohol wipe across your thigh. You tensed up waiting for the injection.
“Breathe, amor,” Eddie encouraged. He waited through a couple deep breaths before pushing the spring-loaded injector against your leg.
You whimpered at the sting and following burn as the medication entered the muscle.
“All done.” Eddie leaned down and pressed kisses all around the now sore spot.
Buck continued to run his hand over your head and carefully through your hair. “Do you think you can drink some water?”
Despite your nausea, you agreed. “I can try.”
Buck left to fill your favorite tumblr with ice water. “I have water, hot packs, and ice packs,” he announced when he returned.
“Don't wanna move.”
Buck held the straw of the tumbler to your lips so you could take a few sips. Next, he popped the heat packs and set them by your pillow. Eddie carefully lifted you just enough to shift you so that the heat packs were against the back of your neck. Finally, Buck set the wrapped ice pack across your forehead.
They took turns changing out of their work clothes and then both settled into the bed on either side of you.
“Try to get some more sleep,” Eddie suggested.
Both of them peppered you with soft, soothing touches and eventually you managed to doze off.
When you woke, you felt substantially better than you had. There was still quite a bit of nausea and some aches with the much more bearable headache.
You looked to your left and found Buck sound asleep. Smiling at how peaceful he looked, you took his hand and kissed his knuckles. Then, you looked to your right and found Eddie watching you. His phone sat on the bed like he'd just set it down when you woke up.
“Hi,” you greeted, reaching over to touch his arm.
“How ya feeling?”
“A little better. Maybe seventy percent,” you said.
You felt the bed shift from the other side and Buck rolled and kissed your shoulder.
“Are you hungry?” Eddie asked.
“I'm still nauseous, but I think maybe it's because I need to eat something.” You shrugged. “Or maybe my stomach will revolt if I try. Guess we will find out.”
Buck kissed your shoulder once more. “How about you go take a nice relaxing bath and Eddie and I will go make you your favorite chicken and orzo soup?”
“God, yes. I love you.”
Buck pushed to stand beside the bed and leaned down to kiss you one more time. “I love you, too.”
Eddie rolled off the bed as well and disappeared into the bathroom. After turning on the water to fill the tub, he returned. “Do you want to walk or be carried?” he asked as if he didn't already know the answer.
You lifted your arms for him to lift you. He pulled you to sitting and then wrapped his arms around your waist and effortlessly picked you up. You wound your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.
After setting you on the bathroom counter, he took the hem of your shirt in his hands and lifted the material over your head. He continued to remove all your clothes before quickly stripping himself.
You bit your bottom lip as you let your gaze linger on his chest and arms.
Eddie ran his thumb across your lip to free it. “You got a little drool there,” he teased.
“Shut up.” You smacked his hand away. “Wait. I thought you were helping Buck.”
“You want burnt food?”
“He wouldn't let you burn it,” you argued. “You've gotten a lot better.”
“Fair enough, but he doesn't need help. I figured you might.” He reached over and grabbed one of your claw clips off the counter. “Want to wash your hair or no?”
You considered it. While the scalp massage you knew you'd get sounded incredible, you really didn't want to deal with wet hair even if he would dry it for you. “Uh, no. I don't want to deal with it right now.”
He nodded his acknowledgment and shifted you so he was behind you. He carefully gathered all your hair and loosely twisted it before placing the claw clip to keep it out of the water.
He stepped into the tub and offered you his hand to help you in. You both settled down into the warmth and bubbles and you sighed as your muscles started to relax.
For awhile, you just rested contentedly against Eddie’s chest as he massaged your arms and hips. He pressed kisses all along your neck and shoulder until you thought you might just melt into a puddle. “Lean forward for me,” he requested when the water started to cool.
You did as he asked and he stood and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. Then, he grabbed another towel and offered you a hand to help you stand. He wrapped the towel around you and helped you step out.
After he led you back into the bedroom, he quickly dressed and then helped you dry off. “Shorts or sweats?” he asked as he grabbed a pair of his boxers for you.
“Mmm, sweats and fuzzy socks.”
He nodded and pulled out one of his shirts, Buck’s sweatpants, his hoodie, and a pair of your socks. Then, he proceeded to dress you completely before pulling you out of the room and into the kitchen that smelled heavenly.
“Did the bath help?” Buck asked.
You nodded. “A bit, yeah.”
Buck smiled and kissed your forehead. “Good. This is almost done. Go find something you want to watch and I'll bring it in. Gatorade or ginger ale?”
“Gatorade, please.”
You settled on the couch with Eddie and he pulled your feet into his lap. He started to massage one foot while he scrolled through the streaming apps. “What about Psych?” he asked.
“Hmm, no.” You shook your head. “I'm not feeling something funny. Laughing might make my headache come back.”
“Good point,” he agreed. “What about White Collar?”
“No way,” you argued. “We're almost to the part where Kate dies. I don't want to watch that today.”
He snorted. “Do you have a suggestion then?”
You thought about it for a second. “We could watch some more Dexter.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So plane explosion death is a no but murder and dismemberment is fine?”
“Yeah.” You rolled your eyes and immediately regretted it, rubbing your hand across your forehead to sooth the added ache. “Bad guys versus love interests. It's totally different.”
“She's right, it is different,” Buck defends as he sets a bowl on the coffee table beside you.
“Thanks, babe,” you lift the bowl and smell the delicious aroma. Your stomach immediately growls loudly. “Well, I guess, I'll take that as a good sign.”
Buck settles into the couch and pulls you into his side. “My turn.”
“You can't just hog her,” Eddie complains as he flips through the TV to start the show.
Buck pouts. “You've had her in the bath all to yourself for almost an hour.”
You chuckle. “Did you both forget how to share?”
They both just glare at each other but you can tell both are trying not to laugh.
You take a big bite of the orzo noodles and moan in appreciation. Once you've swallowed you smile. “If you two want to go screw like you hate each other, I'm good here… actually, scratch that. I will find a comfy chair and watch.”
They both cracked up.
“How about you just focus on eating,” Buck suggested.
You took another bite, glad that your body wasn't revolting. As you chewed you realized something. “Why are you guys not eating?”
Eddie grabbed your feet to resume his massaging. “We ate earlier while you were sleeping.”
“Sweet!” You shimmy in your seat in a tiny happy dance. “More leftovers for me!”
“God, you're adorable,” Buck says as they both smile at your antics.
The next twenty minutes are quiet as you slowly eat and focus on the TV. Once you’ve decided you can't possibly eat more, you set the bowl back on the table.
“Feel better?” Eddie asks.
You nod as you shift to lean against Eddie and pull Buck over to lay his head in your lap. “Much. Nausea is gone and headache is just a dull, barely there pain.”
“Good.” Buck grabs the hand you set on his head and pulls it to his mouth to press a kiss on your knuckles. “Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you, too.”
Eddie leans over to whisper in your ear, “I love you more.”
You laugh as Buck reaches over and pinches Eddie’s thigh. “My earlier offer still stands.”
Buck snuggles in against your leg. “Maybe later. I'm comfy.”
“Hey, when this is over can we watch the movie I started last night?” you requested.
Eddie nodded. “Of course. Can we start over though so Buck and I know what's going on?”
“Yes, please. I probably missed more than I thought because of the aura.” You settle in knowing you're going to spend a whole lazy day cuddled with your favorite guys.
Based on this request: Hi, can I request one with Buck and Eddie, where the reader buys a date with them at auction and they take her on a date, ending with a smut scene of the three of them together?
You have come to the conclusion that you were no longer going to entertain your best friend's whims.
Because she was the very reason why you were at an LAFD firefighter auction on a Thursday night.
And the night started out to be pretty fun, in all honesty. The drinks were flowing, the food was good, and the bidding wars were the perfect entertainment for the night, since you had absolutely no plans to actually engage in the auction itself.
That is, until, your best friend sneakily asked what paddle number you were. In showing her the number, you accidentally bid on not one, but two firefighters. Two best friends. Two hot best friends.
"Alright, going once, going twice, sold to paddle number 29!" The auctioneer announces, and you freeze, looking at your paddle number, which was in fact, 29.
"I'll Venmo you the money." Your friend smirks, but her face softens. "You deserve a nice date night. Might as well be with two beautiful men."
You gape like a fish, while Buck and Eddie - the two firefighters you had apparently bid on, smile down at you. Butterflies flutter in your stomach at their gazes and you couldn't help but have a very good feeling about this.
---
The date with all three of you was planned for Saturday night and it was well thought out - a cozy Greek restaurant and bachata classes where Eddie was the perfect teacher to both you and Buck.
You'd have thought that the conversation with two firefighters or a date with three people would've been ... odd, in every sense of the word. But it wasn't in the slightest. In fact, the three of you didn't want the night to end, so Buck doesn't hesitate to offer his house up for a nightcap.
"Damn, Buck. This place is really nice." You state in awe, moving from room to room with ease.
"Thanks, the backyard was the selling point for me." Buck responds modestly.
"Whoa, is that a hot tub?!"
Eddie and Buck laugh at your excitement, but they both nod at your question.
"Could we use it?" You ask bravely.
Buck doesn't point out that you didn't have a bathing suit - but agrees readily. The two men watch with matching heat in their eyes as you strip down to your bra and underwear, and slip into the tub.
You let out a hiss of pleasure as the hot water gently laps at your skin, while Buck and Eddie get down to their own boxers. They settle on either side of you, bracketing you. You couldn't help but feel heat flush your skin, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
You're not sure who moved first, but before you know it, you're carefully lifted to sit on the lip of the hot tub, your feet still soaking in the water. Eddie looks at you questioningly, his fingers stopping at the sides of your underwear. You nod your assent, before he drags it down slowly, treating you like a fragile thing, before throwing it somewhere behind his shoulder.
Buck starts to suck and nibble on the inner part of your thigh, while Eddie lifts up to capture your lips with his.
As you sink one hand into Buck's curls and another clutching Eddie's bicep, face thrown back to face the night sky, you make note to send a very big gift basket to your best friend.
“Shit! Ouch!” you shout as pain radiates through your foot.
Buck appears in the doorway a second later. “What happened?”
You sit on the bed and cradle your foot waiting for the pain to pass. “Just stubbed my toe on the dresser. Should have been paying attention to where I was going.”
He winces in sympathy. “Let me see,” he requests, kneeling in front of you.
“It's fine. Already almost totally better.”
He lifts your foot anyway and presses a kiss to the top of your pinky toe before quickly moving up to your shin then standing to pull your lips to his. As he releases you, he smirks. “A kiss to make it all better.”
“You're a dork.”
He kisses your forehead before moving back toward the door. “I'm your dork.”
—-
You watch Buck as he measures ingredients for whatever he's baking as you sort through bills and other mail.
You can't help but stare as he sifts flour into a bowl. You hiss as you accidentally catch a page at the wrong angle and slice your index finger.
You pinch it against your thumb for a second before inspecting the tiny wound as a small speck of blood blooms. “Ugh. Stupid paper cut.”
Buck immediately stops what he's doing and grabs the first aid kid from the cabinet. He pulls out a band-aid and opens it.
“Does a paper cut even warrant a band-aid?” you question him.
He nods. “Of course. Tiny but painful.”
You roll your eyes at him.
Once he's finished wrapping the tiny injury he places a kiss softly against it. “A kiss to make it all better.”
“Hmm. I think I need one more.” You point to your lips and he leans in giving you a sweet kiss as you feel his lips tip into a smile.
“Better?” he asks.
You bite your bottom lip and nod. “Perfect.”
—-
You ran your fingers through Buck’s hair as you both laid across the sectional watching a cheesy rom-com.
Buck lifted his head from your thigh, eyes locked on the opposite leg. “What happened there?”
You glance down to see a dark, fresh bruise roughly the size of a quarter a couple inches above your knee. You sigh. “I ran into the footboard earlier.”
“You know it hasn't moved,” he teases. “I would think you'd be used to where it's at by now.”
“I lived in the same house my whole life and ran into things that had been in the same spot longer than I've been alive.” You shrug. “I'm a bit of a klutz. You should get used to it.”
He shifts so he can kiss the bruise. “Excuses for kisses to make it all better.”
“Well I won't complain about that.”
“Good.” He easily flips you so you're laying on top of him with your head on his chest and settles in so you can finish the movie.
—-
Moving around the kitchen, you collect ingredients for the recipe you found to try for dinner.
Spices, chicken, baking dish then the next thing you know you smack your head on one of the cabinet doors you accidentally left open.
“Fu– ow!”
You hear the front door open and close. “I'm home!” He rounds the corner into the kitchen a moment later and spots you rubbing the back of your head.
“One of these days I will learn not to leave the cabinet door open,” you explain.
“Ouch.” He walks closer and pulls you into a hug. He runs his hand over the spot you were holding. “Got yourself good. You have a little bump.”
“If you're going to do something, do it right,” you joke.
He just shakes his head at you before leaning down to kiss your forehead. “A kiss to make it all better.”
You melt into him and enjoy the hug for a long moment. “Thanks, babe.”
“Always. You want help with dinner?”
You shake your head. “It'll only take me a few minutes to get it in the oven. We can start a movie or a show while it cooks.”
“Deal.” He pulls you in and kisses you until you're breathless. “I'll go change and look for something that sounds good to watch.”
You can't stop the way your body tilts toward him as he pulls away. “Tease.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “Or maybe it's just an appetizer for later.”
—-
Buck wanders into the kitchen in nothing but his dark gray sweatpants, his hair slightly sleep mussed. “Something smells good in here.”
“Blueberry muffins will be done in a few minutes and I'm almost done with the bacon.” You gesture around the room as you explain. “Can you scramble some eggs for me?”
“On it.” He moves to the bowl and eggs you have already set out and gets to work. “How long have you been up?”
“Um, only about half an hour.” The grease in the pan pops suddenly and a slash lands on your wrist. “Crap. Ouch. Why does it do that?” You wipe the splatter onto your apron and glance down to see if it left a mark.
“Come here,” Buck requests as he moves behind you and guides you toward the sink. Turning on the cool water, he guides your hand under the spray. “Always best to rinse it just to be safe.”
You chuckle, knowing this is probably overkill. “Whatever would I do without you?”
“Fall apart, clearly.” After a minute he shuts off the water and carefully dries your arm. Finally, he presses a kiss right over your pulse point. “A kiss to make it all better.”
You can't help but to stare for a moment at his bare chest. “You know that's really unfair. It's dangerous to cook like that.”
“For me or for you?”
Oh glare at him as you move to finish pulling the bacon out of the pan. “Rude.”
—-
You groaned at the insistent pain across your sternum.
“Y/N! Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me.” You knew that voice but you couldn't place it for some reason.
The pain flared once again and you finally peeled open your eyes slowly. Glancing around, you tried to figure out what was happening.
“Hey, there you are.”
You glance over to see Eddie kneeling beside your open car door. “Wh-what happened?”
“You were in an accident,” Eddie explains. “We're going to get you out of here, okay?”
You try to nod and realize your head has been immobilized. “‘Kay. W-where’s Buck?”
Eddie squeezes your hand. “He's right over there.” He nods his head towards the passenger side of your car. “He's helping extract the other driver. But he'll ride with you to the hospital.”
“Mmkay.” You close your eyes, wanting nothing but a moment to rest.
“No,” Eddie commands. “I need you to keep your eyes open. Stay with me. Okay?”
Prying them back open, you agree. “I–I’ll try.”
“We're going to get you out now. If anything hurts, let us know.” Eddie steps back and the team quickly frees your legs that you hadn't realized were trapped. A moment later, they have you slid onto a backboard and set on a stretcher.
“Hey, baby,” says Buck, appearing by your side. “How're you feeling?”
“Buck!” You choke back a sob of relief. “It hurts.”
“I know, baby. They'll give you something for the pain soon.” He takes your hand as they load you into the ambulance and he and Eddie both climb in the back.
A tear rolls down your face to pool in your ear. You hiccup through the sobs trying to escape. “I–I think this one is gonna take more than a kiss to make it better.”
He wipes the tear before leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You're right. But it won't hurt.” He smiles at you and lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles.
“I'm scared,” you whisper.
“I know. We've got you.” He looks over at Eddie before locking eyes with you again. “You're going to be okay.”
“I believe you.”
Eddie moves around collecting vitals and setting up IV fluids and pain meds. He writing something down on a clipboard when the ambulance rolls to a stop.
“I love you,” Buck says, pulling your attention back to him. “Hang in there for me. We're here,” he announces as the ambulance doors are pulled open.
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