to be alone with you (carl azuz x reader)

loving is easy, you got me fucked up

Y/N stood on the sidewalk outside of the CNN building in downtown Atlanta, shivering in the chilly October air. She was scantily clad in the short dress that she was wearing, a dress that tastefully revealed her 32 Double-Ds, as well as her weak, easily-attackable head. She had never gone out in public dressed like this before; such an outfit was an act of defiance against her high school's principal, 🅱️eter 🅱️iles, a goblin creature who preached modesty in teenagers, who Y/N respected and typically avoided disobeying. However, today was anything but typical.

Today was her 16th birthday, an event that not only marked the beginning of her driving career, but of her fucking career. It must be understood that in the state she lived in, Georgia, the age of consent was sixteen, which meant that today was the day. Today was the day that Carl Azuz could finally hit her pussy raw.

She had spent years joking with her friends about her plans to seduce Carl on the day she became legal, but she never actually expected this dream to become her reality. It wasn't until three months ago, when Carl retweeted an awful pun she had posted about table salt, that she finally had a shot of being with him.

But it wasn't her who took advantage of that shot; it was Carl, who immediately slid into her DMs, waxing punny poetry about her beauty and wit. She was flattered and flirted back, but that didn't mean that she wasn't intimidated. Here was the man she had been dreaming about for years, right where she wanted him- was it too good to be true?

The more she and Carl messaged each other, the more paranoid she become, even though she knew she was falling deeper into love with him. How do you tell the love of your life, the deliverer of your news, that you're afraid he's using you? How do you break that to a guy who sent you pictures of kittens at the middle of the night, who told you he wanted you to meet his mother? She was terrified.

Y/N didn't voice any of these concerns out loud until one of her best friends, Emma, intervened. Emma was one of the smartest, most well-spoken people she knew, so of course she knew exactly what to do: pop his cherry, she had said. See him intimately, in one of the dark corners of his office. Tell him through your body language that you love him, but you are afraid, just like in the Carly Rae Jepsen song.

So, here Y/N was, walking through the revolving doors of one of the most renowned  news networks in the world, on a mission to be fucked by one of their top journalist on top of his desk. She felt giddy with excitement as she entered the elevator and selected her floor number, but she was also anxious. She knew Carl was waiting for her, and that- even though neither of them had voiced it- they both knew what was going to happen today. But knowing and doing were two different things entirely. What if she wasn't experienced enough? She thought to herself, biting her lip. What if he wanted to do feet stuff? She wasn't prepared for such a thing.

What if Carl decided that he didn't want her anymore?

Y/N shook away the thought. No, she knew Carl wanted her. It was clear in every text he sent, in the yearning in his voice when they were on the phone. Today was going to go well, no matter what her brain tried to tell her.

Satisfied, she stepped off of the elevator and began to walk to Carl's office, her stilettos clicking against the tile floor, the stilettos she borrowed from her mother, Mary-Ann. She felt a little like a child playing dress up in all of these clothes, but it made her feel more confident, and confidence was the thing she needed most right now.

Finally, she arrived at Carl's door, which she timidly knocked. Y/N had been here before, once, to give Carl his birthday gift, a personalized mug printed with the words, "Whitest Man Alive." He had been so happy when she gave it to him; the memory of his glowing smile and warm arms was the only thing on her mind when Carl Azuz himself opened the door.

"Y/N!" He said with a grin, before engulfing her in his husky arms. Y/N hugged back, smiling to herself as she breathed in his scent. She was so foolish, to think this man had ulterior motives. It was the same Carl she had been watching for years.

"Hey," she said gently, taking his hand into hers. She knew she was looking at him with total heart eyes, but she didn't care, because his face was mirroring her own.

"Would you like to come inside?" he asked. She got chills just hearing him say ask- she couldn't help it, his voice was just that sensual.

"Yeah, I'd love to," Y/N murmured, allowing Carl to lead the way into his office.

He gently closed the door behind him before allowing her to explore the room. Y/N was fascinated by his office, how couldn't she be? There was something so intimate about seeing it, the desk where his computer sat, surrounded by documents and notes, the mini-fridge where he undoubtedly kept his stash of Pepsi products, his guilty pleasure. But none of the pieces of furniture in the room made her as horny as the futon.

It was made of dark brown leather, with a pillow and a folded up blanket sitting upon it. "I have to work long nights," Carl explained, after he noticed her staring. "And sometimes it's easier for me to sleep here after working than to drive home."

Y/N couldn't help but smile to herself; he was just so endearing when it came to how seriously he took his job. CNN really couldn't have hired a better anchor.

"It looks comfortable," she commented, sitting down. Carl quickly followed suit, and the next thing she knew, their legs were touching. Interesting.

"It really is," Carl agreed. He slowly began to place his hand on her thigh. Y/N's heartbeat quickened.

"Is this okay?" He asked, noticing her change in demeanor. He was so considerate, it made her want to nut her pants.

"Y-yeah," she said, nervously wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "It's great, I'm just nervous."

Carl chuckled. "We'll take it slow, okay?"

Y/N took a deep breath. Slow was okay. She could do slow.