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desireangel · 5 months ago

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Dark Cherry [4] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! canon divergence!!! I fucked the timeline and nigly bits bc this was an impulse fic ok soooo it was mostly unplanned, almost smut, angst, let the grovelling happen babyyy, unedited, mention of alys x aemond but not in a good way :((, infidelity, talk of sex, guilt, mentions of Aegon x reader, hmmm I ramble, little vulnerable Aemond, bad language, let me know if I've missed anything!

Author's note: y'all I was never done with that man like there's no easy out for him :llll. Anyways I wrote most of this instead of studying which I needed to do. Perhaps I'll have my hand at another idea I'm cooking before part 5 but I'm alsoooo unsure about how keen we are to keep this one going - like is it getting too much??? either way, I enjoy writing this. and idk how to shut up, clearly, because I love that internal mind talk shit. Drop your thoughts in my inbox or PM me because I love to yap!!! xoxo, kisses!!! <3

Masterlist

He was a fool. A spoiled, arrogant and entitled fool. You often thought about whether Aemond actually recognised the effect of his actions on anyone else. It was always ‘I did it for us’ or ‘I did it because I had to do it’.

So after your confrontation the day before, it had surprised you that Aemond had truly believed he was forgiven. Maybe it shouldn’t have. You had, after all, sat beside him and laughed with him. Shared a moment as if things were better. But it was nothing more than a lighthearted acknowledgement that whatever game was being played was entirely ridiculous yet you could feel how something had changed. There was a newfound intensity between the two of you and Aemond had clearly understood that he had made a mistake

But that wouldn't be enough for forgiveness. Things would never really be the same. You will never forget. The nameless woman had made a home in your unconscious mind and everything would remind you of the woman your husband had chosen to take to bed over you. She was beautiful, she was experienced and free of burden. Based on that alone a part of you could see why she could have been a better choice–a part of you that ached and pained ceaselessly.

And you weren’t sure you could carry on as if Aemond hadn’t thrown your entire world into the pits of ruin. Because that is exactly what he may as well have done. All you had was your marriage to him–a fact that was as painful as it was true. If it all fell apart because of him only you would suffer from it.

Your name, your family’s name. A Lady born to a house of remarkably lowly nobility with little more than your marriage to the prince. A charity case marriage to tell the realm’s people that the Crown was not so prejudiced as to be above uniting with the likes of your house. That the Lannisters and Baratheons were important but they were not everything. A fabrication only made necessary to cover up the fact that it was a lie–the Targaryens (and even the Hightowers as you had come to realise) really did believe they were of better blood.

A failure to fulfil your duty to the Targaryen crown as Prince Aemond’s wife would destroy your family name. And you would have no prospect of happiness after it. What else did you have aside from this?

Aemond would never understand that. Because not only was he a man but he was a prince. A privilege, a safety and a security he had inherited through birth.

Aside from the pressures of society, he had hurt you. Badly.

Despite your own confliction about it, you did have love for Aemond–how could you not? Love came from many things and while yours may have come from your dependance on his word, on the duty he performed to be your protector as he was to the Crown and its subjects, on his polite affections as limited as they were, it still found its way into your heart. Perhaps it was foolish to allow it entry into your existence when you had already known that there was no love to come from Aemond.

It didn’t change anything. Betrayed your trust, taken you for granted and destroyed the sanctity of a husband’s loyalty as if he were as dishonourable as any other Lord.

You would never say it out loud but it had broken your heart. And heartache is a consuming, suffocating and painful thing to feel. A constant lump in your throat, something always weighing your chest down, a disastrous, aching discomfort in your belly. Tears had stained your pillow at night and dried by the morning, the fabric of the linen acquiring the same unphased facade that you would wear as you plastered on a mask of ignorance so that you could continue to live through your day.

All because you had wanted him. Aemond, who was doomed to disappoint and destroy merely because that is all that princes do.

For him to have mistaken your truce–the end to the back and forth game that had been wreaking havoc in its wake-as forgiveness was infuriating. He had no idea.

Well, maybe he did. Now that he had seen you with another just as you had seen him. And you recognised your own experience in the moment he had realised what was happening.

Aemond’s call to breakfast made you want to laugh. But you had turned him down for afternoon tea just the day before only to be found swallowing his brother’s seed. You winced at the shamefulness of your thought, muttering a quick prayer for the sake of your piety whether it was genuine or not.

He was seated lazily in the chair he favoured, an array of food spread across the table. There was a book in his hand. The same one he had taken from you the last time you had shared your morning meal together. Aemond had a smirk playing on his lips.

You cleared your throat, curtsying before sitting down at the other end of the table to him and with as much distance between you as you could muster. “Good morrow, my Prince,”

“Formalities, I see,” He looked at you through his lashes. It was odd seeing him so relaxed, the tension that was always in his shoulders had been lost and there was a playful glint to his eye. You wanted to smack it out. “I believed we were past titles and distance for the sake of propriety, my sweet. As well as rigid greetings.”

All you responded with was a stare.

Dropping the book to his side, Aemond sighed and leaned forward, pouring tea into a cup. He stood, taking a couple steps forward to hand it to you. “We have fixed-”

“We have fixed nothing.”

“I am trying to turn a new leaf,” he commanded. You took the cup and saucer from his hand, the warm waft of vanilla and rose giving you a slight reprieve from the threat that rolled off his tongue. “If you do not recall, dear wife, I as well have every reason to resent you. The image of you sucking on my useless brother’s cock is not one I can easily bare. Yet I have chosen to let it be. I could have easily decided otherwise.”

“That would make you a hypocrite.” You glanced at him over the rim of your teacup.

“It does not matter much if I am a hypocrite, does it?” Aemond sat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He wasn’t bothered with the food in front of him, focused solely on you. “I hardly see how that would change anything.”

You squirmed under the intensity of his stare, picking up a cherry from the bowl of fruits and rolling the stem between your fingers. “It matters to me. Certainly, it matters for your reputation among the smallfolk. Nobody cares for a selfish prince, my dear.”

Aemond hummed, smirking at the venom you spat at him. You noticed the coin that he rolled between his fingers, nimble and thoughtless as if it were like breathing. Not so much a nervous habit but a thoughtful one.

He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t enjoy your confidence. It was refreshing. But there was a dip in his gut at the thought that there was no hope for the two of you. Aemond, ever logical, knew he had no one else to blame but himself with his lack of foresight and failure to see beyond the now and here.

Because Aemond had not even considered how things would go on should you not forgive him. He had assumed that you would if not merely on the basis that there was little lost from a relationship that hardly existed in the first place. You had love for him and he was so convinced that such a thing would be impossible that he didn’t consider that it would cause you heartache beyond slighted offence and jealousy.

A violet eye lingered on the cherry that remained between your fingers. Aemond was good at putting on an act. He thought for a moment that he would rather take lashes to his back than have you know that he had no idea how to love someone properly. A part of him was persuaded that he was incapable of being a good lover. The lashes seemed like a blissful gift compared to the self-loathing that simmered in his belly at the probability that he had ruined any chance your marriage had of recovery.

It crossed his mind that it was his ignorance towards you right from the beginning that had damned your relationship.

Either way, it did not help that you had turned to his brother for intimacy. Aemond felt his blood scorch whenever that invaded his mind. He wanted to crumble the walls of this fortress when he wondered if Aegon had enjoyed your womanhood. Jealousy did motivate him well, he realised, and Aemond had the murderous urge to feed Aegon to Vhagar.

Nonetheless, he feigned amusement. “It seems as if you care for one.”

You ate the cherry. It was sweet and rich. All you replied with was an upturn of your chin as you gracefully held a small embroidered towel to your lips.

“So I am not forgiven?” Aemond had to break the silence before it cut him open. “Are we not even?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you held back a surprised laugh. “You never apologised. Not that it would make any difference.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“Of course you are not forgiven,” you sighed. The tea cup hit the table with a clang. Your disdain for his actions and his ignorance gave you an unfettered confidence around him which you weren’t accustomed to. It made it very difficult to control yourself. “And no, we are not even, my Prince. And since you have brought it to my attention, I am of half a mind to find Aegon and offer him a meal between my thighs. You see, I have often wondered how it would feel and I expect that our King would be happy to indulge my… curiosities.”

Aemond sneered, a silent one that was more visible in his intake of a breath, the curl of his lips and the hardening of his eye. Bullseye.

It took him less than a couple seconds to be on his knees in front of where you sat, a strong hand tightly gripping each side of your thighs over the thick fabrics of your dress. He had shoved the table aside, unphased as tea spilled and fruits and cheeses toppled to the floor. Something in the look of bewilderment on your face had Aemond ready to both grin at your clueless innocence and frown at your shock.

Aemond didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that you had given up on expecting such pleasures from him. He was your husband; nothing about what he was clearly intending on doing to you should surprise you. Cursing himself to perdition would not be enough for how he has failed you.

“I feel obliged to remind you that we had agreed,” he grazed his nose across your knees, looking up at you through his eyelashes, jaw clenched tight as he all but growled his words. “That there will be no more of this foolishness. Not from you and not from me.”

It was an onslaught of different things that had rendered you still and silent. The way Aemond looked at you like you were the only satiating force for his eternal hunger, the wordless mixture of desire and anger in how his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, the desperation in his voice, strained by the fear that you would. Or was it the overwhelming feeling that Aemond was finally taking some accountability and that maybe he recognised not what his actions were but the meaning that they carried?

For a moment Aemond just looked at you, conflicted and fragmented and unguarded. The sight of him like this reminded you of a vulnerable child. But it didn’t last long before the menacing, cautionary glint was back in his eye, his posture becoming rigid as shuffled the fabrics of your skirts.

A new kind of anxiety overcame you. Not like the insignificant nervousness you had felt that night when you had wandered into his chambers or used his leg to make yourself peak and not like the clueless apprehension with Aegon. It formed a ball in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

There was no chance he would ever admit it but you could see Aemond’s vulnerability and desperation within the hardened facade he had perfected. He wanted nothing more than to seem strong and powerful at all times, worthy of acclaim and reverence. But here he was, willing to stay on his knees and worship you forever, all under the pretence of rageful infatuation.

It was too hot. Even with the cool of the shadows cast by the dark net curtains that only let in enough daylight to see clearly and not enough to cause Aemond irritation from sensitivity in his eye, it was so warm you worried you would have to rip the sleeves off of your dress.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Aemond let out a soft, dark groan, running his fingers across the expanse of your legs over your stockings, your skirts already bunched at your hips. Skin burning at his touch, you couldn’t help the way you whined and squeezed your thighs together, squirming under the intensity of his gaze.

His voice was heavy with the burden of lust and regret. “I will be better. In all the ways that I have failed you and more. Your forgiveness, I realise, is not as easily granted as I presumed but I will show you that I am worthy of it.”

There was a moment of weakness in your mind before you caught yourself. You didn’t quite believe him. It had clearly been too easy for him to give you empty promises and there was no reason why things would be different now.

It was odd. Seeing Aemond weak like this.

What would it mean if you let him continue? It was clearly different this time. You couldn’t put it into words exactly but there was a rawness, a blitz of different emotions that set things ablaze and made you want to both weep and mewl for him.

You couldn’t spare a thought about why it was different. Aemond was right there, a weaponised Prince on his knees for you, a lowly Lady with nothing more to offer him than yourself. Since when did you hold all this power over him?

That night in his bedchambers and last night when you had shared a laugh despite everything that had unfolded felt detached in a way. When you had allowed yourself release over his leg it was simply that. A way to ease the tension he had put in your body and a way to leave him wanting.

Aemond’s eye swam with a tenderness you had not seen from him. He continued to look up at you waiting to gauge your response. It was a slight nod of your head which had his hands tearing at the soft fabric of your stockings, his lips instantly meeting the skin of your knees before you had the chance to even gasp. All the while, he kept his eye on you as if his heart would cease to beat if he could not watch the way you reacted to him.

It became increasingly harder to breathe. There were so many thoughts, so many sensations that you struggled to put it all together. Your flushed with anticipation, your cunt throbbed at the wet plushness of his lips on your hot skin and your hips squirmed at what was to come.

Your mind, however, flashed with the image of Aemond, exactly as he was now, between another woman’s thighs. A woman who didn’t flinch at the unfamiliar touch, who didn’t jerk away at the foreign feeling of being pleasured. You wondered if he would be so angered at the prospect of another man’s mouth on her womanhood, if her skin felt softer or more rough on his lips and if he looked at her with the same heated need.

It made you feel sick.

Aemond let himself enjoy the way your thighs tensed, pulling your smallclothes off of you as much as carefully as he could under the restriction of your skirts. There was an urge to rip the entire dress off but he knew it would be a step too far. He couldn’t help the low sounds that left him, sounds he couldn’t recognise. The expanse of your thighs and the sight of your flushed, hot cunt in front of him made his mouth water with a hunger that would have shocked him had he not been so distracted by your scent.

Without complete vision, Aemond had learned to train his sense of touch, taste, smell and hearing to make up for the disadvantage he was stuck with. They were always slightly heightened compared to those who never needed the compensation of senses but in the cloud of desire and lust, he was sensitive.

You whined at the way his tongue glided over your skin, biting down hard but not hard enough to be painful on the flesh of your upper thigh so close to where you needed to feel him. But Aemond was always remarkably patient and he merely made way to your other leg, repeating his ministrations and licking you from your knee to where he bit you at your thigh.

The haze that had possessed you made you lose track of your thoughts so easily. Still, they fought their way to the forefront of your mind at every chance they could and you were reminded of her.

Aemond’s mind was overwhelmed by you. There was no power in the realm that could make him think of anything else, not with the way you were trembling under his feathered touch and making such beautiful sounds for him, and not when he desired for anyone else apart from you.

A heavy breath of shame and excitement tumbled out of you at how lewdly he dragged the tip of his nose across your thigh, pressing it into the flesh that sat above your slick, aching cunt and inhaling. You clenched around nothing, your clit twitching at the sound of Aemond’s unabashed groan.

He grasped at your hips and your legs, his fingers burying into your flesh and tugging as if there would never be enough of you in his hands. It would have driven you into a similarly desperate state had things been different.

The prince between your thighs was a sight to behold. Aemond’s skin was flushed pink, his eyepatch slightly out of place and his hair tousled from the way your legs clenched and unclenched against his head. He was almost drooling, mumbling about how good you smelled and how perfect and pretty your cunt was for him. His cock had never been so hard, constricted by the stiff leather of his training attires.

Aemond enjoyed being a tease but there was only so much he could handle himself. While he wanted you to crave for him the way he was craving you so unbearably, Aemond needed to taste you. He needed to make you feel the blinding pleasure he should have been giving you at every chance he had since the night you were married. He needed to show you the ways of unbridled human desire and to show you all the ways your body could come undone and fall apart only to feel completely whole and fulfilled.

There was no changing the past but Aemond would make up for how completely inattentive he had been. He would show you all the more fervently. When Aemond placed an open mouthed kiss just above your slit, letting a string of his spit glide off of his tongue onto your sensitive pussy, you shuddered.

All at once your mind was once again taken over by unsavoury thoughts. It had your eyes welling with tears, a familiar lump lodging in your throat, threatening to come out in a devastated sob. There was a ringing in your ears and you were back at Aemond’s door, peeking in only to see him giving that woman the same touch he was giving you right now. He had seemed so enthralled by her and the way she must have tasted. It was as if he’d been there before, indulging in her with so much passion it rivalled how eagerly touched you in this moment.

Did her smell fill his veins with fire as yours was? Did her scent alone make his cock as painfully hard as yours did? Did her cunt drip for him the way yours did? Was the hunger in his eye shining for her too?

It was terrifying to consider.

Aemond would spend hours here, he had decided. His duties for the day could be damned to the hells for all he cared. There was a rumbling in his chest for what he saw in front of him, inviting him to indulge and filling his mind with senseless ardour. Aemond let himself enjoy just the scent of you, his eye fluttering shut and his nose gently resting above your folds as he breathed you in, caressing your thighs softly with his hands. As if he were starved for years, Aemond salivated and with no patience left within him, he brought his lips downwards to meet the precious cunt he had been dreaming of.

With a whimper that you couldn’t hold back, you jerked away from him. Aemond pulled away in surprise, his gaze full of confusion and lust and insecurity. “Wait, my love—“

You had slipped free of his grasp, a strangled cry escaping no matter how hard you tried to keep it in. There was one tear that slipped free, followed by countless more and you couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t bear to see that he was hurt before scrambling away from him.

She was stuck in your mind. The memory of Aemond’s little trysts with her replaying behind your eyes no matter how hard you tried to shut it out. It was clear that there was nothing you could do to get ahold of yourself because everytime you looked at him, so enthralled in you and your sex, she was there.

Laughing at you in the back of your mind, as if she had taken residence in a permanent place in your head, enjoying the state of despair and madness she and Aemond had led you to.

But she couldn’t be in your head. Not really. Not in the way it felt she was.

You barely glanced back at Aemond through your tears, struggling to even your breathing and calm the rapid beating of your heart. He hadn’t moved much; just simply stayed there frowning at the space that you had once occupied on the chair.

There was nothing he could do to change things. Aemond knew that as well as you did. But there was a pain in your heart at the way he looked so defeated, so guilty that it almost seemed like he would melt into a puddle of remorse. A far stretch from the usual stoic warrior that you had known him as.

“My prince, I–” you swallowed, your voice catching when he looked up at you with a wide eye and furrowed eyebrows. For a moment you remembered that he had no right - but he was trying, was he not? “I cannot continue with this knowing that you had touched her like this. It angers me and it upsets me and it pains me to think of it but ‘tis beyond my control.”

He stayed silent, observing the way you hid yourself from him and struggled to meet his gaze. There was a sullen look to you, one you had not entered with and it stuck needles in his flesh to think that he had been the cause of it. Aemond’s entire body felt hot and he was itching to tear off his leathers. He wished the gods would strike him down as he was for hurting you so.

You had turned away, disappearing from his quarters swiftly. You would never forget the image of how you had left him there–it was both satisfying and devastating.

Aemond, still on his knees for the ghost of you, his expression tortured and his shoulders tensed. It was a pathetic sight, should anyone stumble upon it, but you considered it beautiful. Beautiful in a lethal, catastrophic manner. Not unlike himself; a weaponised source of destruction who had a tendency to bring torment upon those he loved.

The rest of your day had been spent alone in your chambers. You hadn’t cried so much over any of it until now. The tears and sobs that you had held inside of yourself for weeks had forced themselves out, along with the emotions you had pushed down until you could no longer.

Aemond had a certain control while you were sitting in that seat, skirts bunched to your stomach and quivering for him to have his way. Regardless, the power was still yours and you knew that it was Aemond who was wrapped tightly around your finger at that moment. He would have listened to anything you had said–done anything you had told him to do.

Perhaps you had become too stubborn in your anger to have let yourself feel anything else. A retributive anger; one that sprouted from the lack of love that existed in your marriage and reached a climax at Aemond’s brazen adultery. And it only grew stronger in whatever back and forth Aemond had encouraged by dangling his whore in front of your face.

Whatever it was, you were feeling so much more now than you had before.

Or perhaps it was because you could see that Aemond was remorseful. He would never yet admit it but you knew from the way he had behaved since you had visited him in his bed. It was no act of redemption and definitely no apology but it was impossible to ignore the change in him. You had never seen Aemond the way you had seen him this morning.

Vulnerable, gentle, tormented.

A knock on your door had you sniffling and wiping away any tear stains that may have lingered on your cheeks. You had stopped crying for some time but the need to wallow and lament had stayed. When you called out to ask, the guard at your door notified you of the Dowager Queen’s presence.

Oh, seven hells.

There was really no chance you could refuse her so you merely let her in and called a servant to bring some refreshments. Queen Alicent sat herself down but remained tense, carefully watching you as you took a place beside her.

“Have you been crying?” Her concern was comforting. “I believe I know why.”

You straightened, not meeting the eye of the woman who reached a tender hand to your knee. Hiding behind a forced smile, you let out a breathy laugh. “I am certain the entirety of the Red Keep knows, Your Grace.”

“It has been known for some time,” Alicent was gentle, her cautionary gaze telling you that she was apprehensive about bringing her son’s misadventures up. You held your breath. “Since the first time he had summoned that Alys woman-”

“Alys? Is that her name?”

“You do not know?” There was a tense silence. Alicent couldn’t meet your gaze, pity swimming across her features. Aemond was her son and there were many things that she had let her sons get away with but her heart pained at the broken quiver in your voice.

Alicent had noticed the change in Aemond since the night that you had found him with Alys. The second time. He had never paid much attention to you aside from what appearances required yet Alicent knew her son far more than he would be willing to accept. She had known that there was something in his heart for you, no matter how small and no matter how it dwindled until set alight.

Aemond had done the wrong thing. She had no doubts about that. Alicent would have words with him once she figured out what to say to him. But he was her son and there were certain misdoings that she knew she had to defend them through. To protect his marriage, his image and his happiness. The Queen Dowager cleared her throat and reached for your hand, eyebrows furrowing at the way you stared down at your lap, the anguish you felt in your heart written clearly across your face.

“I understand that you are hurting, my dear. Although my husband remained faithful to me until his death and I cannot quite imagine the pain in your heart–I see how you have love for my son, even if you nor him have known it, I do understand,” Alicent took a breath, closing her eyes. “This is the way of men. And princes–”

“Please, Your Grace, I mean this with utmost respect for you but I do not wish to hear your excuses,” you whispered. There was a prickly, breathless worry that had settled in your gut. What did you not know? Was this Alys someone who mattered? “But I would like to know what you are withholding from me about this woman. I believe I deserve that at the very least.”

Alicent stared at you for a moment, examining you. She could drive her son further into the ground with what she was about to say. “Aemond had a paramour–at least it was rumoured, he never spoke of such things with me. Alys Rivers, a wetnurse and servant woman from Harrenhal.”

“A paramour?”

“It was before you were married,” Alicent was quick to clarify. “I had assumed that Aemond wanted nothing more to do with her when she left–at his order, I believe. Some say she was a witch. Perhaps she enchanted him.”

You couldn’t look at her. She was more than just a whore? Had he lied to you right from the beginning? Bile rose up in your throat. There was a thrum in your ears, the sound of your own heartbeat and you feared that you would be sick from the drop in your gut.

“Did he love her? Could he still?”

Alicent sucked in a breath. “I do not know, my child.”

All you could do was nod pathetically. Alicent was a woman of great strength and dedication; you had once wished to be much like her one day. But as you sat beside her now, you wished she had been a liar and a cheat and a meddling gossip. That you could find a way to fault her words but you could tell it caused her great difficulty to speak of Aemond’s actions honestly.

Ever poised and elegant, Alicent only leaned forward to you, her posture straight as a needle and her touch soft as linen. “I did not mean to upset you further. I only meant to speak with you about returning to Courtly activities, with the other Ladies and Helaena has been asking for you. And the Ladies speak–”

“They speak terribly of me,” you scoffed, allowing a humourless laugh. “I understand, Your Grace. I will return to spending my days in company other than my own.”

Alicent hated to pry but she felt that she must, now that she had dealt her cards against Aemond’s fate. “Perhaps you should speak with Aemond. He cares for you deeply. It would be a shame for your union to fall apart over such misunderstandings.”

If not for formality, you would have rolled your eyes. Again, you simply nodded, your mind reeling back to the woman that Alicent had given a name to. You would ask Aemond about her. It would be the less damning option rather than turning to Aegon once more but the idea of speaking to Aemond about a woman he may once have loved still made you want to crawl underneath the sheets of your bed and disappear.

You thought of the woman who you had seen through the crack in the door and wished you had taken extra care in looking at her. There was little you could recall other than the darkness and length of her hair, the paleness of her skin and the perfection in her curves as she pleasured Aemond and as he did the same for her.

As if she was familiar with all the things that made him weak. All the things that made Aemond weak. How she had touched him like she was an expert in his body. And you thought of Aemond, bare and comfortable with her. Aemond with his sapphire glimmering under the lamplight instead of an eye, a rawness and trust that you had never seen of him until that night.

He trusted her.

Alys Rivers.

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Tagging: @padfooteyes @thedyingwriter @mamawiggers1980 @queenofshinigamis @ewanmitchellfanatic @nurtargaryen

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hollowed-theory-hall · 5 months ago

Note

Could you please go more on Harry and Sirius and their relationship? I love them so much.

Honestly, yes. Like I think I already wrote most of what I think about them, (here, here, here, and here) but I love their dynamic so much and one of my pet peeves in fic is when Sirius is villainized for no reason and treated as a bad influence in Harry's life.

Like, Harry's life is lacking in competent adults he trusts, and I wanna talk about how much Harry trusts Sirius since I haven't covered that yet, I think.

Dumbledore is extremely competent, but Harry doesn't trust him. Snape is also extremely competent, but Harry would rather deal with whatever himself than tell Snape about it (except in life-and-death situations like at the end of OotP).

Then you have characters like Hagrid, who Harry trusts, and is definitely good intentioned, but not very competent. Molly and Arthur kinda fall into this category for the majority of the books.

Remus in book 3 came close. He's competent, and Harry likes him, but that trust and seeking of a relationship is one-sided. It's always Harry seeking Remus out, Remus doesn't want to be involved in Harry's life and keeps running away like Remus does. (There's a reason Harry keeps calling him "Lupin" in his head)

Then you have Barty/Fake Moody who is competent and Harry trusts and grows close to only to later be revealed to be a Death Eater during book 4.

Basically, Harry has a shitty track record with mentor figures in his life. Then comes Sirius, who loves him, wants to have a relationship with him, who is intelligent and competent (Especially during GoF), and who Harry feels he can trust.

Throughout GoF and OotP, whenever Harry has a problem, be it strange dreams from Voldemort, his scar hurting, the Triwizard Tournament, him just having a bad day, Umbridge, anything, the first person he goes to (or wants to go to), even before Ron and Hermione — is Sirius. And that is so important to me.

Like, growing up the way he grew up, Harry isn't the most trusting of kids. He often goes and acts heroic because he doesn't trust adults to do what needs to be done and so he feels like it's his responsibility. Sirius is the only adult in the books that when he tells Harry: "Stay away from it and let me check out what I can find out first", Harry listens. In GoF Sirius tells Harry not to leave school, and to watch out for Karkaroff, and Harry does so. He actually believes Sirius has his best interests and he lets him be a responsible adult in his life.

At least, more than he lets anyone else.

I did mention it in the past, but Harry feels just as responsible for Sirius as Sirius feels for Harry. Harry never got to be a child, so he doesn't exactly act like one.

At the beginning of GoF he tries to lie to Sirius that his scar doesn't actually hurt so Sirius would stay safe and away from Britain. Sirius doesn't buy it and comes anyway because Harry's safety is always Sirius' number 1 priority.

Even when his mental/emotional state deteriorates in OotP, he is mostly talking about endangering himself, not Harry.

And with this behavior, it's easy to see why Harry comes to trust Sirius so fast. Sirius is a connection to Harry's parents (something Harry's always looking for), he says he loves Harry and would do a lot for him (including escaping Azkaban by swimming as a dog across the North Sea), and it's clear he's prioritizing Harry in a way no one else has before.

Is Sirius' fixation on Harry's well-being necessarily healthy? Not exactly, I mean, there is a reason in all the airplane safety instructions they tell you to put on your own oxygen mask before you help someone else, and Sirius would definitely put the mask on Harry first. But given both their circumstances, this is honestly what they both need to feel a semblance of family.

Like, their connection, for both of them, is a kind of lifeline.

Harry needs to be the most important person to someone after he has been treated like nothing for years. And Sirius, I think, needs to care for someone else, to feel he is helping and doing something good. If he's helping Harry, he feels his own life has a purpose.

It's so very visible with Harry just how much of a lifeline Sirius became to him after such a short time. Like, I reread books 5 and 6 recently, and at the end of OotP, after Sirius dies, there is a shift in Harry. He stops caring as much.

What I mean is, there is a reason Harry has his "there's no reason to call me sir, Professor" moment in HBP. After Sirius dies, Harry loses his last bits of self-preservation. At the end of OotP he starts sassing Snape:

Malfoy’s hand flew toward his wand, but Harry was too quick for him. He had drawn his own wand before Malfoy’s fingers had even entered the pocket of his robes. “Potter!” The voice rang across the entrance hall; Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office, and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt toward Malfoy. . . . Whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape . . . never . . . “What are you doing, Potter?” said Snape coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them. “I’m trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,” said Harry fiercely. Snape stared at him.

(OotP, 851)

Snape is shocked, he doesn't even know what to say to that because Harry doesn't speak to him like that before. Before, even during the Occlumancy lessons, Harry is mostly polite because he feels he has to be. After Sirius dies, there's none of that. He's sassier, snappier, and angrier, and he carries that with him through HBP and DH. Said anger isn't just towards Snape. He snaps at Ron and Hermione throughout DH even without the Horcrux, and he lifts up Mundungus by the throat in HBP. I think a lot of his focus on Malfoy is because of how lost he feels throughout HBP. He goes out at Remus with his worst in DH when he wants to join them in the Horcrux hunt. I mean, Remus needed someone to talk sense into him, but Harry didn't need to be that mean.

What I'm saying is that when Sirius died, one of Harry's major lifelines was cut and he's in a weird sort of lashing out throughout HBP and DH. Yes, he knew Sirius for a very short time, but he was the person Harry trusted most in his life — and then he was gone.

It's not to say he never got angry at Sirius, Harry did, and that's natural and healthy, honestly. But it doesn't change the fact that in GoF and OotP when Harry needs to rant, needs someone to talk to, wants advice, he first goes to Sirius, then to everyone else.

I just feel so much about these two.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #anonymous #hollowedtheory #harry potter meta #sirius black #harry james potter #good godfather sirius black

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pascalssbabyy · 1 year ago

Text

The Slip Up, Part One

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Virgin Reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: Two years you had worked with Javier Peña, and it had been two years since your attraction to him started. What happens when at a work party you accidentally slip your secret to the man himself?

Warnings: 18+ SMUT mdni, no use of Y/N, age gap (25/40), plot, Javier and reader are friends and work together, smoking, alcohol consumption, reader has long hair and wears makeup, cheeky confessions, pet names, virgin!reader, innocent reader, Javier is a ladies man (obvs), kissing, F!oral, fingering, kinda public shenanigans?

Well well well what have we got here?? I’m so excited to share with you my first ever fic of the Javier Peña. I haven’t wrote about Javier before so please be easy on me 😰 (And it definitely won’t be the last 👀) This is going to be a two parter as it was getting so long 😭 Anyway, I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍🫶🏼 Part Two

Taglist: @millercontracting @harriedandharassed @mumma-moonchild @chyannealaniz

Also a little shoutout to @schnarfer 🤍 for helping me with my tiny little breakdown I had whist writing this 🤣 so appreciative of you 🫶🏼

You’ve been working for the DEA in Bogotá, Colombia, for nearly two years, and you have known Javier Peña, your colleague, for the same amount of time, working with and for him as his former secretary. You would answer his calls that he’d regularly miss, whether out or in the office, too preoccupied with gathering and processing substantial evidence for cases. You’d file any primary documents that he’d lay on your desk and assign meetings to fit into his busy schedule.

You were the one who’d keep his feet firmly on the ground when the office would stir and shake. You were the one who’d alleviate that pressure off his shoulders. You were the one who’d stop him from crumbling when things got too harsh.

Working for the DEA was a massive part of your life, and right now, with the underlying issues and risks, it had to be. It was a demanding workplace, and the office held a lot of tension: the buzzing of printers, the constant ringing of telephones, and people rummaging and rushing around one another. The office held immense pressure and enormous responsibility, with everyone performing their duty with focus and determination.

But behind all the stress came the reward, the pride. You knew people wanted justice for anything they’d set their mind and body to. To help make the world a better place where people shouldn’t worry.

And if you hadn’t accepted the offer two years ago, you wouldn’t have had the experience of working in this sort of environment, and you wouldn’t have met the man who would eventually change everything for you.

Whether it was for good or bad, you hadn’t quite figured that out just yet.

🖤🖤 Two Years Ago 🖤🖤

Anxiety. That was the first emotion you detected when the words fell from your boss's lips. You were apprehensive and too anxious about being offered an open secretary position at the US Embassy in Bogotá. Having to move across the country and live for however long you needed to in Columbia. You’d never been to a place that wouldn’t have taken your interest if it wasn’t for the job. And to fly out there all on your own.

Your hometown was all you had ever known: walking past the same streets, chatting with the same people and indulging in the same conversations. Your life had become this ongoing routine. It was repetitive, and deep down, you knew things had to change.

You had been keen to move out of the US for a while, and your family and friends had come to notice it, too. From an early age, you were independent, eager to live a life without setbacks, a life you could be proud of, where you worked hard to get where you wanted to be.

So no longer than two weeks later, you said your last goodbyes to the people you loved and cared for the most, with your suitcase packed and your passport ready in hand, all set to bring on the new life waiting for you.

Walking into the Webb County Sheriff's Office for the first time was nerve-racking. You could hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears, a deafening sound, sweaty palms imprinting your visible anxiousness on the entrance door when you walked into the main office, seeing so many unknown faces. People you’d soon be close to, accompanied by, and surrounded by a workplace that was so foreign to you. You can feel the pressure, the twisting of your stomach as you hold tightly to your bag that hangs across your shoulder, nameless eyes and limbs ceasing to a standstill as people watch you walk past.

And in just a moment, you’re about to be introduced to your brand new co-worker.

Who in fact, took you completely by surprise.

He was much younger than you thought he’d be; you were guessing his late thirties or early forties. He seemed charming, and his stance was very open and welcoming. You noticed that he had the softest brown eyes, his skin tanned in colour, a moustache, and an intense nose that fitted his facial structure.

Your breath hitches when you eye his figure; his shoulders are broad and covered in a black leather jacket with a white buttoned-up shirt underneath and washed-out blue jeans that were incredibly snug on his thighs and waist area.

Wait, what were you doing? Have you just checked out your work colleague?

“Javier Peña. I’d like you to meet your new secretary.”

You give him a warm smile and gently introduce yourself, praying your nervousness and instant attraction to him were unseen as you kindly shake his open and outstretched hand. You grasp him with a firm, confident grip, and the tingle left behind when he pulls back travels across and up your arm and down your spine. His touch feels homely, his hands large and enveloped in your own.

His tone breaks the silence between you both with words that mean to comfort. “It’s nice to meet you darlin. And welcome to Bogotá.”

“Thank you, sir,” you muster up. “I’m excited to be working alongside you.”

Javier smiles widely at you. A smile that makes your stomach churn, and your cheeks blush a crimson red.

“I’ll leave you both to it. If you need anything, Javi, just let her know. She’ll be outside there and ready for you.”

Javier nods at the receptionist, giving her a thank you as she walks out of his office, closes the door on her way out, and leaves you alone.

“Please. Sit down,” Javier says, pointing to the chair opposite his own. “I just wanna start by going through a few things with you. To get you up to date with what’s going on around here. Get you used to everything.”

“Thank you, sir,” you repeat, settling yourself on the chair and resting your bag alongside it.

Javier looks at you with a teasing expression. “Okay, first things first. You don’t have to call me sir, darlin. Please, call me Javi.”

From your minor introduction, you immediately felt something you couldn’t quite put your finger on with Javier. Something remote and unexplored, and you didn’t know if it excited or scared you. How your brain had turned into mush, your throat swallowing all self-possession and thighs subconsciously clenching together.

Even after two years, you still felt it, and it was something that Javier would never come to be acquainted with.

Well, that’s what you think.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Being Javier’s secretary for as long as you had, you’d come to know him very well. He probably didn’t know it himself; being a persistent and overly busy man, you saw everything he got up to when he was here at the Embassy. You’d taken your time to watch him, to observe and understand parts of him and his personality, and that was both inside and outside of work.

Javier was good-hearted. He was bounteous and made you feel like you were part of the team from the beginning. He was a hard worker, and the two of you had gotten close from all the time you shared with one another. Being around each other for a long time, you had become good friends.

But with Javiers overall kindness, he was also flirtatious, smooth in personality and someone you’d call a ‘ladies' man’. Everyone knew Javier had made his way around certain women in the department. Whether the woman was new to the job or had been in the embassy a while, or even if he had only known them thirty minutes when you’d go out together for a few drinks after work. You knew he paid women generously to get secretive information out of them to help with his cases, and obviously because he wanted a quick and easy fuck. This had become a pattern and was Javier's strategy; he had been this way before you had even started.

A girl like you could never change him, could you?

He would sometimes arrive late at work with a lipstick mark on his collar and a purplish bruise on the crevice on his neck. The indistinct linger of cheap women’s perfume clinging tightly to his shirt. Possibly vanilla-scented? No, it definitely smells fruity this time. But whatever it is, it makes your head spin, it’s overpowering, and it makes bile fill up your throat, threatening to spew over.

You’d happen to notice it all, and you couldn’t help yourself, already held down deep by him. All of him.

What made it worse was he was never like this with you. Not romantic and never flirty, never using his charm to add you to his list of women he’d fucked in the department, only asking if you wanted to join him for a drink to extend the night when you both wouldn’t need to worry about work the next day. He’d always have you questioning yourself: Why wasn’t he like that with you? What was it about you that he maybe didn’t like? Why had he fucked most women and leave you with wondering thoughts? Yeah, you technically ‘worked‘ for him, but he wasn’t a boss in the department. And his role hadn’t stopped him from trying it on with women higher in rank than him.

You couldn’t help but feel envious of the woman he’d talk to, the woman who’d sit in the passenger seat of his jeep as he drove off, the desks he’d perched his full weight one as he’d compliment their nails, their hair and clothes. The way he’d brush a loose strand of hair behind their ears. You’d hear what they’d say behind closed doors. How incredible he was in bed, how he was the best fuck they’d ever had. How sweet and gentle he could be or rougher if intended.

You wanted him. Indefinitely more than he’d ever want you. And it hurts you more than the last.

You knew his coffee order and how he wouldn’t even take a sip if it had too much cream. You knew that on Thursdays, he wore that pink button-up shirt that you secretly adored on him so much. You knew he’d get a little line across his forehead when he was stressed, how he’d pick at his bottom lip and fiddle with the curls on the nape of his neck when he couldn’t quite figure something out.

Sometimes, you’d even wonder if it was love that you felt for him. No, it couldn’t be. How could you be in love with a man who wouldn’t love you? Who wouldn’t look at you the way you looked at him? Whose hands you wouldn’t ever feel glide across your naked skin. Who’s lips, which you’d never have, faintly brushed along your own, his voice singing delicate praises in your ear, telling you that he did like you back and that he finally wanted something. Something with you.

No man had made you feel this way. That’s why you knew your feelings differed from anything you’d ever experienced. Javier had shown you kindness when life was tough and days were new and scary. You appreciated him thoroughly, and simply knowing him was an experience in itself.

At 25, you’d never known what it was like to be with someone so intimately, what it would be like to have someone sexually. Someone so bare. You wanted to, of course, but life, work, and Javier had got in the way. So for now, you’d reel in your imagination, picturing yourself in a moment of intimacy and how every time you did, Javier was the man who was giving it to you, experiencing it with you for the first time.

Your fingers would pull an orgasm from you so easily when Javier was the only man on your mind—racing you to that peak where your back would arch off creased bedding, thighs clamping and shivering, your breath cut off and replaced with only his name.

Javier Javier Javier.

You felt stupid. You knew you were giving yourself false hope and wasted time. It had been two years, and so far, your feelings were kept closed and hidden, too afraid of the rejection you knew would come soon after.

Because you knew that Javier would never be like that, Javier wasn’t a man who settled down with someone and added feelings to an already hectic life. Javier ran away from emotions the second they crept up on him, cutting people off when they got too close.

So you just watched. Taking a moment to yourself to admire him. He’s sat at his desk with piles of paper and files stacking higher and higher. His fingertips rub the tenderness of his temples as thick, heavy smoke puffs cover the air while he smokes his third cigarette of the day. Steve’s sat opposite him, both deep in conversation, with Steve pointing to the pinboard that displays evidence and connections to possible outcomes.

You cherish these moments, spying on him from afar. Those soft hazel eyes furrowed in concentration, his plush lips wrapped around the cigarette's tip. You can hear his laugh when his mouth perks upwards, and every so often, he’d lick his thumb, revealing that subtle glimpse of his tongue, the calloused digit shiny from his saliva as he turns the file pages over. Turning them over and over and over. Thinking what it would be like to feel his tongue on your—

“You coming to the work party tomorrow?” Melissa asks casually.

Your body jumps in your chair as she breaks you out of your trance, plopping herself on the corner of your desk with a hand flat on the wood to keep herself secure, legs crossed as she peers down at you.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she adds, wiping her finger across your bottom lip, “just gonna remove that drool pooling from your mouth.”

You groan at her teasing and pull your head away, “Really, Melissa? I wasn’t even staring, so don’t start.”

Melissa was the only woman, well, as you know of, who knew about your infatuation and crush on Javier. After you’d confessed it to her on a very drunken night at a bar one weekend, stomach full and head wavy from an overly sweetened gin and tonic. You remember how she looked at you with widened eyes and revelation. The one thing she never did from your confession was judge you, which you appreciated. She knew of Javi's tendencies, and she had said very honestly that you shouldn’t go near him, that he was only going to break your heart if you delved into your feelings too much, even though it hurt you. You knew she was right.

But then she wanted you to enjoy yourself, get yourself out there, and be more open. What could possibly go wrong with a feelings-free hookup?

“So?” she waits, “you gonna come?”

“I don’t know Melissa,” you reply back.

She gives you a sly smirk, “Well, I think you should come. Go on, enjoy yourself for once. You can wear that dress we brought at the mall last week.”

Your mind goes back to that day. Melissa had pushed and pushed and practically begged you to buy this dress until moments later, you left the store with a bag in hand and a damaged purse.

She leans her weight down so her face is close to yours, “Javi’s gonna be there.”

You’re fiddling with your pen, twirling it around your fingers and thinking. Of course Javier was going to be there, he’d never miss an opportunity to drink at the job. And if he was going, you were.

“Fine,” you ultimately give in. “I’ll be there.”

“Atta girl.” Melissa praises. “I’ll see you tomorrow, hun.” She gives you a wink before walking back to her desk, leaving you with tomorrow's public gathering pondering through your mind.

🖤🖤 The Next Day 🖤🖤

Today was a day free from work life and you had spent the majority of your time locked away in your apartment, gathering yourself and getting things prepped and ready for the works party that was only a couple hours away; you started off by having a deep cleansing shower, then blow drying your hair and styling it in soft bouncy curls that rested against your back, then adding a light layer of makeup and finishing off with some perfume and your outfit of choice. A long black tight fitting dress with black stiletto heels.

You look at yourself in the mirror, head tilting to the side, glancing at your attire as you patiently wait for your taxi to arrive. The material you wore accentuated you curves and brought out the colour in your skin. You stare at your back in the reflection and your eyes are met with bare skin, the fabric low cut and finishing just at your lower back.

The dress was beautiful, and you wonder if a certain someone tonight might think the same way.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You arrive back at work a hour later, the sound of your heels clacks across marble flooring as you walk through the entrance of the Embassy and down the hall. The vibration of music is loud and the chatter of people gets closer and closer, your anxiety about what the evening will entail already settling in.

You can see people drinking, how they’re laughing and bickering to one another. Your co-workers are dressed in formal attire, there’s woman in dresses and men in blazers, and there are people everywhere. They’re everywhere you turn, and there’s some faces you’ve never seen before. Probably parters or dates that have been invited as plus ones.

You stand there with that same well known anxiousness. It continues to pour out and you’re desperate for someone to come save you, to pull you into the swing of things and make you feel not so abandoned. So lost in the familiarity of it all.

Melissa’s across the room and her eyes brighten up when she sees you, skipping and scooting around the crowds of people to get to you, giving you a quick smile and a peck on the cheek.

“Knew that dress was a good idea. You look fucking ravenous hun.”

That apprehension you felt ceases and you actually laugh, trying to hide the radiance that flutters across your features from her remark.

“And you don’t look too bad yourself,” you say, eyes observing her own outfit.

“I know,” she teases and gives you a wink, her hands bringing you further into the room and handing you an alcoholic drink. Well needed.

You and Melissa chat to one another for a while. You’re both a few glasses into the night and the conversation between you goes smoothly, talking about life outside work and everything general. Melissa goes silent for moment and her eyes clock to the side of your shoulder so quickly you don’t immediately catch on, but whatever she saw has her grinning back at you.

Her lips pull up and ghost near your ear, voice vamped over the speakers. “I think someone’s liking this dress a little bit more than me.”

A faltering expression falls over your face and your own eyes avert and follow her stare, twisting your head around until you lock eyes with the person in question.

And of course, it had to be Javier Peña.

He’s already looking right at you. His shoulder perched on the wall over and across the room from where you’re standing. He was accompanied by the new receptionist. Of course. Who had started a couple weeks back. His legs were crossed over and he had a cigarette settled in his one hand and a beer bottle held firmly in the other.

Javier would usually be quick with it, with his tendencies. Winning her over with his slick charm and confidence. But this time he was ignoring anything she had to say, his eyes occupied with something more to his liking.

You.

You match his open attraction and give him that same look back because, why the fuck not? Your gaze following his face and peering down lower at his body.

He looked incredible; he wore a smart white button up shirt that was rolled halfway up his arms, showing his gorgeous golden brown tanned skin. He had tucked his shirt into dark navy jeans and paired them with a black belt, matching it with his typical black leather jacket perched over his one shoulder.

Javier had been eyeing you up for a while, and right now he doesn’t seem to want to keep his desirability for you hidden. His stare is fully distinct and you yourself can’t look away. It makes your body feel giddy, your skin hot as you dig your fingers into your palms. The girl he’s talking to is clearly getting aggravated as she knocks his shoulder, regaining his attention on her once again.

You pull your focus back onto Melissa and she tells you that she’s grabbing another drink and that she’ll be back soon. You give her a small nod, watching her walk away.

What was that moment you and Javier just shared together? You couldn’t be overthinking, could you? You know that intimate look from Javier anywhere, but seeing it on you, targeting you makes every hair on your body stand up.

A voice beside you breaks you out of your withering conscience, and you swiftly turn your head to the interruption.

“How’s your night going so far sweetheart?” Steve questions, his voice strident and raised so he could be heard above the music and gossip.

You show him a tender smile. “Yeah it’s going okay,” you simply reply back, “it’s fine. You enjoying yourself?”

“Going alright,” he says, washing down his words with the remains of his warm and flat beer, lifting the bottle up to his lips and eyeing the busy crowd.

“What y’doing stood over here all on your lonesome?” Steve adds.

You don’t reply. Fuck you must look so sad and lonely if Steve’s come over here to ask you how you are. You look down at your champagne glass, bubbles spreading across the surface before finishing off the rest of the orangey zest flavour in one full swig. Your face winces.

“Was talking to Melissa just a bit ago,” you reply back. “Said she’s just grabbing another drink.”

Unconscious to you, your attention is averted back to Javiers, eyes glazing and clouded over from the intense stare. Steven narrows his eyes and follows your observation, until he leans down to you, his tone low and soft. “Why don’t you get your ass over there and talk to him.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shoulder stiffening in interrogation, “talk to who?”

He looks at you dumbfounded, pointing with his pinky finger into the opposite direction, trying not to make his motions too obvious. “Javi,” he simply says, like it’s a completely clear conclusion. “Come on. Don’t tell me your little crush on him wasn’t noticeable.”

Well shit.

“W-what do you mean?” You stutter, a tense chuckle mixing in with your intonation. “No I don��t. We’re just friends Steve. Why would you think—”

“Sweetheart. You don’t think I see the way you look at him. You ain’t very good at hiding it. It’s written all over your face.”

Your chest feels tight, needle like thorns prickling at your throat and cheeks swelling. You’re panicking from the inside out. If Steve knew, how many others did? Fuck what about Javi?

There’s no point in hiding it from Steve now, so instead of arguing you accept defeat, asking him the question you don’t even know you want the answer to.

“Does Javier know?”

Steve’s eyes dart down at you, “I think we both know Peña’s not the best at seeing things like that. So, I’m afraid that’s a definite no.”

Does his statement give you that sense of relief? Do you feel your heart race decrease to a normal pace knowing that even through Steve knew, nothing would change on Javiers end.

Steve saw the way you looked at his partner, to your unascertained eye. He’d see how your stance would stall whenever he was near, how your gaze would linger on him for far too long, how you’d become a nervous wreck when he’d complement you. And how every time, devastation would rush over you when he’d walk out the bar, with a woman hugged under his shoulder. A women he barely knew. A women who’s name would be forgotten the next morning he woke.

Steve was a good man, and he was good to you, being there for you just like Javier had been. But unlike Javier, Steve was capable of attempting to fix people emotions, so when his arm wraps snug over your shoulder, you know that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

“You think you’ll ever say anything to him?” Steve inquires, “maybe tell him how you’re feeling?”

You stare at Javier again but only briefly this time. Seeing how he’s back to giving the girl next to him his full attention, and that motion right there, is why you will never say anything.

“No. I don’t think so Steve. I think we can both see how’s he’s pretty occupied right now.”

Steve let’s out a huff, yeah you were right. Typical Peña. Steve tugs at your arm. “Alright then. Come with me. Don’t want you sulking the whole night. We’re gonna have a few drinks.”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You’d definitely had a few drinks. Eyelids heavy, body swaying to the song playing and you can feel the alcohol run through you. It’s relaxing, it’s stress free as it heats you up, unravelling the nerves that clutched tightly to your skin since you first walked through the doors, and ever since Javier had looked at you the way that he did.

You actually began to feel…good. Great. Energised. And it was just what you needed to get Javier out of your thoughts, to think about something else entirely, to end your night on a positive.

Steve talks to you about how him and Connie are getting on. He mentions how life is outside work, how his family is back home and the enthusiasm in his voice makes your chest pull, but this time in a happy way. It’s nice to see how well he’s doing, watching how his face lights up when he says that him and Connie have officially settled down.

He talks about how certain cases are going, that him and Javi are getting closer to something big. You don’t mention anything about him bringing Javier into the conversation, because you know how passionate and devoted Steve is to his job, how much effort he puts into his time here.

With all the good Steve gives you, your time together is about to end.

“Uh honey. He’s coming over.” Steve says abruptly, adverting his gaze so his eyes look down as he fiddles with the head of his beer bottle. Steve’s easily able to communicate back to you with just his stance, and it’s not long until someone else joins in on your conversation.

“Nice to see you enjoying yourself,” Javier says to you.

You give him a confident smile as your stare falls down to his lips. You can see the ends of his moustache are slightly wet from the alcohol he’s been drinking. Fuck what are you doing? Your eyes quickly look away as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I am,” you comment truthfully. “Thank you Javi.”

His eyes follow down your body. Now that he’s close to you he can fully admire your dress in all its glory. “And this dress…”, he proclaims, looking up at you again with a smirk, “you do look really beautiful tonight hermosa.”

It’s right there, those words, virtually hanging right on the tip of your tongue. ‘And it’s all for you Javi, it’s always been for you’ you want to say. But instead, you reply back with another thank you Javi.

Javier opens his mouth to talk to Steve, but Steve’s already once step ahead, “I’m gonna go and grab another beer,” he buts, “don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.”

Steve’s off before you can react, his body disappearing into the flurry of people. Leaving you and Javier alone. Great.

“It’s nice to see you let loose cariño,” Javier says, “always working too hard for me aren’t you. I like seeing you like this. Enjoying yourself.”

Javiers cockiness always finds a way to shine through, his dark brown eyes sparkling whimsically.

“Well I have to Javi,” you retort, sarcasm hidden behind your words. “It’s my job to work hard.”

“Yeah I know I know,” he teases. “Still. You’re too good to me.”

You subconsciously clench your thighs together, his words having a massive effect on you, palms flattening out the creases in your dress that rested across your stomach.

“So…,” Javier continues, “come on your own tonight cariño?”

“I did indeed,” you say, and the words leave your lips more bluntly as you would have intended, pairing it with an over exaggerated smile.

His eyebrows furrow together as his hand falls into his front pocket, “you had any boyfriends while you’ve been here?”

You’ve endeavoured around conversations like this with Javier before, whether it was late at night when you’d both stay late in the office or after hours, and every single time you’d shrug off anything to do with your romantic life.

Because there was no romantic life.

“I hope that ain’t coming across as rude darlin. I just never see you with anyone when we’re all out. Give me an update with how you’re settling in.”

You brush aside the hesitation in your voice, showing Javier that his question hadn’t bothered you. “Not really Javi. I mean, there’s been moments with some guys but work takes up a lot of my time. And I’m not really interested in anyone at the moment.”

Big. Fat. Lie.

Javier’s stance shifts, watching you swallow that dishonesty, his eyes glistening and lips curling up, shooting you that too familiar look. “There is someone. Isn’t there?”

“No Javi,” you’re quick to protest. “There isn’t I promise. Just give it up please—”

Javiers quick to nudge in. “I knew it! Is it someone in the office? Go on, who’s the lucky fella?”

You laugh at him awkwardly, “Javi stop it. It’s…it’s nothing serious so just drop it.”

He’s chuckles back at you, adoring the way you always fluster and get agitated when he questions anything about you. Quietness falls between the two of you for a moment, and your body jumps forward when his hand rests on your lower back, touching your bare skin, softly stroking you with his thumb.

“Why are you like that?” He asks, and you can hear how genuine he’s trying to be, the care flowing from each syllable.

Your brains working on multiple tasks; Javiers just asked you a question but how the fuck are you supposed to answer with his hands on you. With nothing in the way. Skin to skin.

“W-why am I like what?” That’s what he said, wasn’t it?

“Always so jumpy around me. Cariño we’ve known each other long enough that you should feel comfortable when you’re around me.”

He’s right, where had your confidence gone? You can still feel the alcohol lingering and buzzing through your system, buts it’s unhelpful. It must be Javier himself, his presence. You turn your body to him, huffing of your honesty, “you…you just make me nervous sometimes Javi.”

“Come on,” he sounds shocked, “what do I do that makes you so nervous.”

“I don’t really know why. You just do.” You know why. “Why are you asking me this anyway.”

He shrugs, “wanna know why so we can get past it. Can’t keep having you on edge around me can we. So go on, enlighten me,” he challenges.

Well maybe it’s because I like you Javier. That every single time I look at you I wish you’d look at me the same way. And even though I’ll never have you, it doesn’t stop me from wanting you as badly as I do right now.

He’s looking at you like you’ve told him something so unforgiving, his body frozen and his eyes widened in a state of surprise. You’re suddenly confused, and why is he looking at you like that? You haven’t even said anything—

“Fuck,” you spurt out, “did I—shit did I just said that out loud.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah you did.”

A cold wave of dread washed over your body and you pray that the ground would just swallow you whole. You want to run away and never look at his face again. You’re embarrassed, you’re dumb. And so fucking stupid. Your confessions just fallen so easily from your lips that you haven’t even registered it.

Javi’s voice is weak, “Cariño. I…listen. You—,”

You palm meets his chest, stopping anything else that was threatening to spew over the two of you. “Don’t say anything Javier. Just…I’ve had a lot to drink okay so… please ignore anything I’ve just said. I don’t. None of it was true so don’t worry.”

Javier tries to carry on this mess that’s unraveling, but you’re too overcome with emotion you turn yourself away from him.

“I’m gonna head off,” you say, foggy eyes looking at the clock on the wall, “my taxis probably outside waiting for me.”

You place your empty wine glass on a table closest to you and move towards the entrance door. You can hear Javier call out your name but you can’t stop your feet as you try not to trip over yourself, the alcohol in your system not helping your situation. You don’t even look back, too afraid that if you look into Javier’s eyes, that look of rejection will have your life crumbling to a stop.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

It’s been exactly one week since you’d woken up with that raging headache, body aching and stomached weakened from acidic liquid, that sickening feeling gradually pooling up your throat, ready to spill over. How much did you drink? Surely it wasn’t a lot? The morning after the party you were grateful that your shift was later in the day, because the second you woke up, you felt like shit. It wasn’t until you pulled your body out of bed to swallow a whole glass of water with some aspirin, and forcing a few slices of toast down with it that last night’s happening would creep back into your memory.

And holy fucking shit.

It had to be a dream. A dream that you could erase and never be reminded of again. There was no way in hell you had confessed how you truly felt about Javier to the man himself. That after two long years, your secret had finally come climbing to the surface.

It hurt, and what made things worse was that you knew it going to come out eventually. But in a hazily and drunken confrontation was the last way you pictured it going. Javier was your friend, you worked for him and you had stepped way over the line. You had ruined that strictly professional relationship, that friendship between you both and now you had to work along side him. To see him everyday.

Yeah, you were well and truly fucked.

And that’s why you avoid Javier as much as possible, which for you was going to be a difficult task, as you were his god damn secretary. If he was coming your way you’re going the opposite direction soon after. You hadn’t gotten him his usual coffee you’d get on the way to work for him alongside your own. You hadn’t been out with work colleagues for a drink, knowing indefinitely that he’d be tagging along. If you had received new information, you’d tell Steve, not him. The minute the clock ticks at five, you wouldn’t stay back like you would usually do, you’d head for the door and straight home. You know this embarrassment will come around sooner or later, but if you can avoid it for now, fuck you’re going to do your best to.

You can tell Javier wants to talk to you. You know he wants to go back to that conversation that you left so abruptly. But right you just can’t. You can’t go back to knowing that his dismissal is waiting around the corner, yourself feeling ashamed of your petty and drunken words.

You make your way into the filing room and start by sorting out new documents that had been placed on your desk early this morning. You rip off the post it note that hanged loosely on the top of the pile, the neon note saying ‘please section in order’ ogling back at you. You can make out that writing anywhere. Everywhere you turn he’s always one step ahead, inhabiting all aspects of work life.

Your memory takes you back to the hours you’d spend in here with him, just enjoying the quiet and serenity and simply just…each other.

“I come in here when I need a minute,” Javier says, placing a file in it’s designated spot, “just to get away from it sometimes. Just to be on my own. You know, when shit in this place gets too much.”

You’d treasure that day. Just you and him, having him all to yourself while the world was running wild and crazy around your heads, having him talk about things and stuff he wouldn’t usually talk about, and just being so open with you. Only you.

You brush the memory off, back to regaining attention on the task in hand, with eyes averted down when suddenly the door opens and softly closes behind you. The sound so discreet and barely above a whisper.

Without warning, a sense of heat radiates on your back, a delicate warmth and you turn yourself around, a startled yelp leaving your now parted lips, hands forcefully clutching onto your heavily banging chest.

The face you’re met with breaks your heart.

Javier looked tired, his face was flushed and parts of his hair were hanging out of place, like he’d ran his fingers through it, frustrated. His eyes could paint a thousand pictures, the brown in them becoming lost, unrecognisable, looking at you with an apologetic expression.

Your voice quavers, “fucking hell Javi. Don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared the shit out of me.”

He always finds a way to make you jump and a tight smile pulls on his face from your reaction, a smile that you can see holds more than amusement.

“Sorry darlin,” he apologises, “didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You nod at him in forgiveness, twisting your body around so you’re now facing away from him. Again.

“Anything y’need in here Javi? Thought it was your day off today.”

You can’t bear to look over your shoulder, you can already feel your eyes welling up, how pathetic. The salty tears threatening to pour down your cheeks, leaving a mark of pity on your skin, the wavering sound in your voice prominently giving you away.

“I am off,” he says, “just needed to pop in and collect a few things.”

You hum at his words, don’t you dare give yourself away. You move stacks and files of paper around to keep yourself occupied, anything to stop your emotions getting the better of you.

Javier doesn’t leave. “I came here looking for you too actually,” he adds. “Wanted to have a chat.”

Fuck, here it comes.

By the way you haven’t replied and the way the room is surrounded by silence, Javier carries on. “I know you’ve been avoiding me darlin. And about the other night last week I—“

“Please Javier,” you intervene. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“Well I wanna,” he states, “we can’t keep going on like this, it’s awkward and uncomfortable and I don’t like it.”

And all because of you. You’ve made it awkward. You’ve made it uncomfortable.

He lightly rests his hand on your upper back, “cariño—“

“What d’you want me to say Javi?” You interrupt him, turning back around so you’re both parallel, “you want me to say that everything I said was true? Huh? Is that what you want? Well it was true. And yes, I’m fucking embarrassed about it.”

He shuffles himself away, unexpected from your hurried outburst, “let me speak. Please.”

How have you become so breathless? You can feel your nails digging into your palms, leaving marks and indents in your skin. A remembrance. Your chest is pounding and hands shaking with adrenaline.

Javier huffs out a sigh, “why didn’t… fuck why didn’t you say anything? I may of looked or acted surprised and it’s because I was. I had no fucking idea and that’s the honest truth. I never expected…”

Gathering enough courage in yourself, you look up at him, praying that he’ll carry on with whatever he’s about to say, to rip this two year old bandaid right off and give you air to breath, to put an end to your ongoing misery.

Instead, he cups your face in his palm, fingers dancing across your jaw. Javier’s never touched you like this, and the warmth you instantly feel sparks all over your skin.

He follows your gaze with a guilt-ridden stare. “Hermosa,” he utters quietly. “Why didn’t you say anything.”

Your lips part in delay, ready to explain yourself. “I-I couldn’t handle the rejection Javi. And we work together it’s so inappropriate, and well…you’re you and I’m me. I’ve liked you for a while and I just knew if I said anything that you’d say no.”

His eyes look deeper into you, like he’s thinking or perhaps, contemplating.

“It’s not a case of no cariño. This isn’t how I do things. Shit—I ain’t a good man. You’re too good for me and I can’t mess things up with you.”

You bow your head at him in understanding, head falling further into his palm. Wait, what does he mean by his first statement?

“You wouldn’t have said no?”

Javier pauses as his feet move closer, his body towering above you. He’s visibly much taller than you and the courage you have to muster up to look up at him is formidable.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” he states.

“But the other women,” you look across to the door, “you’re always…you’ve never been like that with me.”

There it is. That admission. Having confessed how you’d noticed how Javier acted with other women, and how after so long you’d wanted it to be you.

“I know. But you’re not those other women querida. You never were.”

The both of you stay silent, gazing at each other, inhaling in one another’s air, chests so near that if you move an inch closer, just ever so slightly…your body would be pushed up and touching his.

His thumb moves from your cheek and across your face, landing on your bottom lip. Your mouth parts in surprise, your heavy breath coating his finger that starts to slowly rub side to side.

His eyes drop down to your lips, his eyelids becoming hooded, lustful.

“And after all this time, I thought you were just shy.”

You whimper at his words, and Javier can sense the tension drifting away, his comment and touch becoming affective. Having dreamt of his digits against your skin and face, his fingertips gliding over the plushness of your mouth. It’s close, so so close that you could take it into your mouth, to taste him, to swirl your tongue around him and suck.

“But instead it was the complete opposite…,” his tone lower in octave, “wasn’t it hermosa.”

You can’t speak, voice lost and unforgivable as he gives you a subtle glimpse of divulged seduction.

“Tell me querida,” he whispers in a soft command, “is that what you want? You want me all to yourself?”

With thighs clenched together you give in, a rising pressure felt yearning in your core. “Fuck Javi…” you whine, “yes. Yes I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He leans his face down, his mouth now level with yours and pulls your face just a smidge with his thumb and index finger on your chin, until finally his mouth touches yours. Yourself instantly embracing him.

You’ve kissed a few men, and that had been a long time ago. They had been rushed, forceful holds and overall disappointing, but you knew the second Javiers lips landed on top of yours, that it would never be like those other times.

He starts off with gentle pecks, each one lasting longer than the previous, and only when Javier senses no hesitation on your behalf, he pulls your mouth in deeper, his tongue licking across your lips as an invitation, and you grant him access so willingly.

His arm wraps around your frame, hugging your waist as his other hand grips the shelf behind you, pushing your back flushed and up against it while still keeping your lips glued to his.

His tongue maps out the inside of your mouth. He taste like cigarettes and minty toothpaste, and the taste is overwhelmingly addictive. Like your own personal drug. You want more. You begin to copy his actions until the both of your tongues are dancing with one another, a small but noticeable moan swimming down his throat.

Javier draws back and kisses the skin on your jaw and the dip of your neck, his voice mumbled. “Christ querida you taste so fuckin’ sweet. You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do that.”

You peer up at him with lustful eyes, fingers tugging on his shirt to keep yourself upright. “Me too Javi. I want—”

You don’t particularly know what you’re asking for. You know you want to continue kissing him, but if that throbbing that you feel in between your legs isn’t released, you think you’ll pass out.

“What is it cariño?” He asks, “you want me to show you what I’ve wanted to give you after all this time?”

In response you clash his lips back down onto yours and Javier sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. His one hand threads though your hair and the others at the seam of your skirt, fingers ruffling the tight material up your hips, and only until your own tries to stop his motions.

You’re panting, fighting against the lifting of your skirt, trying to keep it down and in place. “Fuck Javier wait. Jus’—just stop for a second.“

Which his does, stopping his greedy movements immediately, pulling both his mouth and hands away. His lips are swollen and hold a reddish hue, shining with the mixture of saliva, and the image only makes your situation worse.

“You okay? What is it? You don’t want—“

“No,” you’re active to protest. “Wait not no as in— yes I do. I’ve wanted this. I want this. It’s just…well, I’ve never actually…”

His eyebrows raise, “you’ve never?”

Please don’t make me say it, you think. Please don’t make me say it. Can he see how his questions made the hairs on your arms prick up? Can he recognise that innocence shine in your pupils?

And by the way his eyes widen, he may of just got it.

“Like at all?”

Your eyes shut in embarrassment, cheeks hot and humid as your stand small and hopeless in front of him. You inch your skirt that was creased on your thighs lower, wishing your clothes would hide the inexperience and bashfulness. Javier, the man’s who’s known around the embassy as being a womaniser, who’s fucked more woman than he can count on both hands, is stood over you. A woman, who has no knowledge about intimacy.

What could be more embarrassing than that.

“Hey,” Javiers speaks. “Cariño, look at me.”

Your eyes flood when you stare back, his features covered in empathy and compassion. “You know that’s okay, don’t you,” he says truthfully. “No need to feel embarrassed by it. We all gotta start somewhere.”

“I know Javi, “you agree, “but I’m 25 and I should have—.”

“Shhh,” Javier interrupts, “none of that hermosa.”

His voice is calm, reassuring and earnest. Mind analysing your own words. “Do you want it to be me?” He interjects, “is that what you’re trying to say?”

You nod your head at him, yes. God yes.

Javier tucks a loose strand of hair over your ear, “we don’t have to do anything right now. Not if you don’t want to.”

You’re quick to assure him. “I-I do Javi. I really do. I want it to be you. It’s just, I’m not really…I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Visible to you, that sets a fire in Javier. He likes your purity, your innocence, and you can see by the way his pupils dilate to black, hiding that chocolatey brown that would usually flourish through them.

“So say it,” Javier directs, “what is it you want right now. You’re in charge cariño. We’ll go at your pace.”

And again, you don’t really know. “I want anything.”

Javiers grin is pure sin. “Anything?” He interrogates. “Well what would you say if I wanted to get down on my knees right now and eat that pretty pussy of yours. Would you like that hermosa?”

Holy. Shit.

Your back arches in anticipation, your cunt clenching from his filthy mouth and suggestion. “Fuck Javi. Yes please. Yes I want that.”

Javier kisses you again with fervor, trailing his marks down your covered body until his knees hit the carpet floor, shuffling your pencil skirt up so it rests comfortably on your hips, his face now level with your clothed core, shielded by your tights and panties.

“Mmm so pretty querida. Tell me, has anyone ever kissed you here?”

You lick you lips, hands resting on top his shoulders, whimpering out a simple no. No one’s ever touched me or kissed me there.

Javiers quick to soothe. “You just relax for me cariño. If anything I do doesn’t feel good or pleasant you let me know. This is for you, okay?”

You bow your head at him as he drags the last remains of material off, the fabric now pooling at your feet. This is the first time a man’s seen you so openly, and you can feel a tingle when the breeze hits your swollen clit. You know you’re already wet, very wet. Your neglected folds covered in your arousal and evident and right in front of him, glistening and eager, ready for whatever he wants to give you.

Javier can see how your panties are completely ruined, bringing them up to inspect before popping them in his back pocket. “This may be your first time doing this cariño. But fuck your pussy’s so ready for it. You’re so fucking wet for me.”

Javi brings his middle finger up to your wet folds and your knees instantly buckle underneath you, your hands reaching out to the shelves at the sides to keep you up.

“H-holy fuck. Javi—”

Javier hoists your one leg over his shoulder, hands gripping the flesh of your bare thigh to hold you steady.

He pulls on your hood, your clit pulsing and he pokes his tongue out, flicking the muscle on your needy bundle of nerves, giving you soft and delicate stokes as he gets you used to the new sensation.

“You still with me baby?” Javier checks in, “feeling alright?”

“Yes Javi just—please don’t stop. Fuck it feels so good.”

Javier contradicts, “I ain’t planning on stopping querida. Not until I feel this pussy come on my tongue.”

He gets back to it, moving his licks lower and lower into your folds, his nose catching your clit with each pull of his mouth, and the gesture has your fingers gripping into his hair and pulling at the base, causing Javier to hiss against your cunt.

It’s a sensation you’ve never felt before. You knew that it would feel good but this good? It’s feels fucking amazing. His tongues so warm, finding his way around your sensitivity, changing his motion when a certain spot has you whining out for him.

“Oh my god, Javi—,” you moan loudly.

“Shhh,” he mumbles, “gonna have to be quiet hermosa, don’t want anyone hearing or catching us do we?”

Through all the kissed and the touches and everything else, you had blatantly forgot that the door was open, and anyone could walk in. “Fuck Javier wait, someone could walk—“

“Already sorted that out doll,” he interrupts, “locked the door after I got in here.” This fucker.

You relax after his words, knowing nobody is going to walk in, to disrupt your inappropriate affair. But somehow you do like that excitement, that feeling of being caught, of being seen.

For someone’s who never done this before, the moment that ounce of pleasure flows through your body you do like to show it. The way you moan out for him, how you’re so confidently whimpering and pleading him.

Javier starts to get hungry with it, lapping at your folds and clit with eager flicks and sucks and kisses as he brings his index finger up and teases your entrance, before slowly easing it into you.

Your walls clench around his finger tightly. You weren’t new to masturbation and had used your own to get yourself off, but Javiers finger was already becoming a slight stretch compared to yours.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “Just breathe for me cariño. Need to open you up. Make sure you’re ready for when it’s time to take my cock.”

“Fuck o-okay. Just… go slow,” you whine, bringing your hand up to cover your open mouth with the back of your hand, muffling your vocal and desperate moans.

He slowly eases his finger in and out, just like you asked, and then switches to curving his digit in an upwards motion, hitting that spot inside that’s so euphoric and you whine into the air.

“You just can’t keep quiet can you.” And he fucking loves it. “Pussy feels too good you have to tell the whole office, don’t you hermosa.”

“I can’t—fuck I’m sorry Javi. It feels…god you feel amazing.”

At a slow pace he inserts another finger, his tongue mapping fixed circles on your bundle of nerves while he pushes in, the pleasure he’s giving you overcoming the stretch his fingers are pulling from you.

You look down at him. His hand squeezes the flesh of your thigh, his eyes fluttering closed and concentrated. You can feel his lips vibrate when he moans into your cunt, and it turns you on beyond belief that he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

You can feel it; your core starts to tingle, your lip quivers as Javiers name falls seamlessly from it, oh fuck Javi. yes Javi I’m so close. please don’t stop Javi. He pulls his mouth even closer to your cunt, swirling your hips to help hit your orgasm that’s threatening to spill over.

Javier barely removes his mouth from you, “that’s it querida. Tan buena chica. I can feel you’re close. Go on, let go for me.”

“Oh my god, Javi—”

His words tip you over the edge, your pussy let’s go and your orgasm ripples through you, your walls clenching down hard on his fingers as he continues his movements, your release dripping and drooling down his fingers and knuckles as he continues to play and flick your pulsating clit, making sure you experience every single part of it.

Once Javi knows that you’ve come down from your high, he removes his mouth and digits from your sensitive cunt, pulling himself up so he’s stood in front of you.

You look at him, his moustache and chin are covered in your orgasm as well as his fingers. He brings them up to his face and plops them into his mouth, keeping his eyes locked on yours as you watch him clean the remains of your taste off of them.

“You taste fucking sweet hermosa. If I knew this is what you were hiding from me, I would’ve done this a long time ago.”

Your mouth finds his lips again, and it shocks him. You can just taste yourself as you kiss your way into his mouth, and you can feel your pussy become needy again. Wanting his cock inside you.

With a shaky hand you cup his bulge, and fuck he’s so hard. He feels thick and his jeans become even tighter and restrained. You squeeze his length and he moans into your mouth.

Oh how the tables have turned.

You pull at his belt loops, fiddling with the buckle until Javier is quick to put a stop to your wondering hands.

You pout at him and he lets out a chuckle. “I ain’t gonna take your virginity in the filing room baby.”

No of course he isn’t. Even though you desperately want him to.

“When Javier? I don’t want to wait any longer.” You skin your fingertips over his crotch, “really really want you inside me.”

“Fuck querida,” Javier says, wrapping his hand around your wrist, “so needy now aren’t you. You want my cock inside you that bad? Want me to fill you up?”

“Mmm,” is all you can say, rubbing your bare pussy on his jeans.

“And I’ll give it to you baby,” he promises, “but not right now. Let me do this right, okay? Let me take my time with you.”

You smile at him. You’re not disappointed, because how could you be? Impatient? Definitely. Now you’ve become exposed to the newness of your shared sexual desires, you want it all. You want to learn everything. And you know it’ll come, but right now as he said, he wants to take his time with you.

And right now, you have all the time in the world.

Tysm for reading!🤍

🦋 Tan buena chica - such a good girl 🦋

#pedro pascal smut #javier peña smut #narcos smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña narcos #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfiction

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romanhughesy · 3 days ago

Text

GRAVITY - andrei svechnikov x fem!reader

summary: you meet in spring. andrei is confident, easy-going. deeply casual. summer’s long, but you’re around again when andrei comes back in the fall and ‘casual’ shifts into something fonder, something taking shape around the edges. a mid-season injury brings things to a breaking point, but the longest night only comes once a year.

wc: 3k

warnings: suggestive (like pg13), angsty?, emotionally unavailable!reader<3

a/n: im so sorry it’s late, but this is my fic for @wyattjohnston’s winter fic exchange, written for @sydnikov !! i LOVE your writing and was so inspired by your preferred tropes/figure skating background, so i hope you love it!! ive never wrote anything quite like this before, so feedback is 10000% encouraged bc this is also my first fic in awhile :’) title is from ‘gravity’ by my queen tinashe, that song and her other song ‘cross that line’ PERFECTLY describe the relationship i was trying to capture here.

somewhere along the way– far too late– it becomes apparent you and andrei misunderstood each other. maybe even from the very first moment.

on an unseasonably humid early spring night, in a dark gritty bar with shitty lighting and shittier beer, a spark ignited between the both of you. he approached you, half-drunk and put up to it by the rowdy teammates commandeering a booth with a great view of the bar. of you and your friends. he offered to buy a round of shots for everyone– if your friends would take them back to the booth and leave the two of you at the bar. your girls, who absolutely did not need anymore shots, practically ran across the bar with the tray; not before elbowing you and patting your shoulder, of course. maybe one hockey player could fly under the radar, but certainly not this one, and the table full that were now hosting your friends were the talk of the little bar. even some of the other girls nearby looked at you enviously; like you’d been chosen, or won some sort of prize. it was an unpleasant kind of feeling that you tried to shove aside in favor of easy, tipsy conversation. after talking around the elephant in the room for a minute, the liquid courage helped you decide to name it. you praised his performance in their game earlier that evening. months later, you can still remember how his smile took over his face, wide and prideful.

“thank you, pretty,” he slurred, shuffling a bit closer, “i can teach you how to skate good like me.”

you also remember your own prideful scoff, rolling your eyes on pure instinct. that unpleasant feeling sharpened. “i could carve you up, svech.”

his jaw dropped, the disbelief seeming more honest than his boastful smile, somehow. “you play? you are… small.”

“i’m a figure skater. i coach, too. maybe i should teach you to skate better.”

andrei’s wolfish smile came back in full force then, large hand draping over yours on the sticky bar. “perfect figure skater– pretty and small. i’m sure you skate well, but not like me.”

he raised his drink to signal the bartender, but you slid your hand from underneath the bar to rest on top of his and tapped the back of his palm lightly, stealing his attention with a head tilt.

“should we go and check out each other’s skills?”

one night set the stage for a loose kind of routine, spring nights slipping away in the back of seedy bars, in andrei’s bland luxury apartment; bodies coming to an understanding on rumpled grey sheets in his california king bed. your friends wouldn’t shut up about him, but you insisted there was nothing to tell. and there wasn’t. neither of your lives had room for anything more than what you already had. when he was gone, or just not around, your life passed by more or less the same as when he was there. you weren’t going through the motions to pretend there was anyone else, to him or to your friends, but you knew where you stood. and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. what you and andrei had was good, easy. you didn’t want a boyfriend anyway, so why would you complain about a steady hookup who wasn’t getting attached?

as the days got warmer, the nights got shorter, and andrei’s games became more meaningful. he slipped away— as much as you can really slip away when you aren’t being held at all. he more or less disappeared from your life once their second playoff series went south, and you refused to give chase.

summer was a blur. long days full of early morning practice, the smell of the ice invigorating your senses and bringing relief from the oppressive heat. it was a year too hot to be outdoors much, so you holed up, binging reality tv and redecorating your bedroom. your friends brought you out of your shell every now and then with a couple of weekend beach trips and many more coerced nights out. they’d switched from seedy sports bars to cocktail lounges, or dance clubs, and were good enough to not mention why, at least to your face. things felt simpler this way, dancing into the night with a rotating cast of strangers and cutting out early with the excuse of your sunrise rink time. you started landing a new trick, and even the heat couldn’t dull your mood about that.

seemingly in the blink of an eye, the dog days of summer had passed, and banners started cropping up around downtown boasting the shiny newcomers and fan favorites returning to town for training camp. you saw andrei’s face on the house-sized poster hanging on the outside of the arena and pretended to yourself that you’d never met him, because, really, what else were you supposed to do? go back to that same bar, with your same friends, and pretend you knew him at all?

well, you did do that– not of your own volition, to be sure– and he was there, because of course he was. you saw him the second you walked in, tall, broad and smiling, just like you remembered. you pointedly looked away, sharp eyes almost daring your friends to say something, but they didn’t have to.

you were fumbling through your purse to pay for your drink when he approached from behind, resting his hand on the bar. your bodies weren’t quite touching, but you were enveloped by his stature.

“you can put all of their drinks on my tab,” you could almost feel the vibrations of his deep voice through your chest. your friends raised their eyebrows, but said nothing, taking their drinks and deserting the bar. that deja vu, memory-on-the-tip-of-your-tongue feeling washed over you, heightened by his next words.

“how was your summer, pretty girl? mine was long, without seeing you.”

you sidestepped his hold to be able to look up at him, to take his features in for the first time in awhile. in person, that is. there was a boyishness, an almost clumsiness, about him like this that never came across in his media. you tried not to let it persuade you.

“i landed my axel for the first time.” you answered, not bothering to address his flattery.

“triple?” andrei asked, eyebrows raised.

you rolled your eyes. “i’m an amateur, andrei. not all professionals can land a triple.”

his eyes flashed, that challenging look that always dragged you in, “i’m a professional. i bet i could. i do lots of hard things.”

“i doubt you could even stand on figure skates, much less jump.”

he tilted his head, and you felt pulled back in time, “can i show you my skill?”

“andrei…” you tried to pull your gaze away from him, but he grabbed your hand, gentle as can be, and you locked eyes with him again.

“please, pretty girl. i missed you.”

looking back, you still aren’t sure what you thought he’d say, but it wasn’t that. the shock stirred up some of the unpleasant feelings of the past few months, the severed connection that was barely tangible to begin with. you lightly scoffed, “yeah, right.”

“i did. i’m glad to be back, to see you tonight. let me show you.”

what else could you say to that?

so you let andrei take you home, and tried to tell yourself you were just imagining the difference in his behavior, projecting softness, maybe even fondness, where there was only lust. tried to explain away his gentle hands on your cheeks, your hips, his quiet praise and adoration. you slept over, that night, and tried to turn a blind eye again in the morning. and again a few days later.

as fall crept in, the two of you start texting more often, meaningless chatter and jokes, and began foregoing the pretense of having to go out to the bars to “coincidentally” meet up. he’d ask to pick you up after leaving the stadium most nights he was in town, and more often than not you’d stay over. andrei didn’t seem to mind that you were often gone before he woke up; flying across the ice to try and leave your emotions behind, heart crawling a little further up into your throat every day. you knew it was unnatural, yet you couldn’t help but try to build your walls a little higher with every step you took forward towards something different with andrei. you just couldn’t help but feel like letting your guard down would be a fatal mistake.

his time on the road helped, in a lot of ways. it gave you a sense of normalcy, you went out with your friends and didn’t look over your shoulder. you could give andrei a bit of a cold shoulder over text and pretend he was the busy one, the one not responding. until he came back to town and kissed you breathless in his sports car, taking off your jacket with his big but deft hands and mumbling into your neck about missing you while he was gone.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like him— certainly not that— but it was hard to feel like you stood on solid ground when his life moved at such a fast pace. he never intentionally made you feel small, but his world, spanning millions of miles and millions more dollars, was dizzying, and so entirely divorced from whatever you two had that you still felt as though you didn’t know him, really, even though you held all of these small pieces of him close to your heart. you felt constantly at a loss, not sure how to best express yourself in any given moment, caught between honesty and protecting your feelings, unsure how to do both at once. the leaves turned, then fell, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were also waiting for the other shoe to drop.

andrei, apparently, had none of the same hangups. he was simple, straightforward and never shy to go after what he wanted. his interest was more than clear, but you could never bring yourself to ask just how far it went. he never asked you to go to dinner, or one of his games, and even though you guys weren’t just hooking up, in fact there were a couple of hangouts late fall without having sex at all, you couldn’t find any other name to call whatever you two were doing. so you stopped trying.

somewhere around the first frost, things changed. andrei had his first injury of the season, having to sit out a short road trip, and you found yourself out of your depth with the version of andrei that reminded you of unpleasant early-summer heat. you didn’t know how to comfort him, scared to cling or insert yourself unnecessarily into his personal life, so you thought you should just mirror his attitude. maybe that’s what brought things down.

one late november night, you started shrugging back on your clothes after leaving the bathroom until andrei’s voice, thick with sleep, gave you a momentary pause.

“where are you going?”

you looked up at him, and immediately regretted it. his high, strong cheekbones were softened in the dim light, eyes dark and confused, but you refused to believe the furrow of his brow held any traces of disappointment

“home. i have an extra-early skate tomorrow.”

“you know you can stay here,” andrei assured in a low voice, but you just shook your head and sat at the edge of the bed to put your socks back on.

“it’s fine, andrei. it’s not that late.”

he sat up fully, then, long arm reaching across the bed to try and touch you, but you were too far away.

“what’s going on?” andrei asked, not letting you answer before another question sprung from his lips. “why are you not comfortable with me?”

you froze, looking up slowly but deliberately avoiding his eyes.

“it’s nothing. i’d just rather be at my place tonight.”

“it is something,” he insisted, voice still quiet, but more firm than you’d ever heard him speak to you. “you don’t want to be honest with me. why?”

“i’m being honest with you,” you argued, even though you knew it wasn’t true. “why are you upset? it doesn’t matter.”

“i like spending time with you. i’m alone, i’m hurt, and you make things better.”

it somehow stung, the sweet words only serving to remind you what he could say instead, what you wished he’d say.

“we spend plenty of time together, svech. i can’t put my plans aside for you just because you couldn’t travel with the team.”

you didn’t have to read a different emotion into his furrowed brow any longer, it was set in a very clear frustration, now.

“don’t say that, don’t call me that,” he insisted, “what did i do? why are you angry?”

you stood, at that, pulling your sweater over your head hastily. “i’m not angry. you’re the one making this a big deal.”

“you are leaving and trying to hurt my feelings. i am just trying to figure out why.” he rose from the bed, trying to catch your wrist as you went to button your jeans, but you took a step back.

“we already fucked, andrei. you had plenty of my ‘quality time’ for tonight. i’m leaving, now.”

he stepped into your space, shaking his head and grabbing both of your wrists, not forceful, but firm.

“this is not about sex, pretty. you know it’s not. why are you saying this?”

“well, that’s all we have. we’re not dating, i’m not your girlfriend, so you should call someone else if you need comfort.”

it was his turn to take a step back, then. dropping your wrists, hurt clear as day across his face.

“that is not true. we cook together, work out together, watch movies together, talk on the phone while i am gone. is it all just about sex, to you?”

your insides twisted, hurt and anger shifting into a kind of guilt, a panic. you’d been so painstakingly, yet fruitlessly, trying to protect your own heart, trying to push yourself away. blind to the fact that the whole time, he was reaching out to you.

“i… didn’t want to ask for something you couldn’t give,” you hedged, eyes down and picking at your nail beds.

andrei shook his head again, but his expression softened, closing the gap between you.

“i have been trying to date you since i came back, beautiful. but you have been hiding from me, even when you’re this close. i’ve been waiting on you.”

you stared up at him, eyes wide, hands dwarfed in his grasp. you couldn’t even begin to find the right words to say.

“let me show you, gorgeous,” he continued, one hand coming up to rest on your cheek. “let me cherish you how you deserve.”

“andrei…” you breathe. he bends down, captures your lips in a kiss so tender it makes tears well up in your eyes.

“it’s okay, pretty. we’re okay.” he kept mumbling assurances to you in between soft kisses all over your face, across your jaw and down your neck. you couldn’t contain your sigh as his faint stubble brushed against your neck, hands finding a gentle perch on his broad back. andrei pulled back the slightest bit, soft smile and mischievous eyes making your heart flutter.

“can i show you, my darling? or do you need to go home?” he teased, hands absentmindedly trailing up and down your sides.

“please, drei,” you plead, hand stretching up to the back of his neck to pull him back down to you. andrei doesn’t move a muscle, his own strength so much greater than yours, but you couldn’t complain because you got to watch his soft smile grow, eyes alight like he just scored the greatest goal of his career. he lifted you with seemingly no effort at all, laying you back down on his grey sheets, hovering above you, bicep bulging next to your head. it was distracting, but you couldn’t look away from those gorgeous eyes, locked on yours.

“can i come to the rink with you in the morning? want to finally see how my pretty girl skates. probably puts me to shame.”

you were pulled from your daze at that, searching his face and finding nothing but openness, happiness, satisfaction. but you still can’t help but ask, “are you sure? it’s an open skate. people will see.”

“see you ‘carve me up’?” andrei joked, caressing your face. that spring night felt so far away, a version of you that could never conceive of where you would end up. “i don’t care. just want to see you.”

you couldn’t hide the shock on your face. the pit in your stomach hadn’t exactly subsided, the heaviness of wasted time and self-admonishment lingering, but you tried to push it aside, letting yourself reveal a gap in the armor you’d woven so tightly around your heart. you wouldn’t be able to just let yourself fall overnight, but you could do this. you could give him an opening, a glimmer of warm sunshine on a cold winter’s night.

“sure, but we’ll need to go to bed soon. it really is extra early,” you conceded, hand raising to brush some of his hair back from his forehead.

his sweet smile turned that wolfish, boastful grin you knew too well, leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

“soon? maybe not, pretty girl. i have been waiting for this. might take awhile. but don’t worry, i know great stretches for sore muscles we can try in the morning, too.”

and, well, what else could you say to that?

———

#the winter fic exchange 2k25 #andrei svechnikov x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fic #as37 #andrei svechnikov fic #carolina hurricanes fic #nhl player x reader

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maddyjones2 · 30 days ago

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Unfinished fics recs

People (or maybe it's me) tend to avoid unfinished fics. Sometimes that's a shame because they are fun and readers are missing out. Anyway, here are three suggestions for stores that people shouldn't blip over: 1. @charlottemadison42 wrote shot gun wedding which is one of my all time favs for comfort reread. Eden burning is a 2/3 complete romance. Both of them need changes in their lives, that part of things is incomplete but it's clear that our protagonists get together. I choose to assume they make those changes :-) It's short, romantic fun. 2. @thewolveswolf wrote London, Libraries & Love. It's clear that they felt a lot of pressure over finishing it and I inadvertently contributed to this. Still guilty. Moving on ... It's a slow burn, lots of fun, romance that ends with the immortal words "fucking finally!". Obviously there are arcs that are not completed but it remains a wholly satisfying read. We've lost this author to fandom however I hope they are living a happy life. 3. Nekken has died so this fic will never been finished. The Art of Letting Go is set in a universe where people are born dominants or submissives or neither (similar to omegaverse). "

"In a world where Dominants and Submissives are identified at birth and paired off by an all-powerful Council, Dominant Aziraphale strives to keep out of the entire mess and live his simple, easy life to the best of his abilities. He has a nice household, an interesting job, and all the books he could possibly need. Everything is blissfully, boringly perfect.

The very last thing he expects is to come home one day to a red-haired man chained to the floor of his drawing room."

This set up for two major arcs: the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley and Aziraphale's long term concern about the Dominant Council and the treatment of submissives. The first arc, the relationship, gets to a point where it appears to be resolved (though obviously there is more one might want to know). The second arc, related to social change, is hinted at so that one can imagine how it might go, but sadly there is nothing more.

Nekken's more well known (and complete) story, Rough enough for love. REFL is a modern equivalent of the similar dom/sub story, without the social justice (dominant's council) element but with a family of origin abuse story. It appears to me that it's very likely that the relationship in letting go would have progressed as it did in rough enough.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #unfinished fan fiction recs #good omens fanfiction rec

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tastybluesprite · 2 months ago

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Sparring

I really liked this idea but idk if someone did it already. If that’s the case it was totally on accident. Anyway that’s all I don’t believe I wrote for them yet sooo… here we are! Enjoy❤️

Warnings: None really except a ton of fluff, also that this is a tickle fic so if that’s not your thing feel free to keep scrolling

Summery: Tony spars with Peter, until he pulls a certain trick that leaves Peter rather helpless…

It was one of those days when Tony had set time aside for Peter to work on his hand to hand combat skills. Sure, the kid had super strength and agility, but Tony was adamant that being Spider Man wasn't just about relying on webs and sarcasm. So here they were, in the middle of a makeshift training area in the Stark Tower gym, dressed in casual workout clothes, ready for a sparring session.

“You know, Mr. Stark, we could’ve done this with, like, the suits on. That would’ve made it more authentic.”

Tony smirked, stretching his arms above his head. “Kid, if you can’t handle me without the suit, what makes you think you’d stand a chance against any big bad villain? No more stalling. Let’s go.”

Peter rolled his eyes but took a fighting stance. “Alright… but don’t get offended if I go easy on you…”

Tony snorted with a raised eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And whats that supposed to mean? Think I’m too old to keep up with a quirt like you?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “N-no… I.. just… meant.. um…”

Tony laughed. “Relax kid, I’m messing with you. Don’t underestimate me because you have superpowers and I’m just a simple man… who happens to be a genius… now come on let’s go…”

The sparring then began. Peter kept darting in and out of Tony’s reach, his spider sense giving him an advantage. Tony, though not enhanced, had many years of experience, as well as sharp reflexes. His movements were precise, calculated for an adult man.

They danced around the mat, Peter occasionally landing hits, while Tony worked on wearing him down.

Suddenly, Tony feigned a misstep, stumbling just enough to bait Peter in. The teenager lunged forward, and Tony took advantage of the moment, twisting around and pressing a specific spot on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter gasped, and his legs giving out beneath him as he crumpled to the floor, leaving him completely immobilized.

“What the—?!” Peter exclaimed, his eyes widening.

Tony crouched down next to him, looking amused. “Pressure point. An old trick. You’ll thank me when I teach it to you. For now, though…” He poked Peter’s arm, which remained limp and unresponsive. “You’re not going anywhere for a bit...”

Peter’s cheeks flushed. It couldn’t possibly get more humiliating than this… being immobile and helpless in front of his literal idol of all people!

“Mister Stark this is so unfair! I can’t move!”

“Exactly why it’s effective. Now, let’s see…” Tony tapped his chin thoughtfully, his gaze scanning Peter’s prone form. “What can I do with a completely helpless Spider-Kid?”

Peter’s eyes widened a bit. “Wh… what?.”

“Oh, Dont worry…” Tony assured him with a small grin. “You know I’d never seriously hurt you… but.. ” A mischievous grin spread across the billionaires face. He leaned down, and gently wiggled his fingers menacingly over Peter’s torso. “I enjoy messing with you…”

“No, no, no, no!” Peter protested, his voice rising in panic. He instinctively tried to squirm away, but he was completely immobile.

Tony’s fingers descended towards his sweater, dancing lightly over Peter’s ribs. The reaction was immediate. Peter let out a squeaky laugh, his Spidey sense going into overdrive despite the paralysis.

“Mihihister Stahahark! Nohohoho!” Peter burst out, his laughter high-pitched and uncontrollable.

Tony chuckled. “Oh, this is just gold. I didn’t realize you were this ticklish, kid. And here I thought spiders were supposed to be tough.”

Peters head shook a bit, with his neck being the only muscles on his body not paralyzed, his face turning a bit red. Tony’s fingers found a rhythm, alternating between light scribbles and firmer prods along Peter’s sides and ribs.

“Th-THIhIhIhIS IhiHiHiHiS SOHohOhoHo EHeHeeHeHEVIhIHihIL!!!” Peter managed out hysterically through uncontrollable laughter.

“You’re just the cutest giggly mess, aren’t you…” Tony teased, grinning. He was clearly enjoying himself. “Let’s see…” He shifted his attention to Peter’s stomach, his fingers spidering over the surface of his hoodie.

Peter’s laughter grew more frantic. “No! NooHoOHOhOHO!!! NOHoHoHoT THEhEHEREHeHE! PleHEheHAhAhase!” Peter squealed out in panic.

“Oh? Bad spot?” Tony teased. He pulled up Peter’s sweater slightly, exposing his belly.

“N-no! Wahahait! Dohohohont—” Peter

But it was too late. Tony’s fingers lightly scratched at Peter’s belly, and the reaction was immediate.

Peter squealed more and laughed hysterically. His head shaking. “MIHIhiHiSTEHeHer STAHaHaHaHRK!!! PLeHEHEHEHASe…”

Tony chuckled, gently scribbled all over his belly. Peter squealed and laughed, his head shaking more as it was the only thing he could move.

Tony then accidentally brushed over his belly button, making Peter shriek and laugh hysterically.

Peter’s laughter went silent for a moment before he let out a loud squeal. “STOP! STA-HAHAHARK!”

“Belly button, huh?” Tony said, grinning like Christmas had come early. “Quite the sensitive nerves here for such a small spot…” He dug his fingers in gently, circling the sensitive area and poking in directly at the center, gently wiggling his finger in.

Peter was utterly helpless, tears developing by his eyes as he laughed uncontrollably. “I CA-HAHAHANT TAKE IT!”

Tony finally took pity on him, pulling back and letting Peter catch his breath.

As the effects of the pressure point wore off, Peter sat up, glaring at Tony. “You… are… t-the wohohorst,” he panted, his hair disheveled and his face flushed.

Tony shrugged, completely unapologetic. “Maybe be a bit more aware I’m battle so this doesn’t happen, yeah?” He playfully poked Peters side, making him squeak.

“I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not a chance, kid,” Tony said, patting him on the shoulder. “I think we can call this one another win for me. We can rematch again some other time.” He said, turning to leave the room.

Peter’s eyes widened “H-Hey! Dont just leave me like this!”

Tony chuckled as he walked away. “Don’t worry… it should ware off in a bit… although… maybe I should alert the others of your position…”

“N-no! Mister Stark don’t!” Peter panicked.

Tony just chuckled as he disappeared.

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gouraminnow · 2 months ago

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Hii, if you still write, could you do a continuation for the yandere shanks headcanons please?

I haven't done hcs for him before? I can do em now tho :) This is mostly the background idea I was working off of for my drabble but it's not super concrete

The guy is notoriously flaky. Honestly I feel like a lot of OP men are. So if you manage to catch his eye in a way that gets him to fixate on you, well... good luck lol

The idea I had for the mini fic I wrote was a civilian Mc who had managed to bargain for a ride to another island, for whatever reason. Nowhere specific, just anywhere but where you are now, and he obliges. The obsession isn't immediate, but he decides there's something about you he likes, whether your funny, charming etc. And since you aren't picky about where he drops you off, you don't question it when he doesn't let you off the next time the Red Force docks somewhere. You believe him when he cites a lack of safety, whether it's corrupt Marine presence, other pirate crews, etc.

And it's fun, anyway. Whatever reservations you had about running off with a notorious band of pirates are easily quelled. Shanks himself is so easy-going and carefree, you open up without realizing or really thinking about it. They're friendly, they invite you to join the party, and they're more than willing to show off for someone so easily impressed. Towards the end of the night, you're throwing bottles into the air, laughing as Yassop easily snipes each and every one out of the air despite everyone being drunk off their asses.

The parties are fun, the food is good, everyone is friendly and you don't think much of the casual affection given by Shanks. Arm around shoulders if he isn't using it to drink, being pulled into his side... what you do think is weird is when you come down with some sort of minor illness, and he insists you stay in his bed rather than the room they set up a cot in. Isn't there an infirmary? He tells you he just feels personally responsible. Wants you somewhere he can keep an eye on you himself. This... doesn't make much sense to you, but you relent. You are his guest after all, you don't want to be rude... Things start adding up. He's the only one who touches you so much. You start noticing the looks the others give the two of you, the way they seem to be herding you towards him... the safety excuse worked the first couple times they wouldn't let you disembark, but the 4th? 5th? 6th? Eventually you learn to stop asking, and opt to try and sneak off while they're on land- and that's when the Marine incident happens, and you learn you have a bounty.

You don't understand how. You stay below deck any time there's any sort of skirmish- and the Red Haired pirates end any conflict awfully quickly. Even if you had been spotted, loitering on deck before being ushered to safety- you doubt anyone survived long enough to speak of you, let alone get a photo. And it's not one you recognize, either. Did someone back on your island report you to the marines, when you decided to run off with a band of pirates? Did Shanks do it? That wouldn't make sense, so you think it was probably delivered by someone scornful back home...

You wake up in bed with Shanks, resting against his chest. You blink, trying to pull away, and for the first time since you've known him his stern expression is directed at you. You'd seen it when pirates or marines were spotted on the horizon, but never because of you, never at you. He finally confirms that you won't be leaving. That he doesn't intend to let you go. And you have a bounty now, anyway, for associating with him, so even if he wanted to part ways it would only endanger you. And that's when it really hits that you had gotten far too comfortable with a group of men who's jobs include the bonus of might making right, of taking whatever they want. But then again, if Shanks still decided he wanted you, having discretion wouldn't have saved you from a man like him.

Now that you know, he doesn't need to hold back anymore. Gone is the cot and room to yourself, you sleep with him. He smothers you- a hand on your hip, thumb gently rubbing. Always looming if you're on deck with him. Pulling you onto his lap to start a makeout session in full view of the others, much to your horror. He's aggravatingly casual about the whole thing, too. Seems to think the best solution to your tears is to hold you close- in reality he does know better, of course he knows it's because of him. He just doesn't care.

#asks #yandere shanks #one piece x reader #... idk if I like these a ton but I hope someone does. I think they're a little bit... idk bland sorry

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spicyspiders · 11 months ago

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heey! so what about a fic where m!reader and leon are known each other (thanks to their jobs), but never really interacted but they always felt really attracted about each other. and one day they randomly meet again because they had the same mission, and they just finally do the deed?🤔 (and just a some extra lol -big age gap between them- and i hope ada is jealous haha) i hope i explained well, english is not my first language😭😭

I changed some stuff about your request as I wrote it, I hope you don’t mind. There isn’t really an age gap in this fic as I didn’t specify the reader’s age, but I was thinking of Leon from the fourth game as I wrote this, and he’s 27. Warning for smut of course, as well as a light description of an injury the reader gets.

“Leon?”

In your doorway, Leon turns around to face you, a grocery bag in one hand. Out of uniform, he doesn’t look all that different in his dark shirt and pants. It’s topped off with an expensive-looking leather jacket on his broad shoulders.

“Brought you something,” he says, holding up the bag with a smile. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” you respond quickly before you ask him a dumb question, like how he’s able to afford that jacket on the salary you both make. You step to the side and press your back to the wall to make sure he can fit through the doorway, “come in.”

You end up asking one anyway once he’s through the door and you’ve shut it, “can I take your jacket?”

Leon laughs softly as he places the bag on your couch, “I’ve got it. You should be resting anyway,” he responds as he pulls his coat off. You watch with careful eyes as his skin becomes more exposed. His arm brushes yours when he steps past you to place it on your coat rack. It was one of your first big-boy purchases with your new paycheck, so you were happy to see it be put to use.

“Someone had to answer the door,” you say, trying to cross your arms to look cool and sexy for your cool and sexy guest, but you flinch when the action pulls at your bruised side.

“I would’ve gotten in eventually,” he says with a smirk.

“Yes because you just had to bring me,” you try glancing down into the bag, seeing something cylindrical, “soup?”

One of the first things you learned about Leon was how quick he was on his feet, so when you try to open the bag to see what else is in it, he quickly snatches it away. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?” You ask, your heartbeat quickening in your chest.

“Let me check your injuries,” Leon responds, pulling out a roll of bandages and a container of ointment. His face leaves no room for protest, especially when he puts on the stern face he makes all the time at work.

You roll your eyes, but slowly begin pulling your shirt off. On the day you came home with your injuries, you were nearly sweating by the time you got out of your uniform from the pain of being thrown to the concrete while chasing down a criminal, and a day later, taking off and putting on your clothes was now a strenuous activity.

“Easy,” Leon says softly, “let me help you.” One of his hands goes up the back of your shirt, while the other meets the bunched-up fabric at the back of your neck after he pushes it up.

“Thanks,” you whisper when your shirt is over your head and down your arms. Your fingers brush his when you take the shirt and toss it over onto your loveseat.

“Sit,” Leon pats down to the spot beside him after he sits down.

You sit down slowly, but not close enough for Leon’s liking, which he fixes with a warm hand on your uninjured left side. “Come here,” he says softly into your ear before he pulls you closer until your thigh is nearly touching his.

“You didn’t have to come to check on me,” you say as Leon gets to work.

“You’re our rookie, of course I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

You turn your head so Leon can’t see how hard you roll your eyes, “I don’t need a reminder,” you say bitterly.

“We were all like you once,” Leon says as he grabs the ointment and takes the cap off, “have you washed this?”

“Three times now: once when I got back to the station, once at home last night, and once this morning.”

“Good boy,” Leon responds, the words filling your stomach with warmth, “it’ll heal nicely if you keep it clean.” You gasp when the cold gel touches your side, and when you look back over, you can only see the top of Leon’s head, but are easily able to hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks, “cold?”

“A little,” you respond through gritted teeth when your side starts to sting.

“I know, baby,” Leon murmurs as his other hand goes to your cheek to wipe away the tear you hadn't realized fell, “I’m almost done.”

The pet name has your cock chubbing up in your pants. You bring your legs tight together to hide, but the friction only makes it worse.

“Shh,” Leon mistakenly coos, thinking the noise you make at the feeling is one of pain and not of pleasure. His fingers move from your side to start getting the bandage on your side. By the time he’s done, your side feels wet and warm. It’s nearly uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable when you feel a glob of precum leak from the head of your cock. Of course it’s on one of the days you decide to go commando.

“You must be tired, let’s lay down,” Leon says, already grabbing one of the pillows beside him to get you comfortable. You hear the crinkle of the bag too, but you assume it’s from him putting the ointment and bandages away. Really, you’re just too worried about lying down while not letting Leon see the bulge in your pants.

He knows though. Of course, he fucking knows. He knows everything, it feels like. Leon settles tightly behind your body once you’ve laid down. The space is tight, leaving no room between your bodies, letting you feel exactly just how hard he is in his pants.

You aren’t sure if you should grind your ass back into Leon’s cock or reach between your legs for your own. Leon makes the decision for you, or rather he pleads for you to let him, “let me take care of you,” he says into the back of your neck.

It takes a few moments to get your pants down and Leon’s open enough to get your cocks free. Leon’s cock is much more wet than you expect when he pushes it in between your thighs, and his fingers are just as wet when they wrap around your cock.

“Is that something else you bought?”

Leon chuckles, his lips brushing the skin of your neck, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you, wanted this,” he says as he strokes your cock just as he also thrusts his cock between your legs.

You had an idea of how much he did. You didn’t know how long it was for Leon, but for you, it wasn’t long after you joined Racoon City’s police department that you started wanting him. At first, it had started with lustful looks that became full of longing. It wasn't like you could see your face, but from how Ada and Claire would try to hide their laughter, you guessed it was pretty intense to cause such a reaction.

Leon caught you a few times, but you would always look away quickly before you could embarrass yourself even further. It was only a few weeks ago that when you mustered up the courage to look back at Leon, he would still be looking at you.

“That was such a good morning meeting, wasn’t it, Ada?” Claire asked when you all were in the breakroom.

”It was!” She answered before turning her sights to Leon who stood near the microwave, “what was your favorite part, Leon?” She asked.

Chris answered for Leon instead, “I think his favorite part was who was in the meeting, not what was said.

The three erupt into a fit of laughter as you glare at them from where they sit at the table. It was then that you decided going out for lunch would be a better idea than to eat what you packed the night before. You almost wanted to ask Leon that day if he wanted to join you, but didn’t want to give the others the satisfaction of knowing that they’re right.

“I’ve wanted you,” your voice breaks off into a moan, “practically since I started.” You try to move in Leon’s grip to get more of the pleasure he’s giving you, but Leon throws an arm around you to stop the movements you make.

“I’ve got you,” Leon says, “let me take care of you,” he says once more.

“I can,” your voice falls to a groan, “take care of myself,” you say after trying again, but Leon is just too strong. Him and his stupidly muscular body. You could admit that you were still learning when it came to your job, but you didn’t want Leon to use that against you in the bedroom too.

“I know you can,” Leon says before he maneuvers you onto your back while he holds himself above you on his forearms. “Can you blame me for wanting to?” He asks before swooping down to press his lips to yours, any thought that you have of responding leaves your brain when Leon’s tongue enters your mouth.

“It drives me crazy. I can’t even watch you do your job without wanting to kill anyone who tries to hurt you,” Leon says after pulling away, “please just let me-”

Not that you didn’t want to hear Leon beg, you decide to take mercy on him by pulling him into another kiss with a hand at the back of his neck.

“Please,” you whisper against his mouth when the kiss ends. You bring your hips up to press your hard cock to his, the both of you moaning at the feel.

Leon nods before he brings on his hands between your bodies to wrap his fingers around your cocks. They’re wet and warm around your cock, and you can already tell that it won’t take you long to cum, that and also the sight and sound of Leon above you.

Though you spent much more time than you wanted to admit imagining the sounds Leon would make, hearing them in person just didn’t compare to your imagination. “Such a good boy,” Leon moans, a sound that goes straight to your cock, “letting me take care of you,” he says as the pace of his strokes speeds up.

“Thank you,” you moan, “it feels so good,” you say as your head falls to the pillow beneath it and you feel your orgasm build.

“Are you close?” He asks.

You’re almost too distracted as your eyes track a bead of sweat that runs down the side of Leon’s forehead, but when you open your mouth to respond, your orgasm takes you by surprise. The feeling of it runs through your veins as hot ropes of cum shoot from your cock onto your stomach, you just hoped it didn’t land on your bandages.

Above you, Leon groans as he goes even faster. Just moments after yours, Leon joins you in orgasmic bliss. The sight and sound of Leon’s orgasm only lasts a few minutes, but you can tell it’s something you won’t forget for a long time.

“Does that answer your question?” You ask as Leon lays himself down onto your chest, careful to not try and jostle your injury.

“Hm?” Leon rumbles, too out of it to answer the question, “did you ask if you wanted to go lay in your bed for the rest of the day together?”

It takes a few days for you to feel well enough to go back to work, and on your drive to the station, you can’t help but wonder if it would have taken even longer if Leon hadn’t come to see you.

Still too early to be fully competent, Ada greets you as you’re placing your lunch in the fridge. You had to quickly wipe the smile from your face as you remembered the night before in your kitchen with Leon packing your lunch while stealing kisses from each other as you went along. Before he left your place, you practically had to push him out the door for him to leave, while you had to keep yourself locked in place to keep from following.

“I am a little jealous, you know,” she says, leaning against the counter next to you.

“Jealous?” You ask, unsure if you heard her correctly from being too tired.

“You’re way too cute for old man Leon.”

Your brows furrow as you close the door to the fridge, “aren’t you older than Leon?”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x male reader #leon kennedy x male reader smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut

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youcouldmakealife · 5 months ago

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Fic snippet, Fiona&Holden(/James); from the series that never was

So one of my favourite things is when characters twist out of my grasp and announce themselves to be something different than I initially thought they were. I absolutely love it. The moments I'm aware that I am not in control of the story are some of the very best ones as a writer, because I don't know what's coming, and that's exciting.

But it's also annoying as hell. Because everything I've written that comes next? Yeah, it's not canon anymore. Of all my series, Cards on the Table had the most material already written before I started to post the series, some of it occurring significantly later in the narrative, because Holden came easy, but James was proving recalcitrant, so I wrote a lot of scenes, mostly dialogue (dialogue almost always comes first for me), trying to get my finger on his pulse.

And not a bit of it is canon anymore, even though it's still the same Holden, and mostly the same James (I think the biggest pivot point was when I realized that at his core, James isn't driven by anger, as I originally thought. It looks like that on the surface, especially at the beginning of the series, but it's not anger, it's irritability from being constantly fucking overstimulated and exhausted. He's Fed Up. And okay, yes, angry, but that is a Holden Chase specific trigger he's responding to, not his general state of being.)

ANYWAY.

This scene was jossed a long time ago, but I held onto it, because some scenes you're just fond of. And I'm sharing it for the same reason.

I meant to post this after the 'Fiona knows' reveal but it completely slipped my brain until now.

This is completely AU, thanks to James pulling a Bryce on me, but in another universe, just slightly different, Fiona still makes sure her knowing is a mic drop moment.

(Context for the scene, he has told her he's been fucking a teammate, because he's the same as he was from the start, and so is his brain-to-mouth filter, but he hasn't identified who)

(Forgive me, this preamble is longer than the fic snippet)

“How long did we go out, exactly?” Holden asks.

Fiona’s quiet. “Uh,” she says. “Let me see, it was right before prom—“

Holden winces. She forgives, but she does not forget.

“Six months?” Fiona says. “Give or take?”

“Okay,” Holden says. Still his longest relationship, then. He’s got time.

“Share with the class?” Fiona says.

“Can’t,” Holden says.

“Oh, it’s mystery man,” Fiona says flatly.

“Sorry,” Holden says. He really would tell her if he could.

“Minnesotan Mystery Man,” Fiona says.

“Yeah, I—“ Holden says. “Wait, what?”

“Captain of the Whalers Mystery Man,” Fiona says.

They actually only have one Minnesotan, as far as Holden’s aware, so she made her point the first time, but he does appreciate the commitment to the bit.

“How’d you know?” Holden says.

“Babe,” Fiona says. “You are not a subtle person.”

“I think I’m very subtle,” Holden says, but he can’t even finish the sentence without laughing at himself.

“And you stopped complaining about Erickson right around the time you started fucking a teammate,” Fiona says.

“I still complain about him,” Holden protests. “Have you known this whole time?”

“Pretty much,” Fiona says.

“Well,” Holden says. “Fuck.”

#fic snippet #cards on the table #writing talk #holden chase #fiona macintyre

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yinlikesbooksandtea · 7 months ago

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青のすみか

Where Our Blue Is

“Satoru?”

You never thought you'd see him again after you graduated Tokyo Jujutsu High. Being a sorcerer wasn't for everyone and that was clear. Seeing your own best friend fall apart and drown in their depression spiraling from their past. It's hard not to leave with your own mental demise. Dead. Dead. Dead. People fall one by one, and you knew you'd be soon if you didn't leave.

3:38am

Oddly specific. I can't sleep. We all can't. The burdens of society and capitalism hanging over our shoulders. Being a teacher wasn't the easiest either. You may have left jujutsu society but being a kind person never really left your heart. A beer in one hand and a cigarette in another. You promised yourself, you'd never smoke yet here you were. A certain brown haired girl would have chuckled at you now. Sitting at your balcony smoking like your old friend would. A knock at your door surprised you. Instinctively your head turnt to the noise, your body freezing for a moment. Feet moving against the wooden tiles of the cheaply rented apartment. A shiver going down your spine at the thought of someone knocking at your door at midnight. Though a familiar mop of white hair catches your attention through the peephole. Blue eyes you'd never forget in a millennia looking right back at you. Like he knew you were there. The sound of the door knob twisted, before you knew it your hand had opened the door to greet your friend. An acquaintance you'd count now with so many years that past. Everything changed.

Yet it still felt the same.

The familiar white hair, vibrant blue eyes that sparkled like the sky, the intimidating aura that came with someone as tall and big as him. It was all the same but so different. The white bandages that used to be wrapped around his eyes no where to be seen. How can someone grow even taller after highschool? You wanted to ask by decided against it.

“Satoru?”

His name glides off your tongue the same as it used to. As easy as ever as if a decade hasn't past. You're no longer 18, but you're 28 now. Wrinkles and smile lines are a little more visible on each other's faces. But there's a certain beauty to it. You were alive and had the privilege to age. If only your dear old friends had the same. Maybe things would have been different. Satoru didn't look a day over 20. Still the same, handsome as ever a masculine aura that complimented him had grew as well. A bittersweet smile emerges on his face as he stands there. A hand tucked in his pockets as he bends downwards slightly so you can see him better in the dim light.

"Hey. It's been a while."

It's been a while indeed.

And suddenly you can't help but smile back at him either. Your head tilting to the side as you did so like the teenager you once were.

"I brought some sweets."

That handsome voice said. Of course you did. He loved sweets and something's never change do they? Even in the sadness of being an adult, a flower blooms in the harshest weather. A sweet smile finally blooming on that face that was ridden with sorrow. Your feet carrying your body, as you stepped aside to let him in. It seemed that spring has come once more. Your spring.

"Come in, Satoru. I'll make us tea."

"At 3am? We aren't gonna be able to sleep later."

"It's not like we plan to do we?"

I guess somethings never change.

We did meet again.

Like grains of stars in an infinitely expanding galaxy. Spilling through the gaps between my fingers.

-------------------------------------------

Hello it's been a while since I wrote something! I wrote this at 4 am so if there's some mistakes I'll check in the morning but honestly it's been a while since I felt like writing something. I got a little sad and wrote something a bit melancholic ish I guess. Highly highly recommend reading the lyrics of Where our blue is before you read this fic! Sorry it's a bit short and request are always open.

Anyways hope you guys like it :)

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #yinlikesbooksandtea #gojo satoru #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x you #Spotify #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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sissylittlefeather · 1 year ago

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In honor of Halloween...

"Devil in Disguise"

I wrote a vampire fic but PLOT TWIST Elvis isn't the vampire.

YOU ARE!

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI!!!! Kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), a little girl on girl action, threesome (MFF), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, also vampire bites and blood drinking

A/N: this was a fun stretch for me. Please let me know what you think!

You've honestly forgotten how many years you've been a vampire. You know you were turned at the end of the American Civil War as a means of survival for your children, who are all dead now anyway. After your youngest passed, you moved to France. You followed the American soldiers here in 1944, since they had literally been your bread and butter since you were turned. Now, the war was over, but your job as a dancer at the Moulin Rouge was too good to leave and there was still a steady stream of young men, and even soldiers at times, to keep you well-fed and young(ish)-looking. You had been 33 when you were turned, so that was your permanent age, but when you were well-fed the men assumed you were younger and never bothered to ask if you weren't.

None of the other dancers knew what you were except for Anya, who was also like you and had been a refugee after the Russian revolution. While she was younger, she had become your closest friend in the years since you'd come to Paris.

She was the one who alerted you to the presence of one Elvis Presley in the spring of 1959. You'd seen him on television and knew he was in Germany with the Army, but you hadn't expected him to show up here.

"He's on furlough. The girls are fighting over who will get to be with him first." Anya whispers to you as you get dressed. Luckily you've learned to understand her thick accent. She knew you were always looking for a new challenge and she preferred rich, older gentlemen, so she wasn't interested in this boy, as she thought of him.

"Oh, Anya, I don't know. I'm exhausted and he's sure to be surrounded by photographers and fans. It'll be hard to get him alone."

"You're tired because..." she leans in and speaks softly, "you need to feed. And how fun would he be?"

"Maybe. I don't want to compel him, though. That's too easy."

"Then don't. Go out there and show these little girls how a woman works." She slaps your ass and gives you a wink before walking to line up for the opening dance.

******

After your dances are finished, you're sent to mingle with the men in the club and see if you can't score a few extra tips. You see the throng of people and assume that must be where he is. Swinging your hips as you walk, you move to a spot in his eye line, but far enough away to not draw the attention of the crowd. He's got dancers all around him and he must've kissed a half dozen of them already, but you recognize the look in his eye. It's the same look you have on most nights. He's hungry for a challenge, something new and exciting and not the same girls falling at his feet.

That's when his eyes meet yours. They lock for a good thirty second before his gaze moves down your body. He takes in your black and red bodice and fishnet hose, all the way down to the black heels on your feet and back up again to the feathers stuck in your hair. But you know what he wants, so you pull your eyes away from his magnetic stare and start to walk away, a look of disinterest on your face.

You move slowly across the room, talking and flirting with patrons as you do. Still, you can feel his eyes on you, tracking you like a predator with prey. Little does he know, he's the prey in this scenario and he's falling perfectly into your snare.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him dismissing the girls around him and trying to shake the crowd that follows him, assuring them he'll be right back. But you know better. Once he's yours, he'll be yours for the night.

You keep making your way around the room until you feel a soft hand on your shoulder and a voice in your ear.

"You runnin' away from me, mama?" You turn to face him with a bored smile.

"Should I be?" The hunger in his eyes intensifies with your apathy towards him.

"I'm told I'm a pretty good time. You might not want to run away just yet." He's laying it on thick for you, smiling devilishly, with his lip curled just so. You have to admit, he is very good looking, and you smile in spite of yourself. He leans his head back a little, confident he's got you now.

"Come on, mama. Let's go somewhere we can talk."

That didn't take long. He's less of a challenge than you thought he'd be. Turns out his hunger is your best weapon.

"Follow me." You smile up at him through your lashes and make your way to the door that leads backstage. Once you're back there with a little privacy, you push him up against the wall and kiss him deeply, running your hands down his front to the top of his pants and then back up. At first, he's caught off guard, but it doesn't take him long to wrap his arms around you and pull your body in close to his. He has some skill with his tongue and you realize that you're hungrier than you thought you were. You feel your fangs start to extend, so you pull away quickly and grab his hand, practically dragging him to one of the rooms you use for this sort of thing. He doesn't complain about your speed, though.

When you get inside, you turn and lock the door behind you.

"Damn, baby. Somebody knows what she wants."

"You have no idea." You round on him, trying to keep your fangs hidden until the right moment. You don't want to scare him away too quickly. It takes everything inside you not to just pounce on him, but you take a deep breath and feel your fangs retract.

You push him backwards to the edge of the couch.

"Sit down."

"Yes ma'am." His eyes sparkle with the excitement of being told what to do. You can tell he's used to being in charge, but he's not opposed to letting you take control. You walk over to the record player and put on something jazzy and sensual. The more aroused he is, the more vitality you can derive from his blood. When you get back in front of him he reaches out and puts both hands on your hips.

"Nuh uh." You move his hands back to his lap. "Just look. Don't touch."

"Mmm." He grunts and bites his bottom lip as you begin to move in front of him. You sway your hips seductively and touch your body as you dance. Slowly, you reach behind you and unzip your bodice, letting it fall to the floor. The only thing you have on underneath is your fishnet hose and his mouth drops at the sight in front of him. He adjusts his pants and you know he's well on his way to where you need him. You slide the hose down and kick off your shoes until you're standing in front of him completely naked. He still hasn't closed his mouth or been able to make a sound. You straddle him on the couch and reach for his tie. His hands go to your breasts and again you stop him.

"Did I say you could touch?" He whimpers.

"Honey, please..."

"I will tell you when you can touch me." He whines and flexes his hands before he puts them back at his sides. You begin to undress him slowly, first his tie, then his jacket, and finally his shirt, running your fingers across his chest lightly. He barely even has hair there.

"I need to touch you. Please." He looks at you with puppy dog eyes and bucks his hips up into you. You feel his hardness pushing against his pants. Then, you stand up again and he moans.

"No, honey, I'm sorry..."

"Take off your pants." He does as he's told and frantically removes his pants and shoes and then sits back down on the couch. His cock bounces in his lap and you can't help but be a little impressed by the size of it.

"You want to touch me?"

"Yes, please, mama." He looks at you with his eyes wide, dick twitching. You walk toward him and he reaches out, first cautiously and then hungrily, his hands exploring your body feverishly. He pulls you down into his lap and kisses you passionately. He lays you on your back on the couch and kisses down your neck. You put your hand on the top of his head and gently push him down toward your center.

He smiles. He can do this part well and he knows it. When his mouth makes contact with your clit, you yelp a little because it feels so good. He really is talented with his tongue and it's obvious as he licks and laps at you. Then, he slides two of his long fingers inside you and starts to move them in and out. The sensation is almost overwhelming and you feel your orgasm building deep in your core. He knows he's almost got you there too, so he picks up the pace of his hand and tightens his tongue to a point as he licks over and around your clit. Finally, the waves crash over you, sending heat and electricity to your fingertips and back again. You shudder and pulse around his hand and he does that boyish grin again.

"How badly do you want to fuck me?" You ask as he makes his way back up your body.

"Honey, I don't think I've ever wanted anything more in my life." You push him up into a sitting position and straddle him again, slowly sinking onto his cock until you're stuffed to the hilt with him. He groans and leans his head back on the couch. You feel your fangs extend again with the pleasure and do your best to keep your mouth closed, but his neck is exposed and you're so hungry...

"Honey? You okay?" You realize that you've stopped moving and snap back to reality.

"Mhmm!" You go back to grinding on his lap, pushing him deeper and deeper. That was too close. You have to keep yourself under control better until he's lost in a post-sex drunken haze. Why is he getting to you like this? You need to not let yourself get this hungry.

"Fuck, mama. This feels so good. I'm getting close." You stop and stand up off of him. "What? Why?"

"Not yet." He breathes deeply and leans his head back on the couch again. You grab a robe off the back of the door.

"I'll be right back."

You step out into the hallway and almost run smack into Anya.

"Oh thank God. I need your help. I'm having a hard time controlling myself. Help me finish him off." Anya looks at you concerned.

"Okay. I will help you." This isn't the first time this has happened. You've helped her and she's helped you before. Balancing the desires and hunger as a vampire is a delicate business. Sometimes it takes two of you to keep each other in line.

You open the door again and step in with Anya. He sits up and attempts to cover himself with his hand.

You unzip Anya's bodice and let it fall to the floor, pulling her into a deep kiss, your breasts pressed up against each other. Elvis sits on the couch with his mouth open again, unsure of what to do next. When you both turn to him, he sits up straight and swallows hard. His cock bounces in his hand as he looks at you both there naked in front of him. You sit on either side of him on the couch. Anya's hand goes to his dick and you pull him into a kiss. You add your hand to hers and he groans, watching you both work with his eyes wide.

"Holy fuck." He whispers as you lean in and kiss each other again over him as you touch him. Together, you lay him down on the couch. Anya climbs onto his face and he goes to work. But when you slide his cock into you, you hear him moan audibly. You begin to bounce up and down on him quickly and he grabs your hips. He has a hard time deciding what to do with his hands as Anya sits on his face and you sit on his dick. He gets her to an orgasm pretty quickly, being as skilled as he is and she stands up off of him. He's surprised when you lean in and kiss him, even with Anya's desire on his lips. He thrusts into you from underneath and you feel another orgasm forming, your fangs starting to descend. She can tell you're struggling, so Anya leans in and kisses you hard.

"I think he's almost ready." She whispers with her thick accent. She grabs his hands and holds them above his head while you fuck him.

"'M gonna come, mama." He groans. You don't stop. Instead, you move faster, your own orgasm just a couple of thrusts away. You slam into each other faster and faster, harder and harder, all while Anya holds his hands. Finally, you scream and he cusses loudly.

"Yes, fuck, oh my god!" He pumps into you weakly as he shudders and fills you with warmth. You come too, hard, and your fangs come out one last time. You can no longer hide them and you lean forward to the soft supple skin of his neck.

"What?!" He begs, but doesn't fight back. You gently pierce him with your teeth and suck as the blood comes quickly. It's sweetened with the energy of his desire and his release and it fills you in a way you didn't think was possible.

As you finish, Anya releases his arms and you lick the tiny marks on his neck, knowing your saliva will heal it quickly.

"Did you just bite me?" He asks drunkenly.

"I did."

"I liked it."

"Most of you do, you just don't know it until it happens."

Anya kisses your forehead and grabs her things, wrapping the robe around herself and disappearing through the door.

He sits up and wraps his arms around you.

"Did you get younger?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Make me like you."

"Oh, no, honey, I would never."

"Why not? Please?" He looks at you with his round blue eyes and you see the pain there. You kiss his hair and hold him close to your chest.

"You don't really want this. I promise."

"What if I really do?"

"I'm not turning Elvis Presley into a vampire."

"Then I'll find someone who will." You look deeply into his sex-drunk eyes.

"We'll talk about this in the morning." You curl up next to him on the couch as sleep approaches both of you.

"I'm not changing my mind."

You drift off in his arms, thinking about what it would mean to release him into the world as a new vampire. Is that a responsibility you're willing to accept? Is it really what he wants? Can you be the vampire that makes the most famous man on the planet immortal?

You don't know. But tonight, you were the vampire that fucked and drank Elvis Presley. And who else can say that?

******

Hope that was a fun treat!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @ashtag6887 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows

Sorry if you didn't want a tag in this one! Either way, I hope some of you enjoy this little Halloween treat!

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #halloween #halloween smut

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