#this was really really good | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ioniansunsets · 1 year ago

Note

Okay so... your Heartsteel Boys and Their Love wrecked me, esp Ez and Phel. Is it okay to make requests? Could you write a Heartsteel!Aphellios scenario with a smol male reader who works at the studio? Requited "unrequited" crush; he thinks it could never work cuz this man is a music icon and clearly with Sett lol Like Settphel is probably a thing in-universe gossiped about by fans (but doesn't actually exist). Oh wow, that was long 😅 But yeah! You can take it from that prompt! Your work is awesome.

✖ Heartsteel!Aphelios x Male!Reader Confession ✖

✖ Word Count: 1.5k

✖ Tags: Mutual Pining, Confession

✖ A/N: Just know I have been thinking about this since you sent it in, for weeks I've wanted to write this and I got really carried away so I hope you enjoy it! It made my heart race in anticipation and I was the one writing it LMAO

Unrelated lyric wise but this was what I was listening to while writing this oops I'm old but the acoustic vibes and unrequited love felt right.

----

It was hard. Watching him from a distance this way. Holding yourself back knowing you were not part of the band nor part of their inner circle and truly have no chance. And that is already ignoring the fact that you don't even get to work with Aphelios alone much, he doesn't sing and you worked on that side of things so the only times you really see him at the studio is when he is working on stuff with you or for a photoshoot like now.

Wincing, you watch Sett pick your crush up. Aphelios' arms flailing in annoyance, gently resting on the taller man's chest as he visually shows how he demands to be let down. The giggles and chuckles of other staff and band members just made your heart ache all the more. You scoff, turning to walk away to spare yourself anymore of their cute interactions. You know, just looking at this scene, exactly why everyone thinks they're a couple. How could they not. Even you couldn't deny how cute the interaction was, how you wish you were the one holding Phel close.

The excited comments of " How cute!" and " I ship Settphel so hard." from other people working in the studio just rubbed salt into your wounds. The only solace in that, was at the very least, maybe it meant Phel swung that way and you'd have a chance. But against Sett? What could you do, if his type was big buff men, you were out of luck yet again. You let out a dry laugh as you leave the studio to take a break, not noticing Aphelios' gaze tracking you as you hurry out.

Get some air, yeah, you'll be fine if you grab a snack and pretend you saw and heard nothing. You'll be fine, this was what it was like loving Aphelios. This was alright.

So here you are, moping about it, a drink in one hand and your face in the other. Sitting depressingly with your elbows on the table in an booth far off in the corner of the building's café. If anything, at least it wasn't lunch rush so you could take some time alone. The soft instrumentals of the café's ambient music was somehow making you feel worse.

Thoughts and frustrations were plaguing you so hard you don't hear someone else enter the café, you don't hear them walk over and then sit by you.

It was only until they leaned in close and shoved an open note app on their phone screen under your hands into your line of sight that you jumped, shocked by your personal space getting intruded upon.

[Saw you leave suddenly, are you ok?]

Ah fuck fuck fuck, you know that phone you know that hand.

Looking up to see those god forsaken beautiful ruby red eyes sparkling with concern. You wanted his attention and care but not like this, not when you looked so pitiful, not when you're trying to push down your overwhelming feelings for him.

Offering Aphelios a pained smile you wave away his concern. Silence between you two was thick. It only made your heart sting more. You came here to escape the obvious one sided pinning but with Aphelios here it just made it so much worse.

[It's not really nothing if you're crying...]

Oh were you crying, oh this sucks this sucks. A soft shaky laugh leaves you as you wipe away your tears. Doing your best you try to divert the conversation away from bringing up your feelings.

" Why are you here anyway, you're mid shoot Aphelios. We're not even that close."

You ask him, leaning back into the booth chair. Hands now clasped together, trying your best to hold yourself together.

[I took a break. Wanted to check on you when I saw you run out. You're still my friend you know?]

He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed in concern. How you wish you could reach up and lightly caress that little cut in his brow and tell him its alright, it was just your personal problems regarding him. But you hold yourself back. You bite your tongue, thinking what to say to make all of this better. Recognizing your hesitant attitude he quickly types something else before holding his phone up to you again.

[ You always look out for me when I'm alone and frustrated in the studio, let me do the same for you.]

You pause again, shocked he even remembers all you've done for him.

" I am in love with someone I can't have."

You blurt it out, your own hand rising to cover your mouth. Ah, there was no going back now, this conversation was happening, you did this to yourself.

You see Aphelios freeze up, a flash of heartbreak across his features before it quickly returns to his cool default expression. The click of his neatly trimmed and manicured painted nails against his phone screen was all the more deafening. You should have told the truth.

[ An idol?]

Were you imagining this or was his hand shaky as he held up the phone again.

" An idol...but I think he already has someone so-"

[ He?]

Those damned sparkling ruby eyes looking up at you in hope set your heart off yet again. Why the hell did he have to look at you like that.

" He.

You."

Time froze as you whispered it out. The words leaving your mouth before your brain could catch up. The overwhelming feelings pushed you to admit it, to tell him after months of pinning. You were in love with him. You watched of course, the way shock crosses his features. Alright, you've done this before, the disgust would come next. You prepare yourself but it never happens. Instead he moves closer to you. What? He moved clos- You gulp hard, watching him.

Gently and so painfully slow, you watched his hand rise, slowly pulling down his mask. Ah, his lips, slightly pink, looking so soft, lip gloss still evident on the surface from the photoshoot earlier. The way it curls up gently into a smile as he leans in to you. He leans in to you?! He was barely hovering by your ear now. Your breath gets caught in your throat as Phel's soft breaths lightly ghost over your ears before, the softest, raspiest whispers grace your eardrums.

" I love you."

You froze. What else could you do. The shock gripping your heart, leaving you stunned for what felt like an eternity. It was only when Aphelios pulls away from you slowly. His damned, beautiful, ruby red eyes. They lock with yours. Eyebrows furrow just a smidge in concern, hoping he didn't overstep his boundaries, that your earlier comment allowed him the grace of talking directly into your ears. They had of course. You dreamt of this. His lips, once again, you watch, the way it slowly purses into a thin line, you should say something. Leaving him hanging in the same anxiety you have this way is horrible.

" I love you... Aphelios."

Ah it felt good. The way your chest now feels light. To say it out this way. To let your feelings finally escape into the world outside. To no longer stump it down in frustration. The trembling of your hands, the gasp and smile as Aphelios hears you speak.

And everything hits. All at once. Heart thrumming incessantly in your ears. The hustle and bustle of the world outside suddenly all too loud. The hand reaching up to hold your face and pull you close was all so fast. So fast. So soft. So gentle.

The way his eyes flutter close, the way his hands hold your face like you were something precious to him. The way his lips find yours. Just as soft and supple as you imagined all these weeks. His lips find yours. So gentle. So soft. So gentle. So soft. Your head spins as he kisses you. This was amazing, better than you could ever whip up in the private scenarios of your mind when you daydreamed about him from a distance. This was perfect. So perfect.

The two of you gasp as Aphelios pulls away. His lips slightly parted as he breathes slowly. The way it now shines a little from residual saliva from the kiss. Your heart races, you were so sure it has skipped more than a few beats. The whole scene burned into your memory for years to come.

He was oh so beautiful. Aphelios' face breaks into a warm smile. His eyes narrow from the grin, the pink tinge of a blush under his makeup, his hair falling softly around his cheeks. You can't help but smile too, all the endlessly frustrating one sided pinning that led to this was worth it. You sigh, content, pulling him into a hug. You don't hear it but feel the rise and fall of his chest as he laughs, hugging you back tightly as he leans his head on your shoulder. This was right. This was good. This was happiness. This was yours.

#This was really really good #As you can tell I think Aphelios is BEAUTIFUL #Tallskinnynerdyboy #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #Heartsteel!Aphelios #MY FRIST SOLO APHE FIC!!! WOOOOOO LETS GO PHEL!!!!!!!1 #Aphelios #Aphelios x Reader #Heartsteel!Aphelios x Reader #Aphelios League of Legends #Male!Reader #Aphelios League #Aphelios LoL #SCENARIOS #League of Legends Scenarios

122 notes · View notes

miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 4 months ago

Text

this is everything to me!!!!!!!! i wish i had a clear head and could do better at this whole typing thing but i read twice and took my notes so here we go (quotes in order of appearance):

A variety of mostly bald or bearded men occupy different seats, and women with brassy hair and loud laughs hold all the secrets.

idk why but this line got me. the imagery is so specific (always) but like i have a hard time imagining the way things look in my head and i can see/hear this so well. and i need to reread the sentence when i wake up tomorrow to see if i'm understanding the meaning of "hold all the secrets" in this context bc i have multiple interpretations in my mind.

His hand drags slowly down his thigh and slides onto your knee.

i did not realize that such a small touch could make my heart go !! i am her, i am there, i am immersed and hooked

Time is syrupy and slow. You feel your smile sticking longer than you meant, your eyes linger hotly, and you squeeze his upper arm harder than intended. It’s an addictive rush to feel your desire reciprocated. And with such urgency. You take in his height and broad frame now that you stand face to face. He stills. Observant. You don’t need any more time to decide what you want. You need to feel him and only him as soon as possible.

the juxtaposition of the urgent need and the syrupy time, not just here but throughout, is so, so good. time teases reader just as javi does, it seems.

“Need to be stuffed full of this cock until you forget what ‘more’ means.”

...

“Awfully confident, Javi. Hope you aren’t the type to oversell and underdeliver–” Your snide remark is cut off when he covers your hand with his and presses it into the hard bulge in his jeans.

“Does it feel like an oversell?”

Javi's dirty talk made me....... feel something. i think the dirty talk is really balanced in this fic, like it's filthy but not ridiculous. i think that's one of the dirtiest parts and while still a fantasy, it's something that javi might say, like sometimes excessive dirty talk can make characters feel OOC but i feel like javi's dirty talk is just v v good in this. also, i love the way that reader matches his energy and while eventually submitting, she doesn't just fold immediately. it also really fits in line with the way that reader is characterized from the beginning, having these fiery emotions and being more impulsive (ik reader isn't technically a character, but like, to put it as best i can, she remains in character) i struggle to write 'reader' as someone who can banter back and forth in sexy situations, so this is v cool to me.

Nasty man with his beautiful body and devilish disposition.

literally a perfect tagline for javi. he should get it on a t shirt or a tombstone idk i wish i could explain how much i love that description.

You brace for another stream of air, but instead, you watch agape as a glob of spit falls in slow motion from his lips to your clit. The barely there sensation snaps something in your mind as his saliva flows downward.

(this is a bit embarrassing to admit, but my javi sim did this to my me sim while they were fucking and i was literally like 'i need to write about javi spitting on my clit!!!!!!!!!' so i'm v glad you did bc it's so hot)

Javi’s eyes shoot to yours, narrowed. You’ve interrupted a private conversation. Vague and meaningless threats start flowing from your mouth, and you shift to reach for him when an abrupt slap to your pussy jolts your nervous system.

pussy slapping? yes. i just love the idea of javi having a 'private conversation' with your pussy, like it's *his* in some way already. his fascination with it is more than hot - maybe it's just due to my own insecurities, but a man wanting to spend uninterrupted time down there, like it's sacred, feels good in my heart and my p-

“Don’t be trite, Javi.” You tug firmly at his length. “I’m sure all the ladies you pick up in shitty dive bars fawn over your pretty cock.”

i love this interaction in general but telling javi he has a 'pretty cock' would make him melt i swear. (he does tho i saw it in my mind

He gets up and starts pulling on his jeans. Reality hits you like a brick smashing into your skull. Leaving blood and bone fragments across your pillow. Substances and sex are temporary. Distractions, not solutions. A fleeting release to quell your demons. The ones that reappear back on your shoulders, cackling with glee over the chaos. Your mind is back in action racing. You drag your hands down your face. Holding your eyes shut tightly. You wait, holding your breath. Listening for the sound of your front door opening and closing any second.

there was never any reason for me to think that it would be more than a one night stand and yet here i am feeling heartbroken at him leaving. i was falling for him like a dumbass!!!!!!!!! (i love angst) the listening for the front door opening and closing is an image that evokes a visceral reaction in me and it must be attached to something but i can't remember what, like dang, that awoke a buried piece of grief or something lmao

Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms

Pairing: Javier Peñal x f!reader

Summary: Looking for an escape from a horrible day, you take a sexy stranger home from the bar.

Warnings: cravings, drinking, smoking, smut, glorification of substance use as a coping mechanism, using sex to avoid processing emotions, PWP, like a lot of just porn, just mostly all porn, spit, one (1) pussy slap, pussy pronouns, size kink, sort of pleasuredom!javi, AU unprotected sex has no risks bc i like it that way, piv sex, fingering, creampie,

Notes: cigarette vending machines were real, part 2 exists and if one single person asks for it i’ll post it

please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to @auteurdelabre , u know what u did

WC: 6.7K

AO3: here

It’s not enough.

You feel the inescapable temptation racing like wildfire through your veins. Thick, hot air whips your hair into your face, and you laugh, throaty and as loud as a barking German Shepherd with saliva frothing against their teeth. The thought of jerking the wheel and rolling your car into oncoming traffic causes your fingers to twitch. The roar of the semi-truck you pass drowns out everything else, your music, the wind surging through the windows, and your violent intrusive thoughts. You decide not to opt for a head-on collision. Heading towards your side of town, you slow to a less reckless speed, immediately missing the road noise.

The temptation still pounds in your head, unbearable. Something stronger. You need something stronger before you drive to his house and choke on the smoke while you burn it to the ground.

But you’re free! You grin as you race directionless through the streets, the kind of grin that would unsettle a small child. The evening sun blinds you whenever you choose a street facing west, and you welcome the jarring obtrusion, the pain. But driving into the sun isn’t enough.

You pull over at the first parking spot you can see, ripping off your seatbelt and twisting around to dig under your seat. Nails catch on the carpeting, but you only recognize some change, receipts, and a petrified french fry. The muscles in your shoulder could tear from the tendons for all you care as you contort yourself to check under the passenger seat before digging through every compartment you can fit your fingers into.

A cigarette seems healthy in comparison to crashing your car or lighting your ex’s house on fire. You swore there was a forgotten pack of smokes under one of the seats in your car, stashed away in case of emotional emergencies months ago before you committed to quitting. Nate must have found them and tossed them. Of course, he could still keep making this day worse. Even after you’d walked out on him mid-rant about how it was somehow your fault that he’d become even more of a repulsive asshole during the months you’d spent apart. “Hope you’re happy with how you chose to use your last ‘second chance,’” you had spat at him, already halfway to the door. You imagined the look cemented on his face as you left. You hope to never imagine his face again.

Dried tears sting the corners of your eyes. Rubbing at the raw skin burns. You stare at your red eyes in your rearview mirror, and you can see the flicker of your soul nearly snuffed out from the years of despair. Blood pounding in your ears, you roll your head on your shoulders, and popping and grinding noises in your neck add to the symphony of your pulse. Tipping back against the headrest, you refocus and take in your surroundings. A bar. A beacon in the fading golden hour as dusk overtakes her glow.

Bars have cigarettes. A drink, or four, would help, too. You need to feel something else. Find something strong enough to break through the numbness of anger and embarrassment. Something to override your loquacious internal monologue. It’s not enough.

Your demons materialize on your shoulders, prepared to fight your morality. The neon beer signs in the window sing a siren song. Temptation wins in the first round, she’s a seductress not to be outclassed.

The gravel crunches under your feet as you cross the parking lot, kicking up little clouds of dust in your wake. Inside, you swerve between the pool tables, crossing the dimly lit space in a beeline to the cigarette vending machine for a new pack and matches before lasering in on an empty stool at the bar. Tunnel vision.

Cold beer soothes the burn in your throat from the tequila shot you slammed before you even settled your full weight on the barstool. The liquid waterfalls down your throat until the bottle runs dry. The surly bartender replaces it with another, and her eyes flick from yours to the empty shot glass and back.

“I’ll just stick to beer for now,” you answer. A barely perceptible snicker yanks your attention to your right. He’s smirking to himself, trying to hide it with a swig from his bottle. Your scowl softens by a hair as you rake your eyes down his profile. Strong features, sparkling dark eyes, well-groomed, and an open collar that teases you with a glimpse of the skin of his chest. His look piques your interest. But that smug curl of his lip raises your hackles as you return to your mission: a neurochemical intervention. Maybe he knows where you could procure a lobotomy if nicotine and booze don’t help.

You slam the second beer, signaling for another. Your head weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you can start to feel the warmth of the alcohol blooming within your chest. A welcome warmth despite the suffocatingly thick air in the bar. You feel the layer of sweat coating your torso. The skin bared on your thighs sticks to the vinyl stool, but you don’t care about being warm and sticky. Your assignment is simple. Get the liquor to your brain before you recruit Smug Mustache and Silent Barkeep to your crew. She can drive; he can be the lookout. Accomplice to arson shouldn’t be a hard sell.

You smile to yourself at the thought.

The tiny muscles in your face start to relax, and the line between your brows softens. The racing thoughts get quieter, and you can process your environment more easily. The clack of the billiard balls on the pool table, the rock ballad barely audible over the buzz of the patrons. A variety of mostly bald or bearded men occupy different seats, and women with brassy hair and loud laughs hold all the secrets. You and the man seated next to you don’t quite fit the demographic, but nobody seems bothered.

You slide a cigarette out of your pack, and before you tuck it between your lips, the man next to you pushes the amber-colored ashtray he’d been hoarding towards you and offers you a light.

Leaning towards him, you’re hit with an intoxicating rush of spicy aftershave, leather, and tobacco. You seize the opportunity to take in his features head-on, inhaling deeply while he unabashedly sweeps his dark eyes over you in turn. Sinfully dark, they flick back up to yours. He drags his thumb across his bottom lip, and you’re entranced momentarily by the need to feel that plush lip between your teeth.

Sex.

That could work. Ease the restlessness and the deepening impulse to scream. Maybe that’s the third ingredient to your impulsive master plan.

“Thanks,” you exhale, breaking the heady silence. The rush of nicotine entwined with alcohol begins to replace the rage in your veins. Vengeful racing thoughts are replaced with a mantra. A dull pounding in the back of your skull. More. You smile. More. More. He tracks your mouth as you press the cold glass bottle to your lips. You swallow and swallow. He raises one eyebrow, head cocked, as you drain the bottle.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I’m not sure you’d taste it at this rate,” he teases in a voice thick as molasses.

You consider your frenzied rate of consumption. Might be time to slow down.

“Maybe you could convince me to savor it,” you challenge. He nods and orders. He studies your lips as you take another drag from your cigarette. More. He doesn’t shy from holding your gaze. Not when you smile or when you look him up and down again. You usually aren’t so forward. The cocktail of substances and the emotional hangover from your failed reconciliation emboldens you. But, one tiny crack fractures, and for a brief moment, you’re gone.

Your eyes lose focus. Disconnected from your body, the bar, and reality. He watches with amusement. He knows that look. He wears it often.

Your thoughts flash and crack like a lightning storm. Nate’s face. Livid, red, and sputtering foul insults at you. Enraged that you’re drinking, smoking, and desperate to whore yourself out to the first man you see. Worse. You don’t care. Nate wasted your time and shattered your goodwill. You want to be set free. Erase him and his pathetic voice altogether.

You take another sip and another drag, hoping one of them will detach his grubby claws from your conscience. You blink, and the horrifying hallucination is gone.

“Drinking to forget, cariño?” the man you’d been staring past interrupts your thoughts. His tone is genuine. But why? Is that his schtick? Offering to fix broken women with a well-timed light and teasing glance?

“Something like that,” you muse, taking another drag. You hadn’t realized how close you were sat until now. It’s intimate. Smoke curls in a delicate dance between you, alluring as it winds and flares. You feel drawn to him, connected by chance. Something new to focus on. To study. He watches you with such intensity you note. Unwavering. Too sober and too shiny to be a regular old barfly. It’s not a bar full of singles. He’s out of place. Maybe he got lost along a warpath like you. Good. More.

He’s still watching. Waiting for you to elaborate? You let your knee slide forward until it’s pressing into his firm thigh. “Just trying to feel something,” you answer honestly.

“Mm,” he takes another swig, and you watch his neck in slow motion as he swallows.

“And you?”

“Same goal, I guess,” he confirms. His hand drags slowly down his thigh and slides onto your knee. Your mouth parts at the contact of his palm. A new fire rips through your veins, but it’s not rage. More.

“Would you say it’s working?” you gesture to the bottles coated in beads of condensation on the bar top.

“No.” He stares at you openly. His carnivorous mouth splits into a grin.

His boldness makes a giggle bubble up in your throat. You tilt your head back with a laugh. Your hair slides behind your shoulders, exposing the delicate flesh of your neck.

“No,” you repeat in agreement. You match his physicality and grasp his own thigh firmly with your hand, studying his face for any hint of a response. “It’s not enough,” you add, dragging your hand further up his leg. Slowly.

“You’re looking for more, cariño?” he dares with cloying charm. Yes! More!

You might've rolled your eyes at the whole situation if you weren’t so many drinks in with a sinister desire for escapism. You’ve barely spoken to each other, engaged in an elite-level erotic staring competition instead.

The best you could do was exchange names.

“Javier Peña,” you repeated back to him. Deciding if you liked the way it sounded on your tongue. You wet your lips.

“Just Javi is fine,” he counters while leaving enough cash on the bar to cover both your tabs with a generous tip.

“Smooth, Just Javi,” you bait, looking at the cash and back to him. He flashes a wolfish smile back. It makes you want to fuck him right here on the bar. More, you scream at him with your eyes.

He removes the nearly finished cigarette between your much smaller fingers, takes the last drag, and stubs it out in the ashtray.

If you weren’t so aroused by everything about him, you’d chastise him for trying to get you out of here so quickly. But you feel it rolling off of him, too. It feels like taking a narcotic. Time is syrupy and slow. You feel your smile sticking longer than you meant, your eyes linger hotly, and you squeeze his upper arm harder than intended. It’s an addictive rush to feel your desire reciprocated. And with such urgency. You take in his height and broad frame now that you stand face to face. He stills. Observant. You don’t need any more time to decide what you want. You need to feel him and only him as soon as possible.

“Let’s go. Now,” you order as you lead him out of the dingy establishment into the clear night.

You expect him to cage you against the cool metal of his pickup, but he’s a suave gentleman opening the passenger door for you instead. Fine. You slide across the bench seat just as he’s turning the key in the ignition, pressing your curves into the side of his firm body. Restless and grabby, your fingers dance over him, unsure where to start when he grips your chin in his large palm and tilts your face towards his.

Rage flashes behind your eyes at his interruption. Never far from the surface, ready to lash out.

“Be good for me, cariño,” he says sternly.

“Oh, I’ll be so good,” you purr, dragging your hand down his chest towards the bulge in his too-tight jeans and batting your lashes before he grabs your hand.

You huff, indignant. Rolling your eyes.

“I’d like to give you my full attention.”

“You can have mine.”

“No.”

“Who put you in charge?” you spit out with a fierceness.

He laughs, harsh and mean. You flush with irritation, recoiling like his grip suddenly burned. What is this? You thought you were reading everything right; you’re in his truck, ready and wanting. Frustrating man. You need something to ease your anger, or you’ll spit venom.

He leans into your ear like he has a secret despite the privacy of the cab of his truck. Dragging his voice over broken glass and gravel, he murmurs, “You want to feel something?” his hand is suddenly wedged between your legs. “You want more?” He squeezes tight, pressing his fingers against the seam of your denim shorts, and you choke back a moan. His spiced scent fills your nose. You feel his smile against your ear. Your head spins. Yes. You need it now. No games. Your nails dig marks into his wrist, pleading.

“You get to touch, but I don’t? What is this, Javier? Afraid you won’t last?” You jeer at him.

His hot laugh fans down your neck. Your body betrays your mind in search of friction. Shamelessly, your hips roll against his hand.

“Such a sharp tongue,” he tuts at you, pulling back to look into your eyes, “for such a needy pussy,” he pulls his hand away. You fight to still your body and level his stare, feeling the heat of anger and lust in your face. He lists his demands.

Be good for me. Until we get home.

Simple.

Then I will give you what you need.

Bold.

Something different washes over you, but you keep pushing at him.

“And what do I need, Javi?”

“Need to be stuffed full of this cock until you forget what ‘more’ means.”

Soaked. Your traitorous pussy floods your already ruined panties. But you can’t shut yourself up. You have to push him harder.

“Does it feel like an oversell?”

You barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. No, it most definitely does not feel like an oversell; you refuse to admit it out loud. He grazes the edges of his teeth down tender skin. At the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, he snaps you back into reality with a sharp bite. A small gasp escapes you that he definitely doesn’t miss.

You catch the smirk. Cocky bastard.

“Now,” he demands your attention, “you’ll be good for me all the way home.”

It’s definitely not a question, but he stares like he’s waiting for a response.

You fold your hands in your lap begrudgingly and nod. But something in your chest blooms brightly. The dance for dominance does exhilarate you. He grips your upper thigh like he’s the only thing holding you to the earth. Like you might fly out the window if he lets go. Or, like you might crawl into his lap, sink down onto his cock, and cause you both to launch through the windshield when he crashes into a ditch.

His fingers tease under the edge of your shorts, white-hot flesh against flesh. You’re wired.

You direct him to your place. It’s close, and you’ve no patience. He doesn’t argue.

You lead him into your home. He doesn’t take you ferociously against the back of the door. Infuriating. You behaved all the way home. He’s a curious juxtaposition of lewd and polite. Restrained, he takes his shoes off at the door and asks for a glass of water. Like he’s your neighbor invited over for tea. But, you can feel the carnality radiating off him as he watches to see if you’ll show good manners. More.

“That’s good, cariño,” he praises, soft and raspy, taking the icy glass from your hand. “Show me your room,” he instructs. How is it your turf, but he’s still in charge? You glare at him briefly before you acquiesce and traipse down your hallway to your bedroom.

He places the glass of water on your nightstand, still full, and turns to assess you. You furrow your brows. Was the water some kind of test? Whatever. You behaved in the car. You behaved all the way to your bedroom. You’re nearly dizzy with need. Every breath feels like a lifetime.

His golden skin glows in the lamplight. You’d describe it as angelic if he wasn’t driving you mad. Morbid desire crawls under your skin, itchy and tense. He gestures for you to sit on your bed, and you do. If he insists on leading, you’ll follow.

You fold your hands in your lap again as if awaiting his next command. He cradles your cheek in his palm, and you look up through your lashes. You are not the saint of patience; your fingers twitch with the urge to tear his clothes into shreds. Why is he taking his time? Your mind is racing for a snarky comment when he interrupts your thoughts like he could hear them.

His touch is so gentle. Patient. Like he’s experienced in domesticating rabid animals.

“Shhh, I know,” his voice is earnest. Not teasing. Not mocking.

It catches you off guard. Grounding you. Strange.

His expression seems to slip into something unguarded as well. A moment of understanding. You see him. Something is building in the distance in your mind. Like the shore is receding before a tidal wave hits. But it’s too quiet without the waves breaking on the rocks. More.

“Make me feel something, Javier,” you reply.

It hangs delicately in the air. You aren’t provoking or begging. It’s a genuine expression of your desire to run from your internal state.

“I intend to,” he confirms with confidence. Like that’s the permission he was waiting for, the wait is over. Your lips connect. He kisses you with a bright and burning passion. Plush lips and wet tongues slide together expertly. Sharp little nips pull whiny melodies out of you. Your hands tug and pull at his hair, shoulders, and shirt. It’s not enough to just have his mouth.

“More,” you demand into his tongue.

“So needy,” he condescends, and you feel your cheeks warm.

He peels off your shirt, and his hands fly to exposed breasts.

“No bra?” he tuts as if he didn’t put that together while ogling you at the bar. You shake your head in response as he kneads at your soft skin. “Of course not.” He pinches at your nipples with precision, pleasure bridging on pain coursing through your body. You feel your chest arch towards him for relief, deep moans falling from your mouth. You want him to consume you. He looks like he might.

Javi hums at the way your body responds to him. Pliant but strong. You move into his touch, seeking intensity. He increases pressure and maps out your body.

He lets all his thoughts be filled with you. Your warm skin and soft vanilla scent are hidden until his nose trails behind your ear. You freely let all the sounds and breath spill from your mouth as he caresses you reverently. He wants to know how many sounds you can make.

You were a delightful surprise, crashing into the bar next to him. He recognized the look in your eyes. He’s going to give you what you need. Because you want it. And because he wants to drown himself in it. He feels drawn to you somehow.

Despite how good it feels to have his hands and mouth on your body, your neglected clit aches for attention. He continues on, almost obliviously, and you reach a fever pitch that splits your eyes wide open. Possessed by one word. More.

Your fingers come to life and work rapidly, yanking at his belt and the button on his jeans before slipping a hand in to feel. You’re struck with a surge of delight as your hand skates over his hot flesh and coarse hair. A hedonic sense of imminent victory unfurls in your core.

“No underwear?” you tut back at him.

“Nope,” you swear he winked at you as he said it.

He pulls you up to stand, stripping the rest of both of your clothes off quickly. You push him back a step to get a better look at his now fully naked form.

“Shit.” “Fuck.”

You mutter over each other at the same time. Like you’ve been compelled, you reach for him, needing to immediately taste and touch him everywhere. You knew he was a gem in that dive bar, but in front of you in your bedroom, you realize: he’s fucking gorgeous.

Of course, he won’t allow you to touch him. Nasty man with his beautiful body and devilish disposition. He scoops you up like the petulant child you are about to become and drops you onto your back in the middle of your bed with ease. You bounce against the mattress.

He catches the sour pout on your face as he settles himself between your legs.

“No need to think now, princesa,” he kisses just inside your left knee, “that’s my job now.” His mustache tickles the soft skin of your inner thighs, but it’s the spark in his dark eyes that makes you squirm. You groan in frustration at being deprived of the freedom to touch him once again, but you remain malleable.

“I need you to lay back and spread these legs for me.”

You comply. Parting your legs wider as his hands slide towards your center. Your eyes are locked on his, and his eyes are locked on your glistening folds in front of his face.

“Fuck, cariño, yes, just like that.”

You curse your body for needing to blink. Enraptured with the look on his face, you don’t want to see anything else. Floating and lightheaded, nobody has ever seen you like this. Seen the truth in your eyes so easily. Seen your blaring evidence of need pooling and dripping. And still looked at you the way he does. Desperate to be touched, you are grounded in the present. No other conscious thoughts. More.

He pulls at the skin on the top of your thighs, nowhere near close enough for your liking, but fully exposing your achy clit and fluttering entrance to his eyes. You’ve needed his touch since you left the bar, or maybe since you first felt his husky voice frazzle your brain.

He stares and stares as you watch impatiently.

“Such a gorgeous pussy,” he says to himself before he hovers closer and blows a stream of cool air over your swollen folds.

You could slap him for that or scream, but what comes out is a breathy “fuck,” and you clench your fists in an attempt to remain composed through this macabre sexual torture. You feel like he’s been down there for an eternity. And still, he’s given you no relief.

“You just gonna look, or you gonna touch any time soon?” you goad.

Before your brain and mouth can comment on his audacity, your body betrays you. You feel the patchy flush on your chest burning and the gush of lubrication in anticipation. He clocks both signs.

“Cariño,” he coos at you darkly. “I told you,” head shaking with disappointment, “no need to think.” He looks back down, “Now look, she’s crying for me, and I haven’t even had a taste yet.”

Your head sinks into your pillows with an exasperated sigh. How can torture feel exquisite? Wretched man.

“No. You don’t take your eyes off me,” the edge in his tone suggests you don’t want to disobey.

You find the strength to tilt your head back towards him. And it’s just in time to watch as he runs two fingers up and down your glossy folds. He ghosts around your clit, avoiding what you need most until he’s satisfied with his coated fingers. He plunges them both into your eagerly awaiting hole, petting at your velvety walls. An animalistic noise that must come from you fills the room in competition with the slick, wet sounds of his fingers.

“That’s right. Keep those pretty eyes on me while I play with your pussy.” Javi looks down to watch for himself. “You look so good swallowing my fingers,” he rasps thickly. Your walls clench and constrict around his fingers as his voice carves out a home in your mind.

Your room is cool, thanks to the hum of your window AC unit, but your body runs hot. You’ve never had a man in your bed who was this good with his words before. It forces you to stay focused. Present and aware of every sensation. Your ex was too insecure to be vocal. Other partners lacked tact or creativity. None of them ever took charge like this or took their time. You feel your chest heaving and see the wide smile break across his face. Your skin tingles as a sheen of sweat breaks out.

Javi takes his time experimenting with the ways your body responds. He speeds up and slows down, changes pressure and patterns, tapping and tracing, petting and prodding. It’s like the nine extra settings you don’t need your vibrator to have, but better. It’s not careless. You watch, like he instructed. He seems studious, observing how you respond, scanning your face and body. Microexpressions on his face calculating and plotting.

You flex, tense, and writhe as much as you dare, trying to maintain some control over your body. Your eyebrows are pinched, and your hips are tight as you strain.

Javier can tell. Do you not trust him? He needs you to give in to him.

“Let me take you there, cariño,” he urges. “Can feel she wants it; just relax for me, breathe.”

“Fuck,” you confirm with a whisper and do your best to let go of some of the rigid tension. He maintains a steady rhythm for you to focus on. He slowly builds in intensity, and he continues to murmur encouragement to you. Breathe. There you go. Easy.

You slowly melt into it and let him puppet your mind and body. Building and building. Breathing and breathing. Allowed to be out of control. That does it. Your climax crashes violently against your loose frame. Yes, cariño, just like that, fuck. Contracting muscles in your core pull your chest forward. Jerking and spasming, you raise with stuttering gasps. You aren’t sure if you should laugh or be embarrassed as you pant, feeling like he just performed an exorcism on you. His expression settles you. Pleased with an edge of ravenous.

He slides his fingers from you and sits up, looming tall and strong on his knees over your damp, limp body. Your eyes are glued to his weeping cock, softly bobbing at your eye level. Saliva pools in your mouth, craving the weight of it sliding over your tongue. You swallow and blink. Recalibrating your senses and figuring out what he just said to you.

He runs his fingers back through your overly sensitive folds to get your attention. Your entire body twitches, wrenching your attention to his face. He already has you at his mercy.

“Close your mouth, baby,” he commands. You weren’t aware it had been hanging open and snap it shut. He laughs gently at your stupor. Enamored. Then he’s running his slick coated fingers over your lips like a debauched lipgloss. Your mouth parts to question him, and he slides them onto your tongue before a word gets out.

“Good,” he praises, “suck.” You do. And as he drags his fingers out he replaces them with his tongue. He sucks and nips at your lips, tasting everything. The bright flavor of your arousal, the lingering beer from the bar, the smoky tobacco, and the gum you tried to sneak on your way out of the bar. It’s a potent concoction, and it fuels his thirst. You run your tongue along his neck and commit the flavor of his sweat-salted skin to memory.

You can feel the rumbly groans filling his chest, and you’re back to needing more. Clawing at his skin and tugging at his hair. One of your soft hands finds his throbbing cock, and wrapping your fingers around it causes you to exchange throaty moans. You slip your thumb around the head, coating it in precome and using it to glide your full fist down his shaft. It’s stupid how big his cock is, and part of you is loathe to admit it. You just know he’s already aware, but a mindless so big slips out of your mouth anyway. You feel him smile against you.

“Y’think so?” he breathes against your neck.

You roll your eyes at him and tease, “Don’t be trite, Javi.” You tug firmly at his length. “I’m sure all the ladies you pick up in shitty dive bars fawn over your pretty cock.”

A distant look flickers across his face before he flashes a sly grin at you.

“Y’think it’s pretty?” Is that all he heard?

“Oh my god,” you groan in feigned annoyance at him.

He looks down to watch your hand stroke him and decides that is a pretty sight.

You hope he was right in the cab of his truck. That when he fills you up, you’ll forget how to think. He pulls back from your greedy little grasp. I know, I know. He says with the marks he leaves along your skin.

“You think she’s ready for me?” he asks as he adjusts to line up with you. You’re too entranced to respond. He slides himself through your folds, and you whimper at the pressure. He’s still waiting for an answer. He pauses and stares at your face. He gives your clit a playful swat with the weight of his cock.

You blink back up to him, “huh?”

“You think she’s ready to take me?” he repeats.

“Yes, Javi, m’ready.”

He gives you a disapproving look, for god knows why. And shifts further away from you. You feel your face shift into a pout.

”I think she can give me a couple more first.”

Something in you loosens, and you realize you’re defenseless. Willing.

This time, he doesn’t toy with you. He strikes swiftly. Overwhelming your senses when his fingers slide back inside of you and the hot furnace of his mouth envelopes your no longer neglected clit. He brings you over the edge rapidly with the combination of his curling fingers and the firm pressure of the flat of his tongue.

He praises you adoringly, but he doesn’t let up. That’s it. Dámelo. Breathe. You can take it. Another. Know she wants it. Like that. Taking you further than you thought you could go. Again and again. You’re blind and boneless, a sticky mess. He could watch you like this for hours. Writhing against his fingers as his other arm wraps over your belly, holding you in place.

“What’d you say?” he asks as you come down from another flood of endorphins. You weren’t aware you could form words. You blink dazedly before you can figure it out.

“Please, Javi, please,” you repeat. You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore.

His lips are pressed to your sweaty forehead. When he pulls back, a mischievous grin spreads across his face. You’re trying to think of what you were trying to communicate, but it’s hazy.

“Doing so good for me, cariño, you deserve it now.”

You can only nod and whisper another “please.” He slides the head of his cock through your dripping, sensitive folds. That’s what you wanted. More.

“Yes,” you chant, “please, oh god, yes, Javi, please, fuck.” You exercise the full extent of your current vocabulary in quick succession.

“Beautiful, cariño,” his words drip over you like honey.

“Yes, Javi, please,” you continue your chant.

Slowly. Painfully slowly, he begins to feed his cock into you, eyes rapidly flipping between studying the expressions crossing your face and the view of your pussy stretching around him.

“Oh god, oh,” you repeat mindlessly as he works his way inside of you.

“Fuck” he exhales and locks his eyes on your face before pushing the rest of the way in. When your eyes widen, and your jaw falls slack, he knows the image will be seared into his memory.

“Yes, Javi, fuck–” your mantra is cut off with a deep moan as he grinds his hips into yours. You're so full. You run your hands down his back, trying to force him closer. Trying to merge solid bodies into liquid pleasure. Transform physical vessels into the intangible. More.

He begins to slide in and out, never leaving the clutch of your warm walls all the way. His pace steadily increases, along with the intensity of the snap of his hips once he’s as deep as possible inside of you. He folds your knees towards your chest and thrusts with fervor, captivated by the way your tits bounce.

A cacophony of lewd noises bounces off the walls in your room. Your shared panting, the rocking bedframe, the wet slip of his cock sawing into you, the skin-to-skin slap of his heavy balls bouncing against your ass, it’s all a debased symphony together.

A delirious giggle pours from you as the realization strikes. He was right, no need to think; all you need is to feel how perfectly he fills you up. He’s not thrown by your fit of laughter. You think he knows. His mouth is moving, though. He’s speaking to you. You focus with all the effort you can muster.

“Again, cariño. You’re going to come on my cock for me,” he breathes like he’s the one ready to beg. You obey. It takes the slightest touch, swirling your fingers around your sensitive nerves. Watching the tense expression on his face. The weight of his body fucking you into your mattress. You’re clenching around him like you could pull him any deeper.

“Fuck, that’s right,” he drops his mouth to your salty neck, “so well-behaved for me.”

You preen at that. Breathing each other's air.

“These legs still work?” he asks, swatting at your thighs.

“A little,” you shrug.

“Good.” He sits up, pulling your chest into his, breathing with you for a minute as you wrap your legs around him and settle on his lap. “Not done with you yet,” he growls into your hair. You think about the moment at the bar earlier, when he lit your cigarette for you. You hoped he’d be good. You didn’t think he’d be this good.

“Yes, Javi,” you agree as if you know what’s next. He shifts, and you let him arrange your body as he pleases. It’s blissful. Not having to think. He maneuvers you like a doll, but you know you aren’t an object to him. Not with the way he gently rolls you onto your belly, arranging a pillow under your head. You rest your cheek against it and peer dreamily at him. He lifts your hips, propping you up on your knees, and pauses for a second to admire the way your pussy glistens readily for him. The way your smooth back arches in presentation just for him. But it’s the expression on your face, the insatiable more in your eyes, that gives him purpose.

He kneels behind you and sinks in easily, a groan ripping through his throat as you push your hips back into him with more energy than he expected. You moan loudly in response, attempting to muffle it into the pillow.

“Oh my god, Javi,” you rasp at him. “How can you possibly get any deeper?” you ask incredulously.

“How are you still talking, cariño?” he taunts, picking up an unyielding and brutal pace.

“M’not” you decide, “no thoughts.”

“Fuck” you both echo as he hits a new angle.

“Please, don’t stop,” you beg openly, “just like that, Javi, holy shit.” He slips one hand underneath you to play with your swollen clit.

“Yes,” you begin chanting again. But you want him to come. You need it. You slide your own hand under his to replace it. Reaching further to feel the way you’re stretched around him. You wish you could see it. The feeling alone turns your brain to mush.

“Javi?” you plead for his attention. You could sob with the intensity building in your core.

“Yes?” he asks without slowing down.

“Need you to come,” you whine into the pillow your face rocks into.

“Yes, cariño,” he consents.

“No, now. I need you to fill me up, please; I need to feel it,” you beg like you were invented for him in a dream. So perfect.

“I know,” he asserts, “gonna stuff you full,” and that sends you.

“Fuck, Javi, yes, I need it,” you sob out as your muscles flex and contract around him once more.

He grips your spineless frame and tugs your back into his chest. You might be drooling as your head rolls into his shoulder. You register a hand squeezing at your tits as he gives you what you want. A few more harsh thrusts and he’s filling you up. You can feel his cock flexing and straining to give you everything he’s got. Javier’s rough breaths reverberate through your blissfully quiet mind. It’s enough.

He lowers you back to your pillow, still on your knees, and he slides out of you with a soft groan. You echo it, feeling immediately emptier without him.

You stretch across the bed to fish for your cigarettes in your pile of discarded belongings from earlier or maybe a lifetime ago.

He accepts one when you offer and, in turn, offers you the water he asked for earlier. You gratefully accept. You ask if the water trick works on all the women he picks up in dive bars. He argues that it’s not really a trick if the sex happens before you drink it, and you share a real belly laugh at that, realizing he’s right. You finish your cigarettes in a calm silence next to each other. Your mind is quiet. You let out a satisfied little sigh.

#this was really really good #and if you write more op #i will be reading #embarrassing myself by taking my sleeping pills before writing this #fic recs

338 notes · View notes