#she is not however a femme fatale | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joelsgreys · 1 year

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Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Part 2

Summary: You’re planning to have sex for the first time and you’re nervous—Javi offers to show you a thing or two, but just as friends of course.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags 🏷 18+ only, minors dni. reader is in late 20’s; reader is an agent for the DEA; established friendship, idiots in love lust, overprotective/slightly jealous Javi; Javi is his canon manwhore self, reader is a virgin, talks of virginity loss and her desire for no strings attached sex, a bit of pining and yearning, lots of pet names, a couple insults, friendship fluff; touching, groping, dry humping, reader gets off, Javi does not. I know, I know. I will make it up to him in part dos. this does not follow the timeline of the show accurately, Messina is in the picture, Connie is still around. reader is bilingual, no descriptions of her race or ethnicity mentioned though. *translations at the end.

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: This took me forever to edit and post because I’m scared lmao.

thank you to @cutesyscreenname for encouraging me to write this idea. I owe you cherry gansitos!

You observed your own reflection in the full length mirror in front of you and let out a curious little hum as you lifted the short, scarlet red minidress, holding it right up against the length of your body. You then held up the second dress that you had clutched in your opposite hand, a stunning, satin black midi number whose length was a lot longer than the first option, the hem of it falling down to your calves.

It appeared rather innocent, modest enough while it was still on the plastic hanger, but it fit you beautifully, just like a fucking glove. The bodice of the garment cinched at your waist and it was tightly fitted, hugging the curves of your upper body so closely that it looked and even felt like something of a second skin whenever you wore it. The billowy skirt of the dress flowed out around you, darling and sweet at first glance, however it came with a borderline dangerous slit in the side of it that stopped about two or three inches above the middle of your thigh near the hinge of your hip. It exposed the entire length of your leg whenever you walked, danced, or moved around in it—Murphy had once referred to it as the infamous femme fatale dress, telling you that it was a far, far more dangerous weapon than your gun could ever be.

You were fairly certain his remarks had something to do with the fact that you’d worn the dress on a number of different occasions while you were out on the job, going undercover in Bogotá for the US Drug Enforcement Administration.

As the only female agent on her team in Colombia and a younger, very beautiful female agent at that, Messina found herself using you to her advantage quite often these days. She would send you out all over Bogotá in that very same black dress with the hope that it would aid you in luring in members of the Medellín drug cartel in efforts to capture their leader, Pablo Escobar.

Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.

You were doing something much more frightening than mingling among some of Colombia’s most dangerous men.

Far, far more daunting than that.

You were going out on a date.

“I like the red dress the best,” Javier’s deep voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. He had mentioned to you earlier that day that he was going to some lounge with Murphy for a smoke and some drinks after work hours since it had been a long, draining week for him at the office; Messina had stuck him with an endless amount of tedious paperwork to do and it had just about driven him insane, but nothing a pack of cigarettes and some bourbon couldn’t fix. With the soft, Latin cumbias playing from the old stereo perched on top of the white oak dresser beside you, you had completely missed the sound of the front door opening and closing when he’d gotten home.

You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Javier’s dark brown eyes were fixed intently on you, a small, devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he casually leaned up against the door frame of your bedroom. Well, technically, it was actually the guest bedroom of his apartment unit that he’d let you take over several months ago. The housing department of the agency had placed you into a unit in the building across the street from his, right next door to Murphy and his wife, Connie. It had been a special arrangement requested by your diligent supervisor in an effort to make sure that no one found themselves in a compromising situation—she trusted you enough not to get any dumb ideas, but she didn’t trust Peña as far as she could throw him. It wasn’t very far.

While it had certainly been quite nice, and even kind of comforting at times to have Steve and Connie as your neighbors, you’d expressed to Javier one night over dinner at his place that you weren’t all too fond of having to live alone. Without an ounce of hesitation on his part, Javi offered to have you move into his spare bedroom that very same evening after you were both done eating, but only on the condition that Messina didn’t find out about the new living arrangement. She would wring Javier’s neck with her bare hands if knew that you two had been sharing his apartment this entire time.

Hell, she would wring yours too. And you were the favorite child of sorts. Less annoying than Murphy and certainly a lot less problematic than Peña.

She only liked you because she never had to worry about you. On or off the job.

But even though you were Messina’s number one, her star player, that would do absolutely nothing to spare you from her wrath if she ever came to find out that you were living with Javier Peña. She wasn’t a fan of just how close the two of you had become over the last several months; she’d told you herself that she much preferred it if you kept your distance from him while you were off duty. One wrong move on your part or Javi’s and it was game fucking over. Messina wouldn’t hesitate to send one of your asses packing, back home to be assigned somewhere else, somewhere far away from the other.

Pursing your lips together lightly, you turned your attention back over to the mirror. Raising an eyebrow, you lifted the red minidress up against your body once more to get another good look at it, as if you hadn’t just been staring at it for the last five minutes before he’d appeared. “I don’t know, Javi. I don’t like this one all that much to be honest. I’m not even sure why the hell I let Connie talk me into buying it in the first place. She said it was cute,” You remarked, tilting your head slightly to the side. You wrinkled your nose at the diamond cut out design in the sides of it. Whoever designed it must have not had enough money to spring for more a teensy bit more fabric. “But it’s kind of tacky. And it makes me look like a whore.”

“Mm yes, but a very beautiful whore,” Javi stated, his smirk widening as he drank in the gorgeous sight of you before him. He licked his lips, openly admiring the way you were clad in nothing but one of his shirts, his pink button up with short sleeves that you had once told him you loved so much because it was your favorite color; you’d sneakily stolen it out of his closet on laundry day a couple weeks back while all of your clothes had been in the washing machine and had never given it back to him. Not that Javier even really wanted it back at this point—his shirt looked a million times better on you than ever it did on him. Seeing you in it did inexplicable things to him and he fucking loved it when you padded around your now shared apartment in nothing but a pair of panties and his pink shirt. He took another glimpse at you, nearly foaming at the mouth at how it fit your frame, how the hem of it fell to the tops of your smooth thighs, the material hardly doing anything to cover up the tantalizing curves of your hips and your perfect ass. “Hermosura. The most beautiful whore in all of Colombia.”

You narrowed your eyes at him through the mirror, wishing you had a free hand you could flip him off with. “Gee, thanks for the compliment, Peña. You are always such a fucking charmer, aren’t you?”

“Oh, come on. Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. I’m just messing around with you. You know I don’t think you actually look like a whore—and trust me, I know what a whore looks like,” he responded with a deep and hearty laugh. He uncrossed his arms, allowing them to fall down to his sides as he pushed himself away from the door frame. He sauntered his way further into your bedroom, uninvited. “I’m being serious about the dress, though. Go with the red one. El vestido rojo. It’s perfect. Besides, that color would look gorgeous on you, cariño. I bet it would look almost as good on you as pink does.” He laughed again as he added, “Nice shirt, by the way.”

Your annoyed expression immediately softened into one of guilt. “I’ve been meaning to give you your shirt back,” You told him, sheepishly. “Te lo juro, Javi.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have,” Javier snorted, waving off the little white lie. He finally forced himself to tear his attention away from you and glanced around, observing the current state of your room instead. It looked like a tornado had hit the inside of your closet; dresses, jackets, and high heeled shoes were strewn all over the place. He wasn’t all too surprised by the mess. He knew you like he knew the back of his own hand by now, and this was typical of you when you were searching for the perfect outfit to wear on a free night out in the city. “I don’t remember you telling me you had any plans tonight, bonita. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with the chismosas of the office? Or are you going out for a girl’s night with Connie?”

You momentarily hesitated.

“Actually, I have a date.”

Through the mirror, you saw the smile fade from Javier’s face almost instantly.

Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.

“You have a date? With who?” he demanded.

Reluctantly, you turned around to face him. “You know Valeria, don’t you?”

The color drained from his face.

“That’s the translator who works up on the third floor, right?” He touched his hand to the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her around a couple of times.”

You almost laughed at the manner in which Javier tried playing dumb.

Of course he knew Valeria.

He had fucked her three weeks ago.

Javi had tried to keep it on the down low, but loud mouthed Valeria would brag to anyone who would listen all about how Agent Peña had fucked her in her office one evening while they’d been working late together and everyone else had gone home. Not that Javier even needed her services as a translator, he’d just needed an excuse to find himself in her office after hours so he could get his dick wet.

For some strange reason, you felt oddly fucking generous and decided to let Javier have this one, playing along with him and his sheer stupidity. “Yeah, her. She has an older brother who’s visiting the city for a few days. His name is Diego. He’s an immigration attorney who is here on business in Bogotá. She offered to set me up with him,” You explained, keeping everything as brief as possible. “I’m meeting him for drinks tonight.”

Javier frowned. “Have you met him in person?”

“Well no, but Valeria showed me his picture and she told me all about him. It’s not like he’s just some random ass guy I met on the street, Javi. He’s her brother, she advocated for him,” You tried to reason with him, knowing all too well where this conversation was heading. Sure, it was nice to know that Javier cared about you enough to be concerned about you meeting up with someone who was essentially a complete stranger, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle yourself. You’d spent many evenings sitting right in the laps of the violent criminals who worked for Escobar—a blind date with a coworker’s brother was nothing for him to make a fuss over. “I really don’t think that I have anything to worry about with him.”

He rigidly shook his head. “Look, no offense to Valeria, but I don’t like the idea of you running around this city at night with some fucking prick that you’ve never even met before. And before you throw all that undercover bullshit at me, just know that it’s not the same thing. You aren’t going out on the job tonight. You’re not going out with your team on standby to watch your back, you’re not going out with me and Murphy armed and ready to jump into action if things head south. What if something happens to you?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the complete and utter ridiculousness of his drama king antics. “Oh, give me a fucking break, Peña. Diego’s not a member of the fucking cartel, he’s a lawyer. And besides that, you’re acting like I can’t take care of myself.”

“Listen, I know damn good and well that you can take care of yourself just fine, muñeca. But still, that doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole arrangement.” Javier’s hands went to his waist and he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head once again. “I’m going to need to meet this guy before you go out with him. I don’t care whose fucking brother he is—whichever way you try to spin it, the bottom line is that he’s a still a fucking stranger and I want to check him out for myself before I let you go out with him.” He saw the mischievous twinkle in your eyes and peered at you suspiciously. “Please tell me he’s coming to pick you up here at the apartment.”

You laughed. “Of course not, Javi. I’m not stupid. I already knew you would behave like this. I knew you would go straight into overprotective mode, just like you always do. I didn’t want you scaring him off, so I’m taking a taxi cab and we’re meeting up at the bar instead.” You easily clocked the all too familiar glint in his eye and smiled sweetly at him. “And don’t even think about trying to guess which one it is so that you can show up and keep tabs on me the whole night. There are thousands of bars in this damn city and I can promise you that you’re not smart enough to figure out which one we’re going to, Agent Peña.”

Annoyed by the smugness in your tone and the way it was starting to get under his skin, Javier’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line. He watched you walk over to your closet, subtly swaying your hips to the music as you pulled out yet another dress to add to your rapidly growing list of options.

He could feel the envy prickling at each and every last single nerve ending in his entire body, his frustrations stewing at the mere thought of you going out with another man. His jaw clenched and he forced himself to shove the feeling down knowing damn well that he didn’t have the right to be jealous. Not when you two weren’t anything more than just friends.

If you’d just been a coworker, it would be different.

Javier would gladly, happily, risk mixing business with pleasure as he had so often done in the past with several secretaries—and a translator or two—in his time. But no matter how hard he’d tried over and over again to place you into that box, into that category, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

You weren’t just his coworker, you were his friend.

His best friend.

For as much shit as he gave you, you mattered to him. You were important to him, way too important to ever risk fucking up your friendship by fucking you.

Still. Javier would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it. He thought about it all the damn time. When he discovered that fucking himself into the palm of his hand and moaning your name quietly over and over again under his breath didn’t quite do the job for him anymore, he would find himself standing outside of your bedroom prepared to say fuck it all and make his move on you. But then it happened every single fucking time without fail—as soon as he lifted his curled fist to knock on your door, he started to remember things.

He’d remember the way you could so easily make him laugh with your clever and quick witted sense of humor. He remembered all those late nights you two would spend together lounging on his brown leather couch in your pajamas watching old, poorly made slasher films while indulging in the greasiest, unhealthiest takeout Bogotá had to offer. He remembered how you could read him just like a fucking magazine, how you always knew when something was wrong—and how you would always somehow know exactly what to say and do to comfort him whenever he needed it the most.

He would remember how you’d come to feel like his home away from home.

And then he would drop his hand right back down to his side, whirl around on his heel, and march straight back into his bedroom where he had little choice but to go back to fantasizing about what could never be between you and him.

Snapping himself out of his own train of thought, Javier carefully stepped over the mountains of clothing and shoes on the floor and made his way over to another pile of dresses that were draped over the foot of your bed. He caught a glimpse of the lingerie set on top of them, brand new with the price tag still attached to the fabric; the set was black, made of delicate, see through lace that would leave very little to the imagination when you put it on. He picked up the thong, hooking the thin elastic of it around his index finger. “Something tells me that you’re not planning on coming back home tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” Confused, you turned around and gasped, dropping the dresses in your hands. “Javier!”

“Are these even going to cover anything up?” he teased you with a laugh, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement as they darted between the thong and the lower half of your body. “Falta mucha tela, cariño.”

You rushed up to him and made a dive for the underwear. “Give me those!”

“How come you don’t ever wear anything like this around the apartment, hermosa?” Javi dangled them above your head and out of your reach. “All I ever get to see you in are those cotton panties, the ones with polka dots on them.” He glanced down, getting an eyeful of you and the aforementioned polka dot panties. “Kind of like the ones you’re wearing now—”

“Javier, cut it out!” You placed a hand on his shoulder as the other continued grabbing for the lingerie. “Come on, stop being such a fucking asshole!”

Although he could have easily enjoyed taunting you for hours and hours on end, Javier knew you wouldn’t hesitate to have your knee meet his balls. Not wanting to risk ending up on your floor curled up in pain, he eased up and handed them over to you.

“Idiota!” You hissed at him, furiously snatching the underwear out of his hand. You stomped over to your dresser and shoved them into the middle drawer, slamming it closed so hard the old stereo nearly went crashing to the floor. “You can be a real fucking douchebag, Peña.”

Javier wasn’t bothered by the insults; he’d grown used to those—however any trace of playfulness vanished as the reality began to set in for him. The reality of you sleeping with another a man tonight. “Wait a minute, are you really planning to fuck the guy?” He didn’t even make the attempt to mask the disappointment that laced his tone. “I mean, you haven’t even met him yet. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, querida.”

“You sound awful judgmental for someone who brings home a different escort every other fucking week,” You snapped at him, placing your hands on your hips. “Oh, and speaking of escorts, I had the pleasure of meeting Alessandra in the bathroom this morning. She asked if I had a tank top that she could borrow since apparently you got too eager and ripped her shirt off last night.” You tilted your head, squinting at him as he started shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “If you happen to go back to her for a second round, tell her that I want it back. Washed.”

Javier grimaced, looking down at the floor. “Shit. I thought she would be gone by the time you woke up,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Lo siento, bonita. I’m sorry.”

You blinked. “Sorry for what?”

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.

Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.

He didn’t have anything to apologize for, not really.

He was a single man who could do as, and who, he pleased.

Yet he still felt like a pile of dog shit knowing you’d encountered Alessandra while he had still been asleep.

You would never admit it, but Javier knew that to some extent, it hurt you to run into the women he would bring home. As if having to hear him railing them on the other side of your bedroom wall for hours wasn’t bad enough, having to meet them the following morning and seeing them half naked with their smeared makeup and disheveled hair from the previous night’s activities only made it so much fucking worse.

Having read his mind, you sighed and offered him some reassurance. “It’s fine, Javi. We both know that you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” You said, prompting him to look back up at you. You pointed a finger at him. “I do want my shirt back, though. And then maybe I’ll be nice and give you back yours.”

You expected Javi to scamper off to his room with his tail between his legs in shame. It was what he usually did—he’d avoid you for about a few hours until the dust settled, and then everything would go back to normal. Instead of running off, he stood there and spoke again.

“Are you really going to have sex with this guy?”

You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.

“I don’t know,” You confessed, quietly. “I want to have sex with him, but I don’t know if I’ll actually have the fucking balls to go through with it.”

“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”

Though Javier hadn’t been poking fun at you, you couldn’t help but feel irritated with him for asking you if you were nervous; because you actually were nervous, and him asking you only made you even more fucking nervous. “And so what if I am a little nervous?” You challenged him, lightly. “Sorry that we’re not all just confidently fucking our way through this city like you are, Peña.”

“When’s the last time you had sex, anyway?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s when,” You quipped.

“That’s not fair.” Javi pouted at you. “You know when the last time I had sex was.”

“Not by choice,” You retorted. “You’re right on the other side of my paper thin wall and I left my Walkman in the office.”

Javi waited expectantly for an answer. He wasn’t going to drop the subject, and you knew that.

“You’re such a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?” You muttered. Feeling a burning heat flood to your face, you decided to give him just about the most generic answer there was in order to get him off your back. “It was a long, long time ago.”

“Okay, but how long ago?” He pressed, curiously. “Are we talking weeks? Months?”

Your stomach began to churn violently, the hidden secret you’d kept to yourself for your entire adult life now at risk of being exposed.

“I-I really don’t remember,” You stammered out in response, averting your gaze away from his. “Can we not talk about my sex life, please? Besides, it’s getting late and I still need to take a shower and get ready for my date tonight. So if you would just kindly fuck all the way off, that would be great.”

Javier took a step back and there was a very brief moment where you had been certain you’d just narrowly avoided what could have been a painful, humiliating conversation. However, just as he was about to turn to leave, Javi’s eyes widened as it slowly clicked into place for him.

“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”

You groaned. “Javier, please don’t. For the sake of what’s left of my sanity, please don’t,” You nearly pleaded him, wishing that a large, Twilight Zone style swirling vortex would open up in the middle of your floor and swallow you whole.

“You’ve never had sex before,” he realized. “Have you?”

Your face felt like it had caught on fire.

Not knowing what to say or even do, you clasped your hands together and wrung them anxiously in front of you.

Of all the people to find out your secret, it just had to be Peña.

“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”

Surprised, you looked up at him.

Javi wasn’t teasing you or being a dick about it.

He seemed genuinely perplexed by the fact that you’d never had sex before. Not that it made it any less mortifying.

“Yes,” You admitted, exhaling the breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. “I’m a virgin, alright? There, are you satisfied?”

“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”

Despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I know this might come as a shock to you, but you don’t always have to fuck your informants to get what you need out of them, Peña. It’s not a requirement. I use my brains, not my body.”

“You’re shaming me for using my body?” he joked lightly, hoping it would further ease the awkward nature of the conversation—for your sake, not his.

“Just a little bit.” You offered him a small, crooked smile and felt your tense shoulders finally begin to relax. “You’re probably going to think it’s stupid or maybe even crazy, but the truth is that I’ve always wanted to wait and give it to the right man. Maybe even to a man that I’m in love with. But with the way my romantic life has been going, it just seems like that’s never going to happen for me.” You shrugged. “I just want to lose it already, Javi. I’m almost in my fucking thirties—either I lose it now, or I may as well throw in the damn towel and join a convent.”

“You would look kind of cute in a nun’s habit,” Javi mused, thoughtfully.

You shot him a glare, but felt the corners of your mouth threatening to turn up into another smile.

After a long minute, Javier broke the silence that had fallen over the both of you. “So then, Valeria’s older brother is the man you’re going to lose your virginity to? Tonight?”

“That’s the plan. He’s only here until the end of the week. It’d be no strings attached, so it works out perfectly.” You anxiously chewed on the inside of your cheek. “But only if I can find the courage to actually go through with it.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Not knowing what to do.”

Javier quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly rocket science, querida.”

You resisted the sudden urge to go up to him and backhand the stupid smirk right off of his face.

“Could you please just take me seriously for one second, Peña?” You huffed out in frustration. “I’m just really fucking nervous about it, alright? What if I can’t—what if I’m not good at it?”

Javi’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth and he stifled his laughter. “Preciosa, you’re being kind of…” He trailed off, trying to choose his next word carefully.

You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”

“Ridiculous. And before you come over here and start pummeling me to death with those little fists of yours...” He stopped and held up his hands in defense. He took a second or two to let eyes glaze over you from head to toe. “I’m only saying that because you’re fucking gorgeous, muñequita. Any man would be lucky to have a night with you. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s not about how I look, Javier. It’s about how I perform.” You felt your face grow hot for what had to be the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. Never did you think this would be a conversation you’d be having with him of all fucking people. “I listen to the way those women you bring home—I hear what they do to you. And I hear how much you like it.”

His lips parted slightly. “And you want to do that to him?”

“I want to make him feel good.”

Javier’s jealously simmered in his veins. But what could he do?

Nothing, that’s what. Just like him, you could do as, and who, you pleased. But if he could just get his hands on you first, at least to some extent, it would help ease the blow. He saw nothing wrong with blurring the lines, so long as he didn’t cross them.

Javi hummed. “If you really want to know how to make a man feel good, I can help you.”

“You can help me?” You repeated. “How?”

“By showing you a thing or two.”

You let out something mixed between a scoff and a laugh.

“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”

He tossed you an innocent look. “That’s not what I was suggesting at all.” He crossed the bedroom and walked over to you, reaching for your hands. He took them in his own and then started pulling you towards your bed. “If you’re really that worried about not knowing what to do, I can give you a few pointers. And calmada, querida. Our clothes stay on,” he reassured you before you could open your mouth to protest. “Just think of it as a friend helping out a friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

You chewed on your lower lip. “I don’t know about this, Javi.”

Javier’s thumbs softly smoothed across the back of your hands. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Right now, I’m not so sure that I do.” You paused long enough for him to throw you an exasperated, almost offended look. You rolled your eyes at him and nodded your head. “Yes, of course I trust you, Peña. I trust you with my fucking life. Literally, I put my life in your hands at least once or twice a week.”

“Then let me help you, hermosa.”

You inhaled a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled it softly. “Fine. But remember, our clothes stay on—” You were cut off, all the air leaving your lungs as Javi yanked you forward, slamming you against his chest. You looked up at him, ready to give him a piece of your mind for knocking the wind out of you, but as his eyes met yours, words failed you and all you could do was stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

This could not possibly end well.

And yet here you were, going along with it.

He snaked an arm around your waist, holding your body flush against his. Feeling how tense you had become, stiff as a fucking board, Javi gave you a light shake in an effort to get you to loosen up a bit. “First thing is first, you need to relax. There’s no need to overthink this, cariño. Especially not with me.” He reached up with his opposite hand, letting his index finger feather along your jawline. He then slipped it underneath your chin, lifting it ever so slightly and forcing you to look right into his rich pools of espresso. “I mean it. It really wouldn’t take much for a beautiful girl like you to drive me—I mean, drive him wild.”

You tried your hardest to keep your voice from trembling, but between his touch and being in such close proximity, you were finding it a hell of a lot more difficult than you’d imagined. “Show me, Peña. What drives you—I mean, what’s going to drive him wild?”

“Well, it always starts with the right kiss.”

You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”

“Kiss me.”

Had he lost his fucking mind?

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You echoed your thoughts

“Just a friend helping out a friend,” Javi reminded you in a murmur. “Remember?”

You should have said no. You should have decked him for even suggesting such a thing.

Instead, you gave him a small nod. You rested your hands delicately on his hard, lean chest and tilted your head upwards, lightly pressing your lips to his for a split second before quickly pulling away.

“There.”

“That was fucking pathetic,” Javier laughed softly, his warm breath fanning over the tip of your nose. “You’re not kissing your abuela, you know.”

You smacked his chest. “Javi! Leave my grandma out of this.”

“You have to kiss a man like you actually want him, querida. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”

Your throat went dry as his grip around your waist tightened. He moved his other hand away from your chin and it went to the back of your neck, gingerly tilting your head up towards his. Your heart hammered almost painfully against your ribcage, beating way too hard and way too fast for him not to feel it against his own chest. You had to silently remind yourself to breathe as Javi inched his face closer to yours, slowly. You knew that he was doing it on purpose, moving an agonizingly glacial pace to allow your anticipation to build; all the while his dark eyes were staring deeply into the depths of your very fucking soul, causing a fire to set ablaze deep in your lower belly.

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily as the tip of his nose skimmed a spot near the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing the underside of your jawline.

God, he was fucking good.

“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.

You needed to stop this. Javier was your friend—friends didn’t do shit like this.

Javi sensed your reluctance. “It’s alright, mi vida,” he whispered, uttering an affectionate pet name that he’d never used before. He gave you a small grin as he moved in to finally close the small gap of space between your faces. His lips met yours and every ridiculous cliché of sparks flying and fireworks exploding occurred the moment they did. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, gently coaxing its way into your mouth to begin a slow, sensual dance with yours. Cupping the back of your neck, he tilted your head up a bit further, granting himself better access to your mouth so that he could fully explore it inch by inch.

There was kissing other men.

And then there was kissing Javier.

Whimpering, your body melted against his as he swelled your lips with a kiss that was slow and sensual, yet somehow still hungry and possessive at the same time. Javier’s hands travelled down to your hips, his fingers skimming the hem of his shirt that you wore. He took the opportunity to sneak them underneath the garment, allowing them to meet the warmth of your skin.

Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him.

“Javier!” You squeaked out his name breathlessly, furiously swatting his hands away from your sides. You glared at him. “I thought we agreed, our clothes fucking stay on!”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware that I was taking any of your clothes off.” Javier reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. He then took a step backwards and gestured towards your bed. “Lay down.”

Your mouth fell open at his request.

“W-what?” You sputtered out, your eyes wide.

“You heard me. Get on the bed and lay down.”

Javi reached down, sweeping your pile of dresses off of the bed and onto the floor.

“Why? What are you going to do?” You questioned him, shuffling anxiously from one bare foot to the other.

Javier rolled his eyes and let out a small, impatient sigh. “Just do it, hermosa. You can trust me.”

Swallowing harshly, you obeyed him and walked around to the side of your bed, taking a seat. You inhaled another deep breath before bringing your legs up and laying back, your head resting against your decorative pillows. You nervously tugged and pulled at the hem of his stolen pink shirt, trying to cover yourself up as best as you could as you laid there, sprawled out before him; however Javier had other plans. He climbed onto the bed after you, positioning his body so it hovered over yours. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling himself right in between your thighs. He grabbed one of your legs and hiked it up around his waist, putting the two of you in a very, very dangerous position. His fingers remained wrapped around your thigh, his touch burning right into your soft flesh as he held your leg in place around him.

“Don’t be shy, muñequita.” His voice had gone low and husky. He trailed his hand further up your thigh.

He grinned, feeling satisfied with himself when he felt the goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Shut up, I’m not shy,” You fibbed, prompting him to chuckle.

“Mentirosa.” Javi’s hand abandoned your leg and he brought his hand up to the side of your face to cradle your cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip.

“Kiss me,” he commanded, gently. “And this time, kiss me like you mean it.”

You reached up for him with trembling hands and grabbed two fistfuls of his pewter blue, button up shirt. You pulled him down towards you and lifted yourself up slightly off your pillows, crashing your mouth against his. You allowed yourself to finally release any fears that you might have had before and kissed him greedily and with fervor, as if it would be the very last time you’d ever get to kiss Javier Peña—because it very well could be the last time you would ever get to kiss Javier Peña.

You kissed him deeply, going on until your lungs began to burn—you only broke away from him once they started screaming, demanding oxygen.

Tearing yourself apart from him, you released his shirt and dropped back down onto your pillows, breathlessly asking, “Better?”

“Oh, so much better. Good girl, mi muñequita linda,” he praised, grinning again as he caressed the silkiness of your cheek. He lowered his head and lips ghosted over yours for a moment before he moved them down your neck, feathering kisses to any exposed skin peeking out from underneath his shirt. His hand found your breast and he groaned realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath it. He kneaded the perfect, soft mound of flesh through the thin fabric, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers. He bucked his hips into yours, causing a loud moan to escape from your lips the second you felt his hardened cock through his tight, light blue jeans. He caught sight of the way you blushed at the sound that he’d elicited from you and his grin widened. “Noises like that? The louder the better. So don’t hold back, preciosa.”

“What else can I do to make you—to make him feel good?”

Javier dipped his face right into the hollow of your neck, thinking it over for a moment. “A woman who takes control can be very sexy. I like it—I bet he’ll like it if you get on top.”

“I think I can do that.” Biting your bottom lip, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back, sliding yourself out from underneath him. You guided him to lay back onto your pillows and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.

Maybe he’d been in over his head with this idea.

He knew at some point he’d have to stop it from going too far—but would he be able to?

“How do you like it?” You asked him, shyly. This time, you hadn’t bothered to correct yourself.

You didn’t want to know how to please another man.

You wanted to know how to please Javi.

Even if you’d never get the chance to do it.

“Depends on the mood,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders in the most nonchalant manner that he could muster under the circumstances—as if his cock wasn’t rock hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans and begging to be inside you.

“Te gusta despacito?” You start to rock your hips back and forth against his, slowly. “Do you like it slow?”

Javier’s breath hitched in the back his throat. At this point, there was no doubt about it—you could feel him underneath you, throbbing. “Sometimes,” he managed to choke out in reply. “Like I said. Just depends on the mood.”

“Or what about like this?” You grinned down at him, gaining a sense of confidence as you started to move faster on top of him, finding your perfect rhythm. You could see and clearly feel what you were doing to him. Knowing that you were having this kind of effect on Peña was nothing short of a fucking dream come true.

His hands went to your hips, holding on as you picked up the pace, grinding your clothed core down against his bulge.

You could feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, soaking your panties; you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d leave behind a wet spot on his jeans. “How am I doing?”

“Fucking amazing, muñeca,” he answered, earnestly. His long, thick fingers dug into your sides as he suggested, “It helps if you put on a little show while you’re up there, too.” He then pictured you in that sexy black lingerie set you’d bought; he imagined what it would be like to slip that tiny little thong to the side so you could freely ride his cock. The mere thought had him seeing stars.

“A show, huh?” You smirked and popped the top two buttons of your shirt—his shirt—exposing the smooth valley between your breasts to him. “I think I can do that too,” You giggled, pulling the fabric to the side, just enough to give him the tiniest glimpse of the soft curves of your chest but not enough to expose yourself completely.

“Hermosa,” he couldn’t help but groan out. It took every ounce of strength he had inside him not to reach up and tear his shirt right off of you so he could see all of you.

You grabbed his hands from your hips and slowly began guiding them all around your body. You started by placing them on your breasts, giving him permission to cop another feel before moving them slowly down the lengths of your sides and placing them on your bare thighs. From there, you picked up Javi’s hands once more and placed them behind you, allowing him to take two generous handfuls of your ass. Your hands then abandoned his and you placed them on his chest, supporting yourself as you continued to roll your hips against his, riding him through his jeans. You tossed your head back and closed your eyes; the friction of your clit against his pelvis even through all the clothes felt like absolute heaven, and you let out a lustful moan that bounced off of your bedroom walls as you continued to drive your hips harder against his own.

Realizing that this was no longer a lesson and you were actually pleasuring yourself, Javier groaned again. He moved his hands back to your hips and found himself bucking his own hips upwards to meet you halfway—he abandoned any and all worries about taking it too far. He wanted you to come.

He needed to see you come.

“Javi,” You gasped his name, moaning again.

“That’s it, muñeca,” he rasped out. “Just like that, baby. Keep going. What a good girl, what a good fucking girl.”

Any and all common sense had been washed away by pleasure and by your need to reach that sweet, sweet release.

It was so close. You felt him right there, right between your clothed folds, and all you could do was imagine what it would be like to have his cock fill you up and stretch you completely.

His name began to slip from your lips, rolling off of your tongue over and over again with such ease.

Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.

You went down, he went up.

You pulled, he pushed.

No doubt about it, Javier was trying to get you off.

Somehow, you find a voice that speaks in between all your pitiful little pants.

“J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”

Javier quickly sat up and wrapped one of his arms around your waist. He slammed your mouths together, silencing you mid sentence. He thrusted upwards, and you whined into his kiss, rubbing your clit against his bulge even harder.

The beginning of your orgasm coiled up tightly in your belly, and you knew it would spring forward any second now.

“Javi, I’m so close—”

“It’s okay, hermosa. Come for me,” he mumbled into your mouth. “I’ve got you.”

Your arms found their way around his shoulders and you buried your face into his neck. Squeezing your eyes shut, your loud cries came out muffled against his collarbone as you unraveled, coming undone with one last cry of his name.

You slumped forward, resting your head on his shoulder as you fought to catch your breath, the pleasure still pulsing between your thighs.

Javier’s other arm curled around you and he said nothing as he held you.

Once you’d finally started coming down from your high, your eyes flew open and a chill went up the length of your spine.

What had you two just done?

Still straddling his lap, you pulled back. “Javi—”

Without warning, Javier flipped you over so you were on your back underneath him once again. He hovered over you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he dipped his head and captured your lips with his one final, deep and sensual kiss.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about tonight,” he murmured once he had pulled away. “You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.”

He touched the tip of his nose to yours before climbing off of you.

“I fucking hope this guy realizes what a lucky son of a bitch he is,” Javier said quietly before turning on the heel of his boot and walking out of your bedroom, leaving you laying there with your mouth parted open in complete shock.

Translations

Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. - It’s just a little joke, doll. No need to get offended.

El vestido rojo. - The red dress.

Te lo juro, Javi. - I swear to you, Javi.

Chismosas - Gossipers

Falta mucha tela, cariño. - There is a lot of fabric missing, darling.

Mentirosa. - Liar.

Te gusta despacito? - Do you like it a little slow?

#javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javier peña angst #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #javier pena #pedro pascal characters #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #javier peña smut #narcos smut #javier pena smut

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tyonfs · 1 year

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the marriage and baby project (teaser)

PAIRING ▸ mark lee x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, crack, college au, fake dating (marriage?) au

SUMMARY ▸ mark lee has had the biggest crush on you for years, so, naturally, he’s over the moon when you’re both partnered for a group project. however, he underestimates just how close two people can get when they have to pretend they’re married for a month while taking care of a fake baby.

ESTIMATED WORD COUNT ▸ 8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ the dunk shot series is not dead guys :’) sorry this series was sort of at a standstill for a bit but here’s the teaser for mark’s installment !! ♡ send me an ask or comment if you want to be on the tag list! (warnings will be added in the final fic)

THE ONLY REASON WHY MARK TOOK FAMILY AND CONSUMER SCIENCE WAS BECAUSE his friends told him it would be an easy A for a general education requirement he needed to fulfill. No one clued him in on having to become a married man and father.

“Hi, Mark,” you greeted with a smile, sliding into the seat next to him. “I guess I’m Y/N Lee for the next few weeks.”

He felt his heart drop to his stomach.

Here was a brief rundown: you were essentially a femme fatale, a drop-dead gorgeous it-girl; and Mark was a loser who was somewhat good at playing basketball. On top of that, Mark harbored the biggest crush on you since forever.

Forever dated back to high school. Although Mark never spoke to you much, he had always thought you were the most breathtaking individual he had ever seen. That was probably why he was malfunctioning right now. He had never gotten the opportunity to be around you like this, mostly because you were dating Vernon Chwe up until last year. All he could do was admire from afar helplessly, eyes lingering as you strode down hallways.

Chenle told him that there was a definite shelf life on relationships like yours and Vernon’s—relationships that were mostly physical—so he was confident you two wouldn’t last. And he was right. When you and Vernon broke up, Mark felt bad seeing your sad eyes, but an ugly part of him had been waiting for it to happen.

This situation, however, was like winning the lottery. Not only was he partnered up with you, but he had to play the role of your husband? Things like this never really happened to Mark, so he figured some misfortunate was coming his way soon.

“Hey, Y/N,” he managed to get out.

“Come up and get your babies,” the professor instructed. “These RealCare infant simulators use wireless programming to track and report on your behaviors, which is why I had you all sign those consent forms.” She held up one of the dolls for everyone to see. “I’m not gonna require you all to keep your dolls in a car seat, but I will be able to see records of misuse, clothing changes, temperature changes, whether you’ve rocked, fed, or burped your baby, or respond to its cries.”

Great. He had to walk around campus with a plastic baby. Mark’s friends were never going to let him live this down.

He wondered if the RealCare infant could play basketball.

He turned to face you again. “Do you want a boy or girl?”

“Mark Lee,” his professor chided, and he nearly jumped when saw her standing right beside his desk. “You don’t get to choose the gender of your child in real life, so I’ll be randomly assigning each couple a baby.”

“I don’t think we’ve considered the possibility of gene editing.”

“You can take that up with Congress.”

GENERAL TAG LIST ▸ @papiiimark @jaehy9ngs @chanluster @jjhmk @marksflute @superhajimark @jeongyoonohs @marklexleaf @dnylwoo @kpop-bambi @miyrisa @jjikyuu @venesiun @seventeeneration @chenosaurus16 @kylomeyon @infnteen @ohmarkly @weish5n @thejeongjaehyun @lovesjenmoong @infnteen @wownajaemin @haruharux23 @pewpewpwe00 @scxrlettkx @pckeia @keijikunn @sapiowoman28 @atiny-doodles @loki-in-hogwarts @baekhyuns-lipchain @repjaehyn @chan-s-laptop @jen0zen @michplusb @yutassecrettime @minkis-simp @dreamyyang @catscoffeeandkpop @ahgastayzen @ryu-naa

#mark smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct smut #nct scenarios #mark scenarios #mark x reader #mark lee smut #mark lee #mark lee x reader #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct oneshots #nct dream oneshots #mark oneshots #mark imagines #nct hard hours

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flowerandblood · 6 months

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The Second One (1/2)

[ modern • Aemond x Alys!sister • female ]

[ warnings: angst, kissing, physical violence, swearing, toxic relationship, toxic behaviour, manipulation ]

[ description: On the occasion of their grandfather's birthday, her older sister, Alys, comes to their house and introduces her partner to their family, who from the very beginning arouses her concern with his behavior. After a series of unpleasant words and arguments, he visits her in her room in the night, paying her a strange, ambiguous visit. Dark, manipulative, bitchy Aemond. Anon request. ]

This is Part 1 of The Loved One

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Her family decided to throw a party for her grandfather at their house to celebrate his 90th birthday, at which her older sister appeared for the first time with her partner. She was surprised that her man was so young and thought with shock that the age difference between them was at least 10 years.

She and her never understood each other very well, as Alys pursued her goals over dead bodies. After many years, she realised that she could not trust her, that she had to be careful with her words around her. She loved her and tried to accept her as she was, but she couldn't be her friend.

Nor did it seem to her that Alys could ever see her as such.

She introduced the man she had come with perfunctorily, a scar on his left cheek, it seemed to her, looking at him from a distance, that one of his eyes was artificial, shining strangely in the light of the chandelier.

He was dressed all in black in a tight jumper and fitted trousers, standing with his hands folded in front of him like a bodyguard, not paying much attention to what his sister was saying, biting his lower lip.

She thought that he didn't want to be here at all.

She shuddered when their gazes met for a long moment. Instead of looking away, however, she felt a sense of discomfort as she saw the way his eyes ran shamelessly over her entire body, the tip of his tongue hitting the side of his cheek.

She left the room deciding she didn't want to look at it, walking out through the back door into the garden.

Alys always overshadowed her, she felt small and bland in her presence. Her older sister could make a good impression when she wanted to, she was extremely feminine and confident, mysterious, a true femme fatale. She was very successful in the fashion industry, modeling for many years, her face on the front pages of the world's magazines.

Unsurprisingly, she did not seek the friendship of her younger sister, who was a nobody next to her, a little girl playing at studying literary history. She loved reading, in the world of books she could be whoever she wanted, she could be the only one, the main character in the story.

Despite what she was feeling, she tried not to show her or anyone else her pain, focusing on her friends from her studies and the fact that she really liked what she was doing, recognising that getting into university thanks to her results without being forced to pay tuition fees was also some kind of success, something her parents always emphasised.

She sat on the grass taking advantage of the fact that it was a pleasant summer evening, due to living far outside the city boundaries she could admire the stars that stretched above her across the cloudless dark sky.

She heard the sound of a door being pushed open and slid shut and thought it was her father smoking compulsively. She smiled as she heard someone's footsteps heading in her direction being sure it was him, hearing the sound of a lighter being fired up and the hiss of a cigarette.

She glanced over her shoulder and froze seeing the man Alys had come with looking at her intently. She pulled back slightly as he sat down next to her, shocked to feel her heart pounding, knowing it was strange to say the least, she felt uncomfortable.

He held out his hand to her with his cigarette and she shook her head without looking at him, wondering if she should return home. He grinned, letting the smoke out loudly through his nose.

"Are you running away from her too?" He asked with some kind of amusement, his voice low, deep, slightly hoarse. She felt a shudder at his words and looked at him uneasily with a expression of surprise on her face, wondering what he was implying.

She was running away from whom?

From Alys?

She swallowed loudly, recognising that his words were rude. They might not have liked each other, but she was her sister.

"Why be with someone you're running away from?" She asked frustrated, wondering if he had come to arouse her sister's jealousy, to tease her at her expense.

She had no intention of getting dragged into any of their games.

She felt a tightening in her throat when he looked at her with some kind of mockery, before responding he pressed his cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag, letting the smoke out along with his words.

"She can fuck well." He hummed, as if it was a normal, decent response. She shook her head in disbelief and stood up, moving ahead, leaving him alone. She entered her house and passed Alys, who wanted to ask her a question.

"Did you perhaps see −"

"− in the garden."

She couldn't look at him for the entire dinner and, as if he was doing it on purpose, he took the seat opposite her before Alys could decide for him where they would sit. She told him to move closer to her mother, but he settled comfortably in his chair, playing with his fork.

"No. I'm fine here." He muttered, throwing her a long, meaningful look. She pressed her lips together, swallowing loudly, feeling sick to her stomach.

She thought they were both worthy of each other.

She had no idea what their relationship was, but Alys liked to live on the edge and perhaps that was what she experienced with him.

Extreme emotions.

Her older sister finally sat down next to him, noticing her at last, asking her questions out of politeness that she didn't feel like answering, seeing him looking at her with a smirk that made her sick.

What kind of man was this?

"How are you doing in your studies? What are you reading now? Any poetry?" She asked in her soft, low, feminine voice, taking a sip of wine, fixing her long black hair.

She exhaled quietly, swallowing hard, looking down at her plate, on which lay an uneaten piece of meat.

"I'm reading the prose of Witold Gombrowicz right now. He's a Polish writer." She explained, convinced that her sister would certainly not know who it was, she, however, surprised her as she blinked, looking at her partner in wonder.

"Gombrowicz… do you by any chance have books by this author in your flat, Aemond?" She asked him curiously, his gaze, however, not even paying her a moment's attention, fixed on her, making her feel like sinking to the ground.

"Yes." He replied briefly, with some kind of satisfaction from which she grew hot, feeling uncomfortable with the idea that she had any interest in common with the man who sat before her. Alys stirred in her chair, intrigued.

"That's interesting. Well, tell me, little sister, what this Gombrowicz is writing about." She said lightly, putting a bit of salad on her plate.

She felt some kind of humiliation at her words, like a monkey in a circus who was now going to juggle her knowledge for her enjoyment. She sighed quietly, giving up, having no idea how to explain it to her.

"It's complicated." She said truthfully, and her sister snorted.

"Don't you know what you're reading about? What are they teaching you in these studies?" She asked with lively amusement, and she felt a tightening in her throat and tears pushing at her eyes, which she held back with difficulty.

She exhaled and looked at the man sitting in front of her, staring at her expectantly, intrigued as to what she would do, how she would answer, the fingers of his hand rubbing against each other in a gesture of anticipation.

"Gombrowicz uses difficult metaphors, swaps out certain words, using other, infantile ones in their place. Most of it is written as if he himself is the protagonist of events, it is like his stream of consciousness, the plot is simultaneously present and absent.

What all his books have in common is that he is a broken man, rejected by Poland and the Poles because he fled to Argentina on the Transatlantic right after the outbreak of the Second World War instead of staying and fighting.

Everything he writes about is his relationship with his country, which he loves and hates, which he longs for and abhors, his despair about his sexuality and his psyche. He wrote all his life in Polish, but he did not return to Poland, the communists did not want to publish his work.

He was unable to express his feelings in another language and although he was considered a traitor, in my opinion his true feeling for his country, the enormity of his suffering in seeing how much poison there was in his nation, which he pointed his fingers at when others praised it to the skies, is expressed in his work.

He is, in my opinion, an outstanding author." She said on practically one exhale, grabbing her glass of water and taking a deep sip from it, setting it down with a loud clink of glass, not looking at them, breathing with difficulty, feeling her heart pounding hard.

Her sister blinked, raising her eyebrows, shaking her head.

"Oh, Mother, so many long sentences, and I still don't know exactly what his books are about. Anyway, I'm glad that you're doing well with your studies." She said lightly, and she shuddered to see a wide, dangerous smile spread across the lips of the man before her.

He was enjoying what was happening.

He drew satisfaction from it.

Her sister went back to eating, turning to their aunt across the table, not seeing that she was struggling to hold back tears of humiliation.

Nor did she see the way her partner looked at her sister, unaware that he was giving her far too much attention.

She thought they were both fucked up.

She knew that another half hour at the most and she could run upstairs to her room saying she would go to bed and leave this whole gathering.

She saw Aemond grab a bottle of wine and pour himself half a glass, her sister threw him a puzzled, upset look.

"You're driving, aren't you?" She burbled, and he hummed under his breath, taking a deep sip. He set his glass down without looking at her.

"Not anymore. I'm tired."

She felt a tightening in her pit at the thought that he was trying to make them stay here instead of going back to the city.

She thought the last thing she wanted was to listen to them moaning on the other side of the wall and looked away, resigned and tired.

According to her plan, after several minutes she said a polite goodbye to everyone and said she would go to bed now, not honouring him or her sister with a single glance.

She changed into her pyjamas consisting of a T-shirt and shorts and locked her door, wanting to make sure no one tried to enter her room.

She swallowed loudly when, an hour later, she heard their voices in the corridor, lifting her gaze from the book she had just been reading in the light of her bedside lamp while sitting on her bed.

"I told you already, I don't want to stay here overnight. Let's order an Uber." Her sister insisted, she could hear her muffled, frustrated voice.

"And I told you I am tired. I'd like to finally fucking rest. You wanted me to come, I came, and now I want to go to bed. Is that so fucking much?" She heard his low, angry voice and felt discomfort at the thought of hearing every word knowing that this was their private conversation.

"Can you keep your voice down? Do you always have to act like a little child? And why are you looking like a pervert at my little sister, huh? Do you think I can't see? Do you want to fuck her?" She hissed out in a whisper, and she felt her heart pounding hard, ashamed, embarrassed and horrified by her words, by the fact that she had noticed it and pretended that nothing had happened.

She heard his low chuckle.

"Maybe I want to. Maybe she wouldn't act like a bitch to me like you do." He growled and she heard a loud splat followed by complete silence.

She slapped him.

She stared at her door, breathing unevenly, swallowing her saliva with difficulty, wondering if she should come out and intervene or if it was better to stay quiet.

"Get the fuck out of my house." She hissed and he laughed, as if her words amused him.

"Fuck no. I'll stay here overnight and drive home in the morning by my car. If you want, order an Uber. Sorry −"

She heard someone come upstairs and from the way he spoke she deduced that it was her mother.

"− will it be a problem if I stay here overnight? I feel bad and I wouldn't want to go back to the city in this condition." He said lowly, there was silence again, she thought despairingly that her mother didn't know what to do, having surely heard at least some of their argument.

"− I − yes − of course −" She muttered after a while. She heard the sound of a door opening on the other side of the corridor, their voices becoming increasingly indistinct.

Then she heard the loud clatter of Alys' heels, her and her mother's voices as they ran down the stairs.

"Fucking bastard." Said her sister, their mother trying to reassure her.

"− after all, I can't just throw him out, since you invited him −"

She heard the loud slamming of the front door. She got up on trembling legs and walked slowly to the window, seeing her sister lighting a cigarette with trembling hands, wiping her cheeks.

She cried.

She felt a squeeze in her heart at the sight, and even though she had hurt her so often with her words, she felt sorry for her. After a moment, she saw an Uber pull up in front of their house, and she got into it and just drove off.

She swallowed loudly at the thought that she had gone, but he had stayed.

What was he planning?

She turned off her lamp, hiding under her duvet, swallowing loudly, listening for any sounds. She felt restless, she couldn't fall asleep and she shivered feeling her heart pounding hard.

She felt that something was about to happen.

She shuddered, snapped out of a deep sleep when she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced quickly at her phone's display and saw that it was two o'clock in the morning.

She looked at her door, figuring that if she didn't get up he would go away, but he knocked again. She covered her face with her hands, feeling tears under her eyelids with fear.

"Please, go away. Please." She said pleadingly wanting him to take pity on her, not having the strength for it, for their pushing and shoving, for him to fuck her now when in a week's time they'd be back together with her sister, looking for thrills, hating and loving each other like two elements.

She had no intention of being anyone's plaything.

"I want to talk about Gombrowicz." He said lowly and she groaned loudly, licking her lips, shaking her head.

"It's two in the morning." She muttered beggingly, not understanding completely what he had in mind.

"I'm not going until we talk about him." He said after a moment in a matter-of-fact, cool tone, and she sighed heavily, stood up and walked to the door, turning the key.

She opened it for him and there he was, standing in front of her, looking down at her with an indifferent expression on his face. He stepped inside as if nothing had happened, walking up to her window and opening it wide, pulling cigarettes and a lighter from the back pocket of his trousers.

She thought surprised that she had never met such an insolent man in her life and simply closed the door behind him, sitting down on her bed, leaning her back against the wall, covering her bare legs with the duvet.

He didn't look at her but out of the window, straight into the night, his face lit by the warm flame of the fire, his cigarette hissed and lit. He took a drag of it, settling comfortably on her wide windowsill, silent for a long moment.

"Have you read Trans-Atlantyk?" He asked at last indifferently, still not looking at her while letting the smoke out with his mouth, his face turned in profile to her. She swallowed loudly, all tense, wrapping her knees with her hands.

"Yes." She replied quietly.

Silence fell between them again, broken only by the hiss of his cigarette each time he took a drag.

"What do you think about it?" He asked at last, just as matter-of-factly and dispassionately, and she pressed her lips together, sleepy and tired.

"That it's his best book." She said truthfully, throwing him a depressed, exhausted look.

She didn't have the strength for this.

She just wanted to go to sleep.

"Why?" He continued, and she sighed heavily, placing her forehead on her knees.

"Because it is his response to what has been going on around him. It is his answer to all the accusations made against him. Proof that his country was not at all indifferent to him - on the contrary, although he wanted to, he could not eradicate it from his heart. He saw what was poisoning his country from within. What was destroying it and he had the courage to speak out about it.

He spoke of it with irony and contempt, but when you read into his words, there is only deep feeling and regret there, regret that his country cannot be what he would like, what he needs, what he loves, but his people do not reciprocate this feeling, do not see the need to change, that everything is declining.

His feelings are complicated, but therefore true, because he shows that there are no easy answers. Out of the chaos of his thoughts there emerges some truth, some core, and although elusive, although dressed up in humour and irony that made me laugh, after reading this book I wanted to cry."

She said exactly what she felt, regardless of whether he was listening or not. She heard him hum at her words, silent for a long moment, his cigarette almost completely burnt out.

"After I first read this book I couldn't sleep. I felt anxious. As if I had suddenly entered someone's mind, heard their private thoughts and then no longer knew whether I or the author was thinking about something. I had never felt anything like that before." He said low, calmly, running his tongue over his lower lip, dropping his cigarette into her glass of water that stood on her desk.

She looked at him uncertainly noticing that his face was no longer so tense and aggressive, he was lying comfortably spread out, leaning his back against a wall, pulling another cigarette from his pack.

She considered his words in silence, recognising with surprise that she understood what he was talking about, that she had in fact felt the same way when she read this author's books.

"Can I sleep here with you?" He asked suddenly, and she threw him a shocked, horrified look. She watched him nonchalantly light another cigarette.

What?

"− no − I − God −" She mumbled out, burying her face in her hands, wanting to tell him that he was just terrifying her, that what he was asking was wrong in so many different ways and was putting her in a very awkward position.

"− I can sleep on the floor − I won't touch you −" He said finally looking at her, letting out a puff of smoke with a quiet hiss of his lips. She couldn't tell what she saw in that look, dark, cold, proud.

She felt a certain discomfort looking at his face, feeling that it was some kind of game, that he was testing her.

"I don't believe you. You want to have fun at my expense, but I don't feel like it. We've talked, now leave. Please." She said quietly, looking bravely into his face, trying to sound as soft as possible. She had no intention of offending him, she just wanted him to let her alone.

He, however, was still sitting in the same place and still looking at her.

"I don't love your sister." He said lightly, as if he were talking about the weather, and she snorted, shaking her head.

"I don't care. She cried today because of you after she left our house. You're insolent and unpleasant, intruding on me in my own home and making me feel uncomfortable." She choked out, frustrated and angry, furrowing her brow, feeling that she was losing patience.

He, however, chuckled lowly at her words, amused, shaking the ash from his cigarette out of the window.

"She was crying? That's interesting. She didn't give a shit that you almost cried because of her at the table." He murmured, glancing at her curiously, clearly wanting to check her reaction. She pressed her lips together at his words.

"It's none of your business. Get out." She said dryly, and he stood up, approaching her slowly, crouching in front of her bed, placing his elbows on her bedding, the cigarette in his mouth, which he lightly removed with his hand as he caught his balance.

"She told me about you. What an ugly duckling you are. That you don't know how to dress well, don't know how to accentuate your figure and your assets. That you hide yourself in big sweatshirts and sit with your nose in books instead of really living and that there's nothing to talk to you about because you can't converse about anything interesting." He mused, taking another drag, cocking his head with curiosity.

She felt pain in her heart at his words and tightness in her throat, her fingers clenched on the material of her duvet, her eyebrows arching in anguish. She felt tears under her eyelids again, but she didn't want to give this bastard any satisfaction.

"Get out." She repeated coolly in a trembling voice, looking at him coldly.

"But when I saw you today I understood why she said that. Because you're pretty. Because you're kind. Polite and cultured. Because you can talk about high literature, and she just doesn't understand what you're talking about. You don't have to spend hours applying make-up, wearing deep necklines and tight dresses to be naturally beautiful. To attract and intrigue. She's fucking jealous of you, little one." He hummed and she felt a shudder at the way he called her, thinking how inappropriate it was, she pressed her body against the wall, wanting to be as far away from him and his words as possible, feeling hot, thinking that he was manipulating her.

"Did you tell her what she wanted to hear too, before you got bored?" She asked with derision, the corner of her mouth twitching in a mocking smile. She saw his gaze darken, licking his lower lip involuntarily as if he recognised that he was accepting her challenge.

"I didn't have to say much. She prefers to fuck, you know? To feel desired." He murmured low, taking another drag, looking at her expectantly, some dangerous glint in his eye.

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked finally, feeling that she didn't have the strength for it, that she just wanted him to leave her alone. He smirked in a way that made her feel a shiver.

"Just so you know the problem isn't with you." He said lightly, as if it was obvious, and she shook her head unable to follow his train of thought.

"Why are you with her if you despise her?" She asked, spreading her hands in a gesture of despair, feeling that she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, her voice slightly raised and trembling.

"Because she has big tits and a big ass. Because she sucks cock well." He said calmly and she shook her head, feeling embarrassed by his words, feeling as one by one tears began to run down her cheeks.

She covered her face with her hands, feeling that it was too much for her, that they were both worthy of each other.

Why was he meddling her in their affairs?

"− hey − hey, little one −" He whispered, she felt the mattress next to her bend under his weight and she immediately jumped back, terrified, pushing him away, shaking her head.

"− no − please, no, leave −" She mumbled out, but he just put his arms around her and pressed her against his chest, she could hear his heart beating fast, he smelled of wine, cigarettes and some intense, masculine perfume.

"− please, let me go −" She wailed through her tears, but he hushed her, his free hand stroking her hair, the other holding his cigarette.

She felt him lean his back against the wall and settle into a half-lying position, drawing her with him, his large, warm hand roaming over her head and back, in some strange, irrational way making her feel comfortable.

"− cry −" He whispered quietly with some kind of understanding, as if he knew what she was going through, and although she didn't want to, she allowed herself to burst into sobs, along with her tears flowing out of her all the years she felt next to her sister like nobody.

She didn't want to come off as the jealous one, the one who couldn't enjoy other people's successes, but she understood that Alys never praised her sincerely, everything she said was the bare minimum so that no one could accuse her of being judgmental towards her.

She felt bad at the thought of sobbing in her man's embrace, cuddled up to his chest, but she couldn't help it, she didn't have the strength anymore, she just wanted to sleep, to simply rest.

"− it's okay, little one − I know −" He hummed stroking her hair with slow, tender movements, playing with her curls once in a while, smoking his cigarette, which he held in his other hand, the pleasant, cool night air breezing over her warm, red cheeks.

They were both quiet, lying like that in silence, looking towards the window. She sniffed with her nose and snuggled into him, surrendering.

She thought that if he tried to rape her she would start screaming loudly to wake her family, but some subconscious feeling told her that he wouldn't do it.

That for some reason he too sought comfort in her.

"− I'm done with her, you know? − after what I saw today − after the way she spoke to you I realised that she has no respect not only for me, but even for her immediate family − I was deluding myself that she was only saying that to me because I'm a piece of shit, but I was wrong −" He murmured quietly, weariness and discouragement in his voice. She swallowed loudly, trembling in his embrace.

"You don't speak respectfully to her either." She whispered resentfully, wondering if he really thought he was blameless.

He chuckled quietly at her words and she shuddered when she felt him kiss her hair as if they had been close, as if they had known each other for years. He rested his chin on the top of her head, playing with her hair.

"− that's true − but I don't pretend to be a saint − I know what I want and I make it clear − she hides her desires behind pretty, empty words −" He grunted, stroking her head with a calm, steady motion of his hand.

For some reason what he was doing was calming her down, she was no longer so frightened, though she still felt strange and uncomfortable.

"If you make it clear what you want, why don't you say why you came here?" She asked with a grudge, feeling pain at the thought of him toying with her and getting exactly what he wanted. He hummed, letting the smoke out through his nose.

"I already told you. I want to talk to you about Gomborowicz and sleep in the same bed with you." He murmured low, kissing her head again, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her hair.

She felt bad at the thought that for some reason it was pleasurable, that she felt a sense of satisfaction that she was now the one in bed with him and not her sister.

She shuddered when his hand slid up to her face and lifted her chin, forcing her to rise her head. She drew in a loud breath when she felt his lips immediately pressed to hers, soft, wet and hot, his tobacco-tasting tongue invading deep into her throat making her feel throbbing between her thighs.

She pressed her hand against his sleek black jumper, ashamed and terrified that she didn't have the strength to resist him, that she was taking pleasure in the way his fingers stroked her cheek gently as their tongues met and licked with a loud, lewd click, rough and sticky from their saliva, his cigarette slowly burning out in his other hand.

She wasn't sure she'd ever been so terrified and aroused at the same time, her heart pounding like mad, she felt her moisture between her thighs, she clenched her legs tightly to relieve herself any way she could.

She knew he felt it, his hand slid from her face down her back to her buttocks and slipped from behind between her thighs, his fingers pressed against the material of her shorts, massaging her there in sure, slow, circular motions.

"No." She mumbled and pulled away from him, terrified, feeling that this had gone too far, that she couldn't do this, that she wouldn't let him take advantage so that he could then laugh in Alys face with the satisfaction that her little sister had welcomed him between her thighs with joy.

They stared at each other with eyes wide open, breathing embarrassingly loudly.

"Come here."

"Please, get out."

"Come."

She felt her heart pounding hard, felt that they were now fighting each other for dominance, for who would have the last word, who would give in.

"If you don't leave, I'm going to get up and wake my parents saying that you came to my room in the middle of the night and you won't leave me alone." She said dryly and he pressed his lips together feeling that her words were final, that she wasn't joking.

"You don't want me to leave." He whispered lowly pressing his lips together, breathing unevenly, his cigarette extinguished.

She swallowed loudly involuntarily glancing down and felt a shudder as she saw the bulge in his trousers.

He was hard.

She shook her head feeling her tears gather in the corners of her eyes again.

"I can't, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. I don't want to do it, not like this, it's wrong. Fuck!" She cursed, knowing it had gone too far anyway, burying her face in her hands, heartbroken that she could have done such a thing to her own sister.

She heard him rose lazily, dropping his second cigarette into her glass of water. He looked at her over his shoulder in a way that made her feel a tightness in her throat.

"I'm sorry, little one. I didn't mean to hurt you. Really." He said lowly with some kind of pain and just walked out, leaving her alone at last.

She collapsed on her bed, covering herself with her duvet up to her head, wanting to hide, to disappear, to sink into the ground.

She couldn't believe how close it was.

How close it was for them to fuck.

She cried her eyes out terrified that she felt tension between her thighs, that she was aroused.

That some part of her wanted him to come back and finish what he had started.

She was awakened in the morning by the loud banging of the front door of her house. She got up quickly, walking over to her open window, looking out of it into her driveway.

She saw him open his car door and give her one last look, as if he hoped he would see her there. She felt a strange tightening in her heart and pain, tears under her eyelids.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a slam, after a moment she heard the muffled sound of music and the whirr of an engine.

She watched with a blank stare as he drove away and disappeared around the corner, pressing her forehead against the frame of her window, feeling a stream of tears begin to run down her cheeks.

She wiped her face with her hands, heartbroken that this man had brought her to such a state in one evening, and turned away, wanting to return to her bed.

She froze, spotting something white on the floor beneath her door. After a moment, she noticed that it was a folded piece of paper and she walked over to it quickly, picking it up from the floor and opening it. There was only one sentence written inside.

I wish I had met you before her.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

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yourmaximoff · 6 months

Text

Smooth Criminal

Summary: Is it possible for the dreaded serial killer Scarlet Witch to be just a woman you met at a disco?

Paring: Serialkiller!Wanda x Fem!Reader

Warnings: (+16) Kisses, warm touches, implicit sex, knife play (light), drink spiking, and implicit murder.

Words: 3k

A/N: Happy Halloween with Femme Fatale Wanda, literally. x.x

(English is not my first language, sorry for any translation errors)

𓆩♡𓆪

The rain, calm and cold, hammered incessantly against the windows of the distant nightclub on a Halloween night. Each drop left a translucent trail, distorting and diffusing the vibrant colors of the dance floor that shone inside the club.

The darkness inside the nightclub, as dense as pitch, was pierced and illuminated by a mirrored metallic sphere suspended in the center of the dance floor. As the mirrored ball spun slowly, the reflections and beams of light were dispersed throughout the club, painting the walls and people with a sea of vibrant colors.

Your mind was far away while your gaze was fixed on the half-full glass in front of you. Your tedious and weary fingers slid along the edge, creating a sharp and slightly uncomfortable sound. Your wandering gaze seemed to take a different course when a mysterious female figure in a coat and hat walked through the nightclub's door and was reflected in the glass. Your eyes soon shifted from the glass to the woman, who was now removing her partially wet coat and hat.

Blonde hair, short and delicately wavy, swayed gently as she took off her hat. Her eyelids, adorned with a soft touch of silvery glitter, and her lips painted with a soft, rosy gloss, looked like a charming work of art framing her oval face.

She gently slid her hands down the front of her unbuttoned overcoat, shook her shoulders, causing the coat to fall, revealing the stunning black sequin dress hidden beneath it. Leaving the coat and hat with the receptionist at the luxurious nightclub, she entered the flourishing sounds of the 80s and 2000s.

Her hips swayed to the rhythm of the 80s music in the background as she made her way toward the dance floor. The blonde exuded an air of confidence, a seductive look, as if she knew she could kill anyone with just a glance.

By a twist of fate, just as Madonna's 'Hung Up' began to play on the speakers, she looked directly at you. Her body was positioned right in the center of the dance floor, and her eyes were fixed on you, as if she knew you had been watching her since she arrived. Her intense gaze seemed to read your mind, to see through your soul. However, a simple wink and a smile transformed her intimidating look into an invitation.

The music started with its characteristic melody, and the blonde gracefully glided across the dance floor. Her arms and feet moved in rhythm with the others around her. However, even in the midst of so many people, she was the one who caught everyone's attention, seeming to command the minds of everyone around. It was as if she were the queen, and everyone around her were just subjects imitating her movements, much like Madonna herself.

Infected by the addictive beat of the music and her charms, you let yourself be carried away. You allowed yourself to be controlled by her gaze alone. Without knowing her name, her past, her sins, in just a few minutes, you were already by her side, imitating her moves, dancing with the same enthusiasm.

Her shoulders flowed in perfect harmony with the music's beat, while her arms sought to get as close to you as possible. Her radiant smile remained unshaken on her carefully painted lips, just like on yours. Her excitement was palpable, a surge of adrenaline pulsing through her veins, the same adrenaline she was so addicted to feeling.

The rhythm and dance of the people around dissolved as another song began to play. The choreography she had led gradually scattered, with people jumping and dancing randomly.

Stepping back, with the rhythm still pulsing through her veins, she leaned against you. You felt your already racing heart quicken further with the scent of strawberries in her hair, as her hips moved backward, purposefully brushing against your front.

As she whispered the lyrics of the song with her eyes closed, you felt that this was the silent permission you needed. Slowly and delicately placing your hands on her waist, you heard a moan escape her lips, along with a slight movement, pressing even closer to you.

A wave of heat coursed through your body, the countless dance steps leaving you tired, yet her energy seemed to overflow into you. It was so strange to see someone so joyful and energetic. You could feel the adrenaline running through her body, as if she were in ecstasy.

Placing her hands on yours, she slid on the tips of her heels and positioned herself face to face with you, not allowing you to remove your hands from her waist. For a few moments, she seemed to get lost in thought, staring directly into your eyes with those sparkling emeralds. The background music sounded muffled, and her hands, now on your shoulders, began to apply gentle pressure with her sharp, long nails.

When she was sure of what she wanted, she smiled at you, and her intense gaze softened. You didn't quite understand. It was as if, for a moment, she wasn't the same enthusiastic woman who had been dancing. Did she seem like someone else? But all the questions were pushed aside when she began to draw closer.

Her hands slid behind your neck, while your hands firmly held her waist, bringing her closer. When your lips touched, and you tasted her lip gloss, the same adrenaline from the dance coursed through your veins.

Your chest pounded strongly as you savored the sweet, slightly tangy taste of her breath. Her tongue, entering your mouth and being met by your own shy tongue, seemed hungry for you, exploring every bit with overwhelming desire. However, when a new song began to play, her hand slid from your neck to your hands before she backed away and disappeared into the crowd.

The entire nightclub was immersed in deep darkness, with the only source of light being the silver disco ball that illuminated the bodies in the middle of the dance floor. Looking around and passing through the people, you truly lost her. She seemed to vanish as if by magic.

Giving up on searching for her and accepting that this was a one-night affair, or rather, a single dance, you made your way to the small bar. A bit disappointed that she had disappeared but happy that you had at least kissed someone as beautiful as her.

With a familiar gesture, the bartender slid another drink across the bar to you. A bit of alcohol in your bloodstream would help calm your thoughts, especially your racing heart. Turning half the glass in one go and tapping it gently against the bar, you focused your attention on the small television attached to the ceiling.

"The criminal Scarlet Witch has escaped from the police, leaving numerous dead and injured in her wake last night," said a woman holding a microphone, as images of a sort of crimson red crown spray-painted on gray brick walls appeared on the screen. "She is on the run, and the reward for any leads is $30,000. Any information should be reported to 911 or the nearest police station."

A shiver ran down your spine. The mere possibility of a serial killer in the vicinity truly made you wary of venturing out alone on the streets.

The scent of strawberries emanating from the newly acquainted blonde's hair filled your senses once again. You glanced away from the news to the blonde woman, who was waiting for her drink just a few stools away.

You could feel those green, almost golden eyes slide to the corner of her own eyes, discreetly looking in your direction. You were so mesmerized that you barely noticed when the bartender placed two glasses in front of her.

A sly little smile formed on her face as she turned her attention back to the two glasses in front of her. The blonde downed one of them in one go, letting out a satisfied moan, while she simply picked up the other with her hand and left the bar, almost disappearing again into the crowd.

But this time, you wouldn't let her escape. Those eyes seemed to invite you to something, and you were curious enough to want to find out what. You followed the shimmer of that black sequin dress, which reflected silver against the metallic ball in the center of the dance floor.

Her hips swayed seductively, as if she knew you were following her. It seemed like she was fully aware that you were enchanted by her, as if there was a cunning plan in her mind that you couldn't even imagine. You had no knowledge of her true intentions, the side that revealed itself when the music pulsed through her veins or when she identified someone as delicious as you.

You lost sight of her for a moment, but when you found her, the situation was so painful that you decided to stop following her. A tall brunette girl took the drink she held in her hands and then kissed her passionately, as if in a movie.

You thought she really wanted another dance with you, but apparently, she was interested in someone else. With a sigh, you turned around and returned to the bar, drowning your senses in any sweet cocktail. You weren't much of a drinker, and even less prone to getting emotionally attached so easily to someone, but you felt that she was truly special, or something cliché like that.

Those intense green eyes fixed on you, sitting alone at the bar. Wanda needed to find out if you were different, she needed to test. Remembering Peggy's lips, the girl who had just fallen under her spell, she realized that she wasn't wrong about you. You truly had something different, something Wanda certainly didn't feel with anyone, let alone with Peggy.

Peggy was already beginning to feel dizzy, not only from the effects of the spiked drink but also from the heat that was taking over her body due to Wanda's touches. She longed to relieve this tension that seemed only possible with Wanda. As if reading Peggy's thoughts, Wanda held the girl's hand, and the two of them made their way through the crowd in the nightclub towards the restroom.

All the people around were drunk enough to not remember "who the mysterious blonde was who had last had contact with Peggy when she was still alive."

𓆩♡𓆪

"Can I buy you a drink?" Like an angel, a soft, deep voice slid from your right ear to your left. A glass filled with alcohol was gently pushed in your direction.

"Only if I know your name," you say, turning your gaze to her. Even though you had never heard her voice, you felt that it was her.

"If that's your price," she says, picking up the glass in front of you with her hand. "My name is Wanda," she says before downing half the liquid in the glass. Then she places it on the table and slides it toward you. "And yours?"

You look at the glass as the name "Wanda" smoothly slides through your mind. She was so mysterious, so intriguing, and that glass seemed strangely delicious after she had placed her lips on it. Her eyes sparkled, and she couldn't contain her wide smile as you turned the glass completely. It was confirmation that you would let yourself be led by her.

"S/N," you sigh, feeling the thick, icy drink slide down your throat like fire.

In seconds, Wanda was already standing by your side. Her black, glossy nails slid over your neck, leaving red traces before tangling in your hair. You slowly turned your head in her direction and were greeted by her sweet, full lips.

Wanda slowly turned the bar stool toward her. Her knee positioned itself between your legs like a support on the bench. This time, the kiss was gentler and slower, her lips perfectly fitting into yours, while her nails scraped and played with the hair at the nape of your neck.

When your hands clasped her waist and your tongue entered her mouth, she allowed herself to slide her knee forward, coming dangerously close to the warm, moist valley between her legs.

You moaned in response to the kiss and tightened your grip on her waist as you felt her gently touch the sensitive area between your legs. That bare and delicate knee, lightly brushing against your already drenched panties, sent an electrifying wave of heat. You desperately desired her, and she was well aware of it.

With small, sweet pecks on your lips, she squeezed your thigh with one hand, while the other made sure to interlace your fingers. Wanda removed her knee from the chair and made a gesture to pull you, to take you somewhere. Completely intoxicated with desire and craving more of her, you allowed yourself to be led.

As soon as you crossed the bathroom door, a firm hand pushed you against the door itself. Your breath caught in your throat, your tongue touching the roof of your mouth, and the taste of gloss invading your lips. Kisses slid from the mouth to your neck, while perfectly painted glossy black nails began to scratch the sensitive skin of your thigh.

Numb from the kiss and the drink that was starting to churn your stomach, you held firmly behind her head, intertwining your hand in her hair as she explored your neck. She made sure to leave a mark on every inch of exposed skin on your neck that the clothing didn't cover.

Wanda slid one of her hands over your stomach, feeling and searching for the location of your womb through the fabric of your dress. As she continued to kiss your neck, making your body tremble and become a hot mess, she removed her best friend, a sharp red and black switchblade, hidden on her thigh beneath her sheer stockings.

Michael Jackson's 'Smooth Criminal' echoed muffledly behind you as you were still pressed against the door. A deep sigh escaped your throat when you felt a sharp pain crawl over your stomach's skin. The wet sensation of Wanda's lips on your neck and her delicate bites tried to distract and confuse your mind. However, the stomach pain was so intense, and the sensation of something wet dripping was so present, that you tried to look down. But Wanda, with her delicate hand, quickly held your chin and raised it again, making you face her.

Wanda pressed her lips against yours once again, trying to distract you from the pain that was starting to become almost unbearable, and it seemed to really work. While you thought it was just a common stomachache, or that Wanda was scratching you again with her nails, you placed both hands on her neck. It was as if you were drunk and needed more of her lips. You felt such a strange connection with her that, if she were to disappear again, you would remember the taste of her well in your memory.

Wanda smiled against the passionate kiss. Her hand left your chin and started holding your still waist, while the other hand worked to leave her mark, or rather, the crown that had appeared on the news minutes before, with a switchblade on the delicate skin above your womb.

𓆩♡𓆪

The small ceiling shower, turned on and gushing water, provided comforting warmth to your body, which was dealing with a painful hangover. You woke up alone in this roadside motel room, with a glass of water and a pill on the table next to the bed.

You weren't accustomed to going out at night with strangers, let alone going to motels, but you really didn't want to keep things between you and Wanda confined to that small bathroom in the nightclub. Sighing, you remembered Wanda. Now, you felt like you would never see her again in your life. At least you had an unforgettable night with her, and that was enough... or so you liked to think to comfort yourself.

Sliding your hand over your abdomen, you felt a burning pain as a small stream of water dripped from the tips of your fingers directly onto a sensitive spot on your stomach. You felt a shiver run down your spine. Without turning off the shower and without caring about the water droplets running from your naked body, you quickly headed for the mirror in the room.

Standing right in front of the mirror, you fixed your gaze exactly on your womb, where there was a sort of crown embedded in your skin. It seemed to be something deeper than a simple tattoo and definitely burned as if it had been cut.

You opened and closed your mouth several times, trying to organize your thoughts. Everything seemed confusing, especially because you recognized the mark on your skin that had been shown in the news at the nightclub. Feeling a strange wave of fear and distress, you sat on the bed behind you, not caring about completely wetting the covers. It was like a punch, a punch so strong that you felt relieved to be alive.

Of all the victims, you were the only one to come out alive. You were the only one who didn't trigger a psychotic impulse in her when the music flowed through her veins. You were different, special, and unintentionally became her favorite prey.

Wanda, or rather, Scarlet Witch, left her mark on you, a mark for you never to forget her. Her little declaration of love, stamped in the form of a crown over your womb, was a small sign that she would come back to you.

#Wanda maximoff #Wanda smut #Wanda x reader #Wanda maximoff x reader #Wanda maximoff x y/n #Wanda maximoff x you #Wanda maximoff smut #Wanda maximoff fanfic #marvel imagines #halloween

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jinkiezzsstuff · 18 days

Note

TYSM FOR THE LADY GAGA FIC!!!!

I have another song fic request...

Alastor (or anyone else really lmao) has to find reader in order to patch up like a deal or smth idk and he finds them in this jazz club thing performing on the stage to 'Noel's lament' from 'ride the cyclone'? Like she's draped across a piano singing abt when she was living she was nobody but in her dreams she was this absolute femme fatale and alastor just watches her from the back of the crowd??

So niche but I was thinking abt it all night

Lots of love 🤍

i actually loveeee this song eeeee i’m so happy to do this, and i am so glad you liked the last one it means so much to me teehee sorry this took awhile i’ve been busier lately but i hope you enjoyed this, maybe i’ll do a part two but if i do it may be real delayed until i clear my plate lol!

song referenced; noel’s lament

warnings: implied to be succubus reader but their not really to standards of succubus, i don’t believe there are feminine pronouns here but there are certain feminine things (dress wearing, feminine terms like suductresd etc), no psychical descriptions of reader as per usual, minor gore and death, reader is sneaky and slipper, alastor is weird about love as he should king, but he still feels emotion, possible cringe parts idk it’s a songfic and sometimes they can be 50/50. LMK if i missed any!

word count: 2.7K

You had a debt to pay, you had to have known this. Alastors mind reeled as he toyed with the pen in his hand, occasionally scribbling nonsense down as he thought. You were always quite the slippery sinner, never being tied down to one place in the pentagram, but this was just ridiculous. Since he’d been back, and warmed up to the hotel, he’d been searching for you, but no sign. No demon has said a word about you either had he still been in touch with Vox he may have had you found by now.

You weren’t dead, and that’s as much as he knew; he would’ve felt your souls absence if you’d died, the fickle fun of making such contracts. There was little he knew about you personally, he new superficial things but nothing that would give him a clue on where you’d hide, a silly mistake on his part. He knew Mimzy would be were the cash or party was, Husk wherever there was a gamble and Nifty, well, normally she never strayed far anyways. As for other souls they were about the same in simplicity, whether they were murderous or cannibals they always had something keen to them that would lead him to where they were.

Alastor failed that with you, unfortunately he’d found himself a little at loss with you, in more ways than one you boggled his mind. He was used to women and men alike hitting on him or being incredibly provocative, but there was some way you did it that made him speechless. Not like when Angel would hit on him, where Alastor felt that sensation of being caught off guard with disgust and shock. No, on the night you made the deal, you were stalking around the back of his sofa inside his radio tower, your hands caressing his shoulders as you passed, sweetly and mischievously offering a pleasurable favour in return for his help. That was something else, that was unique to you.

He still recalls the memory as if he was still right there on the couch, engulfed in your scent, entranced by your siren-like voice, it made him hot under the collar and tight around the waist. Thankfully Alastor was a gentleman and a businessman and there was no way you were getting out of a soul contract through some silly sexual favours. It was definitely trying to keep his composure as your lidded eyes watched his lips move, but he managed as he always does. The deal was fairly boring on your part- you wanted to be his friend.

Red flags appeared in Alastors mind about the validity of that but shook on it nonetheless, however that was all before he disappeared. He’d not held up his end of the bargain but then again neither did you; you didn’t show when he called on you to the hotel and try as he may, couldn’t seem to summon you the way he could with Husk.

Dropping the pen, Alastor stood from his seat and shadowed into the floor, stalking out the window like a snake. Alastor decided a little stroll couldn’t hurt, after all his mind couldn’t rest and perhaps he could happen upon you out in sin city. Alastor enjoyed his time walking, humming and basking in all the horrors that happened around, however he grew bored fairly quickly, and decided to take a detour into Mimzy’s favourite joint.

Alastor walked in like he owned the place and seated himself at the bar waiting for his dear friend. “Mimzy dear, how’ve you been?” Alastor spoke out excitedly and loudly, catching the attention of his fellow demon who had appeared from the back of the bar. Mimzy squeaked and ran up to Alastor on the other side of the bar, shooing off the other demons trying to pull at her, the trim of her dress flying in all directions as she hopped and scuttled. “Alastor! What brings ya here, big man? Coming for a dance?” His smile was indifferent as she spoke but he was quite pleased to see the doll, someone of routine. He watched the demon plop herself down on the seat beside him, his hand fiddling with the whisky in his cup that he magicked up. “Yes dear, afraid I have quite the slippery soul in my hands.”

With both elbows on the table Mimzy leaned in, an excited smile on her face. Alastors head fell to the side, sighing at her desire for gossip, Alastor pushed up his monocle and explained the situation with you briefly. He probably went into too many details about how you looked, or smelt, or perhaps how he thought of you in his absence because the whole time Mimzy was coy and giggles. “Wow Al, sounds like you’re carryin’ a torch for this gal’,” Mimzy teased, walking her fingers across the table in his direction. Alastor stiffened at that watching her do her silly tease wide eyed. What a juvenile thing to assume, that he had feelings for some sinner. “Mimzy, don't be ridiculous!” Alastor scoffed grin still present as he threw his limp hand her way, head tossed back. “There’s no such thing! Besides she’s nothing more than some sensuous succubus, it’s what those types of demons do. Seduce.”

Crossing her arms Mimzy let out a flat ‘mhm’ clearly not convinced by what was being said. “Well Al, tell ya what! You have my back next time some nasty loan sharks come, and i’ll tell ya where your pretty seductress is.” Alastors nails tapped against the table rhythmically as he silently pondered, it’s not like he’d say no to her, just as she wouldn’t say no to him. Fixing his posture from his more lesuride position, he agreed with a nod, gulping back the last of his liquor.

This club Alastor stepped into was very reminiscent of a wealthy man’s speakeasy, something that was nestled safely in the depth of the pentagram in an unassuming alley, as if it were hiding from something or someone. It was nostalgic for him, in a sickening way, Alastor didn’t enjoy remembering mortal life as it seemed so detached from him and who he is now. His red eyes danced across the room manically, his static following in suit with every glance he gave. Searching for his little succubus. Low amber lighting, that stuffy smell of smoke in the air, the velvet chairs, surrounding chatter and the piano playing smooth jazz; Alastors body subconsciously relaxed into the familiar environment, as much as he hated his mortal life there were such aspects like this he missed.

He dragged himself inside and sat in a red velvet chair, immediately he slumped onto the table, his elbows on the table, his chin rested on his hand while the other toyed with the fire from the candle, bringing it up, around, and high and low. His eyes dragged over to the stage as the piano rifted into a new tune, the lights in the room dimming and brightening toward the stage. Inwardly, Alastors frustrations imploded making his skin hot and his antlers grow in size; all the light to see you with now focused on the stage for a performance he couldn’t care less about.

Standing to his feet, Alastor gripped his microphone like it was his life line. With a strained smile he began towards the door as the music began, and a voice started introducing themselves and talking about their dreams, however he was too busy being frustrated, and scanning the room for you to fully pay attention to the voice. That was until- “A hooker with a heart of black charcoal.” A breathy voice finally sang out, grabbing the attention of Alastor as he neared the exit. Freezing the static sounds of radio station channels sounded out from him, his eyes widening at the sound of you.

Turning abruptly on his heel, he looked over the crowd of seated heads and at the stage where you were walking on. There was a light focused down on you as you slunk out from behind a curtain furthest from the piano. Straightening his back, Alastor slipped into the shadows and behind a pillar near the bar, just to wait for you of course, to come off. “I write poems to burn by fire light, drink champagne and guzzle gin, good girls call me ‘The Town Bicycle’- don't knock it til you’ve tried my life of sin,” Alastor watched enchanted as you dragged your heels across the stage as you sung, making your way over the piano with seductive grace, something Alastor wasn’t used to being so hooked by.

“Oh, Claude, my pimp knows neva mess with me,” Your voice, once serene and beautiful now, was demonic and harsh, capturing the audience's attention. “Last prick did that faded quick to black,” Like a switch your voice returned to its sweetness, your arms outstretched just slightly, fingers twinkling to emphasise the ‘fade’ you sang of. Alastor couldn’t look away from how you manuerved your body, how your voice carried through the room, and how the lights sparkled against your jewellery. You were a sight for sore eyes as you teasingly brought yourself closer to the piano, that regular soft bedroom look in your eyes. “I have no idea where to find him officers,”

Alastors brow quirked at that, as your hands came up to cup your face with false naïveté. “But if you do, please mention that I’d like to have returned that pretty knife, that I stuck, ten. times. in his, back!” You grit out, sweet façade falling once more making Alastors tail wag, unbeknownst to him. There was something about the way you pulled and pushed the narrative in the song that made him antsy, excited even, and the fact that this was something you stated you dreamed to be, meaning whilst alive you dreamt of killing, of being bad, oh that made Alastors blood rush.. You waltzed around as you continued to sing the lyrics to the chores, Alastors eyes watched closely as you slithered your body effortlessly up onto the piano.

It was like you were made for performing, singing, and he had the brief fantasy of you in his studio singing on air, sat on his lap as you sung through his microphone for the folks of hell to hear, but he pulled himself out of it quickly, scolding himself for indulging in silliness. Now your body was draped across the obsidian piano that shone the reflections of the light, you sat on your hips, legs folded behind you, hands over your heart. “He said ‘I think I am in love with you’- I’ve heard that lie a million times before,” Your posture fell slightly as did your tone, it seemed that there was some truth and sombre in the lyrics you sang, and in a way Alastor felt like he could relate to that; after all what even was love?

It made him feel weak to pity you, to attempt to empathise with your pain, but there was barely any time to think about his thoughts because just as he did, you’d recapture his attention entirely. “Oh, tonight I give into the fantasy,” Your head fell back, sorrow in your tone as your hand caressed your shoulder, pulling down the strap of your dress. “Take love when you can, when you’re a whore.” After a silent moment the chorus picked up, as did you, sliding yourself off the piano and dancing around with a smile. Unfortunately Alastors mind lagged behind, something was just too vulnerable in the way you sang about love, and considering it wasn’t something he often thought about, it peaked his curiosity just slightly.

It wasn’t until the end of the performance when you sung about your death that Alastors attention zeroed back in on you, his eyes catching yours as the song fell out, your head turned in his direction. He watched as your eyes widened and mouth fell slightly ajar before you sang out one last word: a ‘hey’ coincidentally directed toward Alastor. After that the lights on stage shut off instantly, and the crowd applause began.

Alastor watched you be dragged off stage by two larger demons through the darkness, your legs flailing as your arms were restrained, at the sight the purpose of him being here returned. Pushing himself off the pillar he was leant against, he brushed himself off and straightened the crimps in his pants, before picking up his microphone and making his way towards where you’d been dragged. It was a cruddy little backstage area, he’s under the assumption the performers here weren’t treated as kindly as the guests. Throwing the door open he was greeted by the sight of you, the two demons who dragged you off, and some other third one.

You sat on an ottoman in the middle of the room, your entire essence changed as you curled into yourself, your head hung low. Humming, Alastor adjusted his monocle. “Am I interrupting something?” Oh how Alastor loved to play dumb, he watched the third demon, seemingly imp, stand straight anger evident and radiating off of him. “Yeah you really fuckin are red, get outta here now.” The imp barked throwing his hands up in a shooing motion. Your eyes met Alastors, begging silently to stay. “I’m afraid i can’t do that you silly lug,” Alastor tutted joyfully stepping into the room throwing his microphone around like it was a toy. His shadows crawled out from beneath his feet, sneaking up the walls and across the ceilings making the three men anxious. “This little canary happens to me mine, soul and all.” His voice shifted to a more demonic one as the hues in the room shifted.

You sat speechless, watching the mysterious deer defend you after seven long years of being on hold with him. You were surprised he came at such a time, convenient for you. The two muscle demons were quick to puff their chests and step toward Alastor, but before they could properly swing, tentacles emerged from the shadows gripping the torso and hips of the men and pulling them in two. The screams were horrific, and the sounds of squelch and ripping nearly made you yourself sick, however it did the job for the littler imp as he immediately caved. “Oh okay okay, alright buddy, take the siren, no problem take em! Go!” The imp stressed while pulling you from your seat and toward Alastor hurriedly.

You stumbled against his pushing and found yourself falling accidentally into Alastors arms, tripping over your own heel. Alastor caught you without even looking down, arms wrapping instinctively around you as he glared at the imp with a smile. “Oh good, I would have hated to have caused a scene! Ha ha.” Alastor laughed humorously, although he was the only one finding any joy from this as the imp cowered away from the two of you. Pulling you closer to his body, Alastor fell into the ground with you, your body feeling freezing and damp for a moment before normalcy returned.

You didn’t realise you had your hands over your eyes until you felt Alastors hands grip your wrists, and pull your hands away. You blinked up at him before glancing around the room, it was indeed a room, one you’d never seen. “We're at the Hazbin Hotel dear, time for you to see to your deal.” Alastor said calmly, his tone even and his voice soft, his even his static was at a minimum. “Of course,” You say clearing your throat and backing up from his grasp. He didn’t fight against your distance, letting his arms fall and wrap behind his back as they normally would. “Why did you help me back there? I mean you could’ve just poofed us away?” You ask, rubbing the places on your arms where the demons dragged you.

“Why, thats what friends are for my dear! That was our deal, no? To scare off the threats and protect each other?” Alastor coyly hummed, bending slightly at the waist. Looking down slightly you nodded, hands coming up to sit on your waist. Sighing you shook your head, you should’ve known that this would come back to bite you in the ass eventually. “Alright slick, what is it that i’m doing for you?”

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor imagine #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fluff

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lilithess · 1 year

Text

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS IV

capricorn suns are super wild (!!!) and easy to click with. nowhere near the boring capricorn stereotype. they are hardworking, reliable and tough people, but FUN! they have this motherly aura, more so than cancers. a capricorn to me is like a middle aged woman who decided to go wild after a few glasses of wine. and they’re not as judgmental as people claim them to be. the judgy rigid part that everyone talks about goes more for cap moons and mercuries.

aquarius loves a bit of drama (especially men) and wants attention (especially women), but not in a “in your face” way, not in a desperate way. they will keep their cool at all times, it’s like they’re constantly trying to maintain a persona. but if you read between the lines, you’ll notice the competitivness and ego trips. they all have a little “notice me” sittin inside. leo is just more open about it. aquarius men are highly unbothered. aquarius women remind me of closeted scorpio women.

comparing virgo men and virgo women. i don’t know a single nitpicky virgo man. they’re actually all so different. if i met a virgo man, i’d had never guessed it’s him because there’s nothing really that stands out as a common trait. women share the intensity and are incredibly smart and shrewd. i think this sign’s intelligence goes unnoticed. it gives such a “quality” person, even tho the nitpicking can be annoying

geminis can lack a backbone and boundaries a lot, especially at young age. not sure what’s with the “player” stereotype bc i can’t imagine being manipulated by a gemini (especially a guy). they’re honestly kids. however, the gemini as in the sign itself and what it represents has a sort of dangerous potential. they can really be indifferent about matters that i’ve seen no one else be so indifferent about. sort of like “who cares so why not?” lifestyle. they’ll laugh at their own pain like it’s nothing so why not at yours? they have a troll like nature to them and their curiosity has no limits. can be a very dark sign who, for some reason, is considered a light social butterfly.

no one attracts jealousy as well as a leo placement, especially leo rising, venus, and preferably leo stellium. i know a leo rising and that energy ate up her whole chart. no mind her virgo or 12H placements, she’s just OUT THERE in the spotlight always stealing the show. however, i think leo’s intelligence should be apreciated more bc these people are really more than just a diva in a leopard crop top. i’ve seen leo placements dumb themselves down (very annoying) and honestly they can be very naive. the sun shines light at every other planet in our solar system, not the other way around. i think people forget that no matter how much leo seeks attention, they are also the ones giving it to others.

i know mutables are rumored to change the most, but scorpio’s ability to just… change their entire life, identity and being can make you wonder wheather you even knew the person or not. i had a scorpio sun, mercury, mars and ascendant bestie who went from being a rebellious femme fatale who wouldn’t leave the house without make up; wore heels to high school and messed with other people’s relationships for fun - to a stay at home “wifey” with no social life and a man who’s probably not even going to marry her. no one even hears from her anymore. scorpios really die and reborn a completely different person. it’s not the little changes that mutables do on a daily base or just mid conversation. it’s a whole other person.

#astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astrology observations #astrology notes #i need to meet more people bc i think i always analyze the same signs lol

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iznsfw · 1 year

Note

Can we get more Hyewon fics?? 🥺🥺

Negotiation

IZ*ONE's Kang Hyewon x Male Reader Smut

4,491 words

Categories | daddy kink, power dynamics, titjob

It's your usual route, to be completely clear: circling up all the newbies, clearing out the incompetents and training those who had more than a pocketful of potential. It's your job, it's what you're paid to do. So if anyone dared question your bond with any of the trainees, they can complain about it to your face, and not in the form of scattered whisperings throughout office cubicles.

Your intentions are wholly pure. You swear on your mother's life. You'd pull the typical blame-it-on-the-femme-fatale thing with this girl, but you know it's somehow your fault, too: whatever might happen. She can't bear all the weight of the sin.

You don't think sin is supposed to look this good, though.

"Sir," she says, perfect curled lashes fluttering with no ill intent at all. She's innocence, pureness, angelicness—all compiled and composed into one beautiful young girl. "Good afternoon. My name is Kang Hyewon; I'm more than eager to do my best for you."

In what way? you're tempted to ask. But then those exact words tumble from your mouth, and you're pretty sure you've fucked it all up. You, in your holier-than-thou suit and tie, asking something so suggestive to an innocent girl like her? Outrageous, that's what it is; scandalous, too. You could get fired for it.

However, it's as if she expected it—she leans forward, offering you a show of plentiful cleavage that breaks several dress code regulations and ethical rules, with a soft, rare smile.

"However you want me, sir," she says sweetly. Resting her chin on her hand, the smile on her full lips grows wider. "I'll do anything."

"I've heard something like that before, Miss Kang," you say. "Strangely, I've heard it from the same person, too."

"Oh?" Hyewon assumes an innocent naïvety, wide doe eyes almost convincing you of a clean record. "How so?"

See, she's kind of used to that subtly flirty banter. Somewhere in the city of Seoul, in a humble little apartment, she's learning to make money in other ways. By doing it, she needs not travel lengths of distance to a corporate building or spend day after day spell-checking papers. You, having checked backgrounds of probably a billion people and verifying their digital footprint as decent or in-, know all about it. Might have watched a few of it online. Might have done some stuff too.

"You might've fooled Nana and the others, kiddo, but you haven't fooled me," you inform her, offended that you actually have to tell her. You're lowering yourself down to keep up with her one-step-ahead talk. She may be playing dumb, but she knows what she's doing. "I know all about your secret streaming account. Thing is, it probably isn't a secret. You've got thousands of followers on it."

"Can't a girl have a little fun, sir?" asks Hyewon with a giggle. "I was just playing games to pass time."

"'HyemsterKang' ring a bell?"

Hyewon looks up at the ceiling, as if she could find an appropriate answer for your inquiry embedded there. There's none: only a switched-on lamp and a vent.

"Hmm," she hums, curled hands supporting her pretty face, "probably. What kind of account is it?"

"There's Twitch, YouTube, you name it. Twitch has the most followers, with over two hundred thousand. It's a surprise no one recognized you when you walked through the front door."

"Why would anyone recognize me? I'm just looking to enhance my skills here."

You're tired already. "Cut the bullshit, Hyewon," you say. Drop all the formalities and workplace language just like that. "You know what kind of videos you make. And, look, you've got to understand that I've got nothing against them, but anoth—"

Hyewon pouts. "Why are you so hot and bothered then, sir?"

"Because you can't pretend to be some pure, holy girl here. I would've gotten you on the training course if you didn't lie through your teeth. What we need is honesty, transparency. You can't lie on the job here."

Hyewon seems to consider this. Her eyes lose their glimmer as they look down to your desk. And she looks so… sad: her eyes are, as mentioned, downcast, and there's so much more to them than sadness because they hold so many raw emotions of disappointment that make even your heart hurt. Her saddened shoulders lose their sturdy posture.

For the first time since she's entered your office, Kang Hyewon looks… defeated.

"Does that mean you're not taking me in, sir?" she says after looking up at you again.

"No, and please," stress this with gritted teeth, "don't call me sir."

You've no idea why you feel that way. Many other girls have called you sir, both in a formal and informal setting. There was Kim Minju, whose experience gathered little to no potential, and Yabuki Nako, whose aspiring dream to become your corporate's airline stewardess was a pipe dream due to her petite height.

But it feels strange with Hyewon. It's like there's some hidden motive behind it. Whatever it may be, it's surely working.

Hyewon juts out one, plump lip as she rises from her seat. Instantly, your boundary alarms go off. They're blaring like ambulances now, running in purposeless trips around your mind. Interviewees are not supposed to do that. She's crossing the line, so many lines.

What sets more alarms off is her taking a seat in your lap, as if she's always done that before. As if she belongs there.

Her slim, tiny body presses up snugly against your frozen one. "What would you rather be called, hm?" she asks. Like a good girl, her hands are folded neatly on her lap, (un)fortunately covered by a gray skirt. "Please, do tell."

"Hyewon…"

You try to give her a steady look, try to tell her that it's wrong. But your hands are on her waist, and they subconsciously pull her closer. Damn her and that sexy skirt and blazer.

"Mm, your hands feel so good on me," she sighs happily. "It turns me on so much. It makes me feel warm here," she pats the space between her thighs, "and it's all your fault, sir. All your fault."

"You need to be taught a lesson, Kang Hyewon."

"Go on then, daddy." Hyewon's voice drops to a haunting whisper. "I deserve it."

There, you let go of all your morals. The fact that Hyewon's supposed to be your interviewee and you're supposed to play professional with her becomes nonexistent. You've seen what she does on those videos, and now you're eager to see the body she hides so chastely under those uniform clothes.

"Bend over."

The obedient Hyewon gets off your lap and lowers herself on the table. Her skirt rises and shows you a lack of even undershorts to save the exposed thong. Her ass cheeks sandwich the thin little thong perfectly.

"Ooh, what's daddy going to do?" she asks eagerly. She wiggles her round butt into your sprawled hand. "Is he going to spank me and make his babygirl count it all?"

"That would be too easy, don't you think?" Groping her, you look hard into her sparkling eyes full of excitement. "Daddy's going to spank you, but you can't make a single sound."

Hyewon whines. "But that's so hard, daddy. Can't you make it easier for Hyem?"

"So am I, and no. If I hear you moan, you're not allowed to cum."

Merciless is the perfect word to describe you right now. But your mind just rambles with lustful things to do to this sexy little vixen—(a hamster, if you will, as an ode to her username HyemsterKang, but that sounds less sexy; it doesn't give justice to the seductress that is Kang Hyewon)—and you're eager to perform them ruthlessly.

Trail your fingers on her wet pussy lips. You find her clit, and from there, you give it tiny, teasing brushes. Hyewon bites her lip hard, and clings to the table for support. And for a moment that's all there is to it: you rubbing her clit and her grinding her round ass to your fingers. Until:

"Ahh, daddy!"

That's one orgasm subtracted from the list. After you slap Hyewon's cheeks with all the might you have, she instantly cries out. You feel her juices dripping on your hand.

Hyewon looks back at you. And you realize why her streaming career has done so well—that face is made to be ruined. Her scared eyes portray an opposing desire for more, and you can't help but give and give exactly that.

"I'm sorry, daddy!" she whimpers. "I'm sorry!"

Nevertheless, you continue to spank her. Reddened skin blares almost as bright as the office lamp. Her thighs drip with her nectar.

You're harsh; your hand's starting to hurt from yout endless slaps on Hyewon's butt. But the pain seems like a small, sideway thought when you're witness to her cheeks bouncing with each blow. When she's holding onto the table like she wants you to go on.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," sobs Hyewon. "Please just spank me like that, treat me like a whore, use me—"

Your spanks become less and less measured—one follows the other a little too briskly. If the door weren't locked and the glass made it so any outsider couldn't hear, people would assume you're already fucking her with your brains out. But no, that's just you spanking Hyewon to teach her a lesson, to teach her to be a good girl.

"Fuck, slap my pussy like that!" she yells. Her pants sound hot and eager. "I'm going to cum, oh yes, oh fuck!"

That's your cue to stop. Hyewon doesn't deserve to orgasm yet, not until she's learned her lesson.

"This is so unfair, no," whispers Hyewon disappointedly, turning around with a pout.

"Newsflash, Hyewon: the world isn't fair. Nothing is."

Slip a finger inside her and her knee-high-clad legs curl around your hand protectively. She's riding on any good thing; she wants nothing more than your cock, and besides that, probably a job, but anything works for now.

Hyewon works herself down on your fingers. "When will I get to cum, daddy?" she asks. "Daddy? Say 'now,' please."

Execute blunt thrusts into her slick pussy, which is an impossibly tight cavern not even the bravest can make it out alive without exploding. Her back curves and she twists at the pleasure. Her delectable little cunt is sweet and closed around you, a newfound temptation to latch on for life, a vice to remember.

But there's also her fantastic chest to look at, doing what you're doing: peeking through the neckline of her blouse, which you just so happen to do as well.

"If you give me a feel of those tits," you propose, the way negotiations should go, "maybe I'll let you."

"Of– of course, daddy."

Hyewon undoes the buttons of her blouse. Like curtains, they part to a wonderful show. This show, though, would have been banned for nudity and corruption (and not in the usual way.)

Hyewon's tits are glorious—they size up to more than a handful, and have these tiny pink nipples that you'd love to squeeze any time of the day. You're hypnotized by them, in every way possible. You glance at how they rise and fall in coordination with Hyewon's breaths, and the way her nipples perk into the air hard and aroused once the black lacy bra is off. The air-conditioner wind might have had something to do with their state, but you're thankful for both, either-which-way.

"C-careful," begs the young girl, wincing. "They're sensitive…"

"Is that so? Would it feel good then if I did this?"

"Oh, ohhhh!" Hyewon gasps with a hand over her mouth. Her skin feels boiling hot, but in a strangely good way, when you begin to suck directly on her nipples. "Yes, just like that!"

Her breasts are softer and better than the stress balls your office gave away during mental health seminars. The balls are only good for squeezing and throwing. In Hyewon's case, you can completely release all your stress just by fingerfucking her tiny pussy, and sucking her tits all at the same time. With her, you forget more than your morals—you forget about work, your deadlines, your responsibilities. And, needless to say, it's all her fault.

Hyewon can't keep up with the doubled pleasure. She's constantly squirming to have your fingers deeper in her cunt, and she keeps pushing her breasts into your face. Your rhythm of thrusts in her hole doesn't wither, and neither does your sucking on her right nipple. She doesn't know what to do except squeal out replayed pleads.

"Daddy," she says. "Please keep doing that, it feels so good. I'll be a good girl, I promise I won't lie anymore."

You ride your teeth around Hyewon's areola, sucking the area around it also. If you could, you'd never let go of her breasts. You would keep sucking on them, alternating between one and the other, for days on end. You bet you'd survive even without food or water. Hyewon's tits are enough for you to live eternally. Hell is nonexistent when you're with her.

"Do you think you deserve to cum, Hyewon?" you ask. You play with her clit, making it harder for her to get her words out.

"I think so, d-daddy. Yes."

"I don't," you laugh. "I told you not to make a sound, and you disobeyed. How would you become a competent worker if you're like that?"

Hyewon's near tears. "I'll do whatever you want," she says. Breaths get lost here and there due to your fingers still swiftly exiting and entering her. "Please. I need you. I'll, I'll be your good little fuckdoll, I promise, I swear."

"Will you let me fuck your tits, then, Hyem? If you're that good and eager?"

"Yes, daddy!"

Hyewon nods over and over. A bit too excited, she pushes you down to the office chair rather roughly. But you pay no mind; in fact, your erection grows harder and lengthier at her enthusiasm. It throbs violently with how Hyewon slips off her blazer and pulls down your pants.

Her eyes brighten at the sight of your member, as if it's something that can actually make her day better.

"You're very hard, daddy." She bites her lip, looking up at you with incredulous adoration. "Let me do something about it."

Hyewon's huge tits hug your hard-on, sandwiching it between them. You groan as she holds her chest so that your cock slips in and out seamlessly, lubed up only by her spit and your precum. Her soft flesh brushes your sensitive, pink penis perfectly, giving it a feel of what heaven might actually be.

"Holy shit, Hyewon," you sigh.

It's like she's entertained by what she's doing, too. She's looking down at your cock entering her flesh as if it were an exciting movie. But she takes extra care to seal longer glances with you, knowing that her face alone can make you cum.

"Oh, daddy likes my tits, huh?" Hyewon says coyly. Playing with her nipples while titfucking you, her gaze grows more and more sultry. "Daddy's gonna let me cum after this, right? Make me learn my lesson?"

"Just… just keep moving your tits like that. And we'll see what happens."

Not a solid promise, but Hyewon is satisfied with that. She knows her power and how to use it well enough. She's practiced in the strokes and squeezes she does on your cock, the temptation calling for you in her brown eyes, everything. She has it all measured and listed down somewhere, probably, just waiting for the right time to use it.

Hyewon lifts her breasts, then slams them down on your lap again. The cycle repeats, and her boobs become like that of a real fleshlight. But hers is better—a toy pales in comparison when paired up with Hyewon's tight, hot body. And all it took to have her was a spanking session. There was no need to shed thousands of won.

"Like this?" she asks. Hyewon's letting you use her for your own pleasure, caring for your bliss rather than hers. The grip of her bosom around you tightens, and you find it difficult to catch your breath. "Do you want me to keep doing this?"

"Fuck yes. You're such a good girl for me right now, Hyewon."

Her cheeks are rosy. "Thank you. I'll make you cum, I promise."

She's made probably a hundred of oaths from the moment she walked into this building, but this one seems to be the one she's most determined to carry out. Hyewon's fiery rhythm risks you of exploding all over her pretty chest. Her smooth, pillow-soft skin knots your stomach and sets everything ablaze. Her facial expressions, which are a far cry from the saintliness she pretended to possess earlier, drive you off the edge.

"Shit… shit, I'm going to cum," you announce in a broken voice.

You can't stave your orgasm off anymore. Your dick expels liquid white strings everywhere. Hyewon's collarbone and big breasts bear most of the desirable damage, but she's sure to open her mouth, too. And she looks every bit the part of a cock-hungry slut, with her eyes rolled back and tongue lewdly hanging from her thick pink lips. White semen becomes her new lip gloss, and she'd put it on any time of the day.

"You still have more in you, daddy," says Hyewon. She strokes herself around your cock without pause. Curses leave your mouth as her evil gaze challenges you to say the opposite. "I can feel it. I want you to explode all over me."

"Fuck, yes, Hyem. I fucking will."

There isn't a single bad movie out there that matches the rapid pacing of Hyewon's titjob, and it's probably for the better. You just keep on cumming, and Hyewon keeps on titfucking you. It's a win-win situation because she enjoys being sprayed with your cum. It makes her feel like the used little doll she is.

She forces you to spurt more up until you can't anymore. All there's left are little droplets of pure white, and ragged moans from both ends.

Hyewon's blouse and chest are stained all over. But when she gazes at the mess you made on them, she doesn't look upset. She looks rather… turned on. Her squirming thighs and bitten lower lip indicate that. She may look like a porcelain doll with her angelic face and pale skin, but she's been used just like a ragdoll would.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asks. "You liked it, didn't you?"

"I did," you confess. "How wet are you after all that, Hyewon?"

Hyewon reaches under her skirt and brushes her fingers over her pussy. She gasps. "Oh, v-very wet, daddy. Won't you do something about it?"

"Yes, I will. Get ready."

Both you and Hyewon rise to your feet. You step out of the rest of your pants while she shrugs off her blouse. Now, she's only wearing her black schoolgirl skirt and her long socks with shoes.

Hyewon hops on the edge of your desk. "Will you really fuck me this time?" she asks hopefully.

"A deal's a deal, Kang Hyewon. Now spread your legs."

She opens them. You lift the skirt up to get a view of her pretty hole. Her pussy lips are plump, just like the painted lips on her face.

(You want to fuck both.)

So, you thrust.

All at once Hyewon is filled up to the brim, your balls pressing against her ass.

"Oh, oh, so deep!" gasps Hyewon. "You're so big inside me!"

Your cock throbs. The clench of her walls is amazing, but they're also tempting you to cum again, and you can't have that. So, you set slow but forceful strokes, driving yourself inside Hyewon and feeling her walls part. Her surprised moans guide blood to your erection. The expression she wears never goes far from orgasmic, and she might as well be already cumming with how tight her hole's clamping on you.

Wrap your hands around her tiny waist. You're ready now. You start to drill her tiny body down your desk. She cries out and leans her head backwards, allowing you to see how much of her neck you've covered in cum. Her glazed breasts bounce before you, getting your cock in an increased solid state to pulse and thrust in her hard and good.

"Yes, daddy, fuck me!" she prods you on, just like how your cock is prodding at her insides. "It's so good, daddy, it's so good, it's so good—"

She's promised to make you cum and delivered it out. Now, she wants you to make one, too, and return the favor. And, even if the only thing you're offered in exchange are Hyewon's loud screams that sound in your ears and her half-naked figure that's straight out of a porn video, you're glad to do so.

"Guess you aren't so innocent after all," you laugh. You're trying to keep custody of the upper hand here, but, god, does Hyewon's cunt choking your cock make it nearly impossible. "All that pretense, Hyewon, don't you get tired?"

"Oh, daddy," Hyewon sobs softly, arms hung around your neck and shoulders. Her eyelids are heavy, too wrung by pleasure. "If it gets you to fuck me, I don't mind at all."

You find her erogenous zone and rub it in the same, fire-quick way you thrust. "A little too fast there, don't you think?" you chuckle, but you're flattered.

"All I want is you going fast inside me." Hyewon's legs tense up after you grab them for easier leverage. Her moans are cut short with stutters. "I want it now."

"And what exactly do you want, Hyewon?"

"I—" She blushes furiously. Her words rarely come out in any form other than squeals. "I want to be your little office cockwarmer. I want to do nothing but be the toy who sucks daddy's dick and keeps his cock hard. I don't want to be anything else, daddy, and you know it—you know I want it—"

"Oh, you will." Pumping into her harder, you set the stone there and then of your ownership of her. "You're mine now. Everyone's gonna know about how you get on your knees for me so easily, Kang Hyewon. You'll be known as my little office slut, the one who keeps my stress relieved."

"Yes, yes, you can fill me up all the time, you can make me wear the slutty secretary outfits from my streams, daddy! Use me, oh god, I'm yours!"

It's a tempting offer. You've seen her streams while looking through her background, and you saw that one of her in the tight little secretary uniform. You think of how pretty she'd look in it, and how heads would turn at her entering your office everytime in it. You picture the outrage that does nothing since you're at such a high position in the office hierarchy, such an important person. They can't do anything if you decide at once that Hyewon's going to be your cumslut. They can only create rumors painting you out to be the exploitative bad guy, and Hyewon starring in the role of the poor head-over-heels newbie desperate for a good life.

You can live with that.

The inches of your length never get to breathe as you're constantly shoving them inside her, knocking against her cervix and making her sob for more. There's no limit to the pumps you can give to Hyewon, but you still test it out. Hyewon remains at your mercy.

"Are you going to be my slut now? Do you really want that?" you ask her. "Or are you going to back out because you're too much of a pussy to dive in?c

Grab her chin and force her gaze at you. That's how you see that Hyewon's completely serious. That's exactly what she wants. She didn't come here for a job, she came here for you, and she's not leaving without being yours.

Hyewon nods. She presses her forehead against yours. "I want you," she whispers. "So make me yours. You know you want to teach your whore of a babygirl a lesson. You know you want to fill her cunt everyday."

That's right, you do. You knew, since the minute she spent teasing and toying with you, that you want to fuck her brains out. And here you are, doing exactly that.

This could be forever if you wanted.

"Gonna cum now, Hyewon. Gonna fill your cunt up with daddy's semen. Gonna fucking breed you."

"I'm close, too, daddy. Give me your cum."

You make sure to press completely against her cervix when you cum inside her. Hyewon's girl cum and your white fluids mix together, a blend of sex and sin, and drip down your table. You can't really think of anything else except for Hyewon's screams climbing up in volume and her squirt spurting all over your best uniform. No, you're brain-dead with lust, and there's no turning back.

You make her your cum deposit. You make her your babygirl, and as corny as it sounds, straight out of a bad teen romance where everything goes too quickly for any talent to be actually seen, you're okay with that.

"And that's how I think that we should promote the book earlier this year. Thank you for listening."

The clan of higher-ups sitting at the oval-shaped table clap politely. You try to keep your clapping at the appropriate level of enthusiasm, but your heart bursts with pride for Hyewon. She's come so far without your help. She's learning to stand on her own.

"I think that's a great idea, miss Kang," says Miyawaki Sakura, your director. She's a petite woman with a soft voice, but everyone knows that she's the boss of any room she stands in. "I'll jumpstart the idea tomorrow with the board of directors."

Hyewon flushes with happiness. "Thank you, miss Miyawaki."

"I do have one concern with miss Kang about the presentation, though," you pipe up. "Miss Miyawaki, do I have your permission to speak about with Hyewon in private?"

Now everybody's looking at each other. They try to keep themselves decent, but they all know what you mean. By now, your sexual relationship with Hyewon is an open secret. It might not be eligible for the title of secrecy anymore since all of the office knows it.

But what can they do? You're the best in your team. You run too many things that keep the company going and they can't risk your loss.

Hyewon waits for the director's response with bated breath. Her hands fiddle with each other as she waits for a response.

"Of course, sir," replies Sakura finally. "You may go."

You and Hyewon exchange glances. The two of you know exactly what your "talk" would be about.

#kpop #kpop smut #smut #izone #izone smut #kang hyewon #kang hyewon smut #izone hyewon #izone hyewon smut #hyewon smut #hyewon #reader insert #x reader #male reader #request

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recreationalfanfics · 1 year

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NO BECAUSE CONSIDER A YANDERE! FEMME FATALE.

Would be in the same universe as my Yandere! Adventurer but idk, I really love women right now.

- Yandere Femme Fatale whose job is to seduce and kill, when she gets hired to take you out however; she can't do it. You're too sweet and earnest, not to mention absolutely adorable with how flustered you get when she flirts with you.

- Yandere Femme Fatale who breaks into your room at night when you're asleep, admiring you peacefully and cupping your face gently as she sighs lovingly. She's never felt romance, only lust and bloodlust, but something about you makes her feel so soft and free. When you wake up, you wonder why there's a lipstick mark on your cheek or your neck.

- Yandere Femme Fatale who, unlike the Yandere Adventurer, won't have to rely on kidnapping. She's spent years perfecting her art of acting, of being the ideal woman her target wants her to be, and she can easily do that with you♡

- Yandere Femme Fatale whose so pretty that it lulls you into a false sense of security. After all, she's got such a sweet smile and such pretty eyes that you can't help but feel squirmy and small under her gaze.

- Yandere Femme Fatale whose just a lovesick puppy around you. Clinging to your arm, sitting a bit too close for comfort at times, loving to play with your hair and letting you rest your head on her chest.

- Yandere Femme Fatale catches everyone's eyes but hers are glued on you. Who is stopped by men and women when she's trying to stalk you, trying to ask her put on a date, so she just subtly poisons them and catching them, pretending they randomly fainted and letting other people take care of it. Dammit! That idiot made her lose you!

- Yandere Femme Fatale who has a brief romantic history with Yandere Adventurer, who is VERY shocked when his ex is starting to hang around his darling but quickly gets all bitter and mad. He pulls her aside to threaten her but she just smiles gleefully at him, after all, she didn't know he had his sights set on you but now, you're somehow even more enticing than before.

- Yandere Femme Fatale who worries about what you think of her and her passionate history. Whose worried that no matter how pretty she looks, you won't be able to get passed that. She'll track them all down and kill them all if it bothers you so much! They don't mean anything to her now that she has you! She just didn't know you were her soulmate back then!

- Yandere Femme Fatale who loves to buy you outfits and dress you up♡ Sometimes the outfits are a bit of a tight squeeze but she assures you that it's supposed to be like that. Who suggests a little fashion show so she can see you wearing all the outfits she thought would look AMAZING on you.

- Yandere Femme Fatale who'd briefly team up with Yandere Adventurer if it was for your best interest, after all, she wouldn't want anything to happen to you! But, just like always, she backstabs him. The way she fantasizes about comforting you, holding you in her arms and loving you til you forgot about him...only for her mood to be dulled when he survives because OF COURSE HE WOULD.

- Yandere Femme Fatale whose always been a selfish lover but not to you, whatever you need she will give it! Her soul, her heart, her body, her blood! Anything you could ever possibly want, just tell her and she'll give it to you!♡ And if you ever want anyone dead, don't even HESITAITE to ask!

#Yandere oc #Yandere x Reader #yandere female #yandere female x reader #fem yandere x reader #fem yandere #yandere wlw #yandere x gender neutral reader #Yandere Femme Fatale #Yandere Adventurer #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #tw yandere #yandere #yandere imagines #Oc: Scarlette Le Claire

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flowery-laser-blasts · 4 months

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*inhale* 🗣 Okay, listen, I'm going to rant over this moment again, but this time in a post so the world can read about it 🗣

It doesn't matter how many times I've watched Graduation part 2... But THIS HERE.

THIS IS MY FAVOURITE MOMENT. THIS IS WHAT THE ENTIRETY OF THIS SERIES HAS BEEN BUILDING UP TO FOR DRAKKEN AND SHEGO AND I JUST--

HE'S SO VULNERABLE IN THIS MOMENT. Look at that FACE. YOU KNOW WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS?! YOU CAN SEE SO MANY THOUGHTS GOING ON BEHIND THOSE EYES. THE EYES ARE THE WINDOW TO THE SOUL AND OH MY GODS IS IT FRAGILE NOW.

THE MAN FEELS INSECURITIES, DOUBTS, WORRIES, A HINT OF BASHFULNESS BUT HE'S ALSO SCARED, ASHAMED, TERRIFIED EVEN; HE WANTS TO RUN AWAY, BE ANYWHERE BUT HERE! his face SCREAMS: "What am I doing here?" and/or "Do I even deserve this?"

BUT MOST OF ALL: "What will others think of me now?"

And then ALL of his questions get answered in the form of his partner in crime's expression: A genuine heartfelt and sincere smile that says "You deserve this."

Shego, the femme fatale who is wanted in 11 countries. The villain who insisted by all means necessary that she's evil through and through and will NEVER be a hero or want to be associated with heroes STILL stands by his side. Do you know what the most important aspect of this very moment is? Shego doesn't stand on 'equal' grounds as him and she doesn't mind it, she lets it happen.

Shego and Drakken's dynamic throughout the story has been Boss-and-Sidekick for the longest of times. Both of them fought: Drakken for wanting to feel superior over EVERYONE and Shego wanting as much power (and/or more) as Drakken would have when they had taken over the world.

However, the happenings in graduation changed everything and now the world recognizes Drakken as a hero, a world savior, and a protector of peace. But if it weren't for Shego flying all the way with Ron to the Lorwardian ship, Drakken couldn't have possibly stopped the invasion.

Look at Shego's expression. She genuinely feels happy for Dr. D. She could've stepped in at ANY point before or during this (press)conference, demanding her own medal and telling everyone that it was in fact her who helped Drakken save them all. But she doesn't. Shego knows how important this moment is for Dr. Drakken. After years of hearing his stories and knowing how much recognition means to him; she lets him have his moment in the limelight, the sun, and she's going to let him bask in all of it for as long as he needs to. Because the most important thing is that she knows what she did and that's enough: She went into space to bring back the man she wanted to rule the world together with. Never ever again would she let Dr. Drakken think, for even a second, that she'd abandon him.

Again, look at the distance between them in this shot.

Yes, the distance is closer but then

As close as they can possibly get in public

They're on even grounds now. Drakken wants to let the world and most importantly Shego KNOW that they are a team and that they saved the world together.

I once saw someone pointing out that they looked very uncomfortable in the last image, but let me put it like this: - Prior in the episode Shego and Drakken almost flew into each other's arms but became VERY reluctant, why??? Because Kim and Ron were there! What must those brats think of them!? Certainly, they cannot show any weaknesses in front of their arch nemeses!

And now let me show this again:

They're embracing each other... in FRONT OF THE WORLD LEADERS. OF COURSE IT'S A BIT AWKWARD, YOU'D BE AWKWARD TOO, but the KEY here is that They're NOT looking away from each other like they did before.

In the previous scenario, they avoided each other's eyes: no connection, desperately trying to show no weaknesses, trying to change the subject matter at all costs.

Now they lock eyes, and they read each other. How I read it (both facial expression as body language): Drakken: Hopeful, nervous, apologetic "Did I hurt you? I hope I did not", kind of embarrassed because his foliage acted out so assertively by his thoughts of wanting Shego to be at least on the same level as him for the world to know. Shego: Surprised but not at all distressed, disgusted or upset about this sudden change. Most of all, I think she's deeply moved: Drakken always called her a 'sidekick', but now? She's recognized by him and the world as his partner. If you look at her face, those eyes seem to be on the verge of tearing up and that smile, how shy and embarrassed it may look holds warmth and happiness.

Both of them acknowledge each other's worth and in a certain way, they took over each other's world.

#kim possible #dr drakken #drakken #shego #drdrakken #drakgo #kimpossible #drakken x shego #dr. drakken #shegoxdrakken #kim possible graduation #kim possible rant #rant #in depth analysis

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mangokabuto · 1 month

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One of my favorite headcannons:

Nami and Usopp do fake public proposals at restaurants and shops to get free stuff.

Nami convinces Usopp to do it because its an easy grift, and he's the only one she could rely on to make it look convincing without pushing her boundaries. Usopp agrees because he gets wrapped up in the showmanship of it, and the attention. Plus, he likes free alcohol/deserts/appetizers/etc as much as she does. They do it a lot pre-timeskip, scoping out what places do those sorts of giveaways and are far enough away from each other that they can hit more than one on each island.

However, post timeskip, they start growing too recognizable to get away with it. They have to up the ante.

They start doing public breakups, divorce routines, make-ups and re-proposals. They're both better actors now, so they are really getting away with it. Their tumultuous relationship is all the rage, and more and more places will offer them better discounts/gifts because they know the media buzz will benefit their shop.

They get a little mad with power. They start making up whole insane scenes, cheating scandals and pregnancy scares. They're roping the rest of the crew in as actors. They have a running storyline going! All throughout Nami keeps her image as the femme fatale of the strawhat crew, with them being single/separated more often than not. Outside of that the interpretations vary wildly; fans across the grand line cant agree whether or not Nami is a queen manipulator with her claws in the poor innocent strawhat boys, or if Usopp is a serial cheating heartbreaker, or both! There are conspiracy theories that Chopper and/or Zeus are secretly children of divorce!

And, of course, Nami's got her claws in with Big News Morgan. They're getting paid handsomely for their help feeding the tabloids ;p

#mango headcannons #usonami #by technicality #deeply funny to me. i think abt this all the time #exists in tandem with east blue polycule in my mind tho #IMPORTANT: exists alongside my ''usopp is a hoe'' HC

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beautification-tales · 14 days

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The Author

A meta caption story

The cool air of the evening creeps in through the open window, gently rustling the curtains and sending a shiver down Ophelia's spine. She sighs, leaning back against the pillows as she stares at the ceiling, lost in thought. It's been a long day; a day filled with routine, frustration, and a whole lot of nothing in between. The silence of the house is almost deafening, save for the occasional creak from the old floorboards and the soft murmur of her husband's voice...

But it's not the sound of his voice that catches her attention. It's the rhythmic slapping noise coming from his home office, just a few steps away. At first, she's not quite sure what it is, but then it hits her: he's masturbating. The realization sends a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through her. Part of her feels violated, like an intruder has violated their sacred space; another part of her feels a pang of jealousy, wondering why he can't find release with her. Yet another part of her feels a strange sense of arousal, her body responding to the sounds even as her mind protests.

She creeps up to the office a little, not wanting to make too much noise, her heart pounding in her chest. Through the crack under the door, she sees her husband's naked form hunched over his desk, his hand moving furiously. He can’t take his eyes off his laptop as if hypnotized he increases his speed. “Ungh fuck! I want her.” He groans as his face contorts. “Who does he want?” Ophelia thinks to herself. She feels a mixture of anger and arousal course through her veins.

Ludwig grunts again “Ungh, it feels… so good!” He shakes violently as he orgasms. Ophelia watches him wipe down his computer and the stain he shot upon his desk. Ludwig coughed as he slid out the back door to his private bathroom. Ophelia could hear the quiet hum of his shower head turning on. Ophelia quickly rushed into the room to look at what kind of porn her husband was enjoying.

Ophelia was shocked to only find a few windows of blogs open as well as an email from “The Mistress”. Ophelia took note of the names of the blogs and the email address of the “The Mistress”. Ophelia ran back to her bed and started looking up these items on her cell phone. Ludwig had stopped having sex with her very early in the marriage. At first Ophelia did not mind as she wasn’t a very sexual person. However, when it became more obvious that Ludwig had sought after other avenues to feed his desires, her jealousy was sparked.

“What kind of stories are on these blogs that could make Ludwig feel pleasure like that?” She thought to herself as she read a story from one blog. The story was short and was about a flat chested woman who got plastic surgery and became a porn star. She checked on another blog and it had a similar story of nerdy girl drinking a serum and becoming a femme fatale. The story had a graphic sex scene as the girl fucked her former crush. Ophelia felt herself become wet at the tale. She went to another blog.

Ophelia felt a cold sweat as the story had a plain, mousy wife. She was not confident and was terrible in bed. She became afraid she would lose her husband and found a succubus that bestowed her with supernatural power and beauty as well. The story sounded eerily familiar especially as the wife’s name was… Ophelia. She kept reading stories on this blog as they had a familiar and predictable formula. Yet, the ending was so graphic and passionate that every word became addictive. Ophelia felt herself become wetter after every tale. It was then Ludwig creeped into their bed. “You’re still up sweetie?” Ludwig asked. “Couldn’t sleep.” Ophelia said softly.

She turned off her smart phone and went to sleep. Yet the stories haunted her dreams. She dreamed of drinking a serum, taking a steroid or making a deal and transforming. Her nerdy demeanor would vanish as her breasts would blossom and she would find Ludwig. They would fuck like animals as passion would overwhelm them.

Ophelia jolted up from bed as the alarm clock rang. Ludwig was already downstairs as she heard his footsteps making coffee and breakfast. She lifted her covers and gasped. She was soaked. She realized that the stories… awoken something in her.

She quickly cleaned up and went downstairs to talk to her husband. “Hey baby! Looking good today!” She said as she gave him a tight hug. Ludwig lifted an eyebrow and looked at her puzzled. “Ok! what appliance do I need to buy this time?” He joked. She smiled and giggled as she sat down at the table.

“Can’t I flirt with my husband? I rarely do it and maybe you need more of it.” Ophelia grabbed at her husband’s thigh rubbing it. “Maybe we can do something fun before you go to work today.” She leaned in closer. Ludwig felt a chill run down his spine as he looked into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated. He could see the lust in them. It was a side of her he hadn't seen in years.

Ludwig stood up unaffected by his wife’s advances. “Sorry, sweetie but I have an important meeting so I have to be early today. Maybe next time.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and left for work.

During the day Ophelia couldn’t focus at work as she thought about Ludwig masturbating to emails from “The Mistress”. Later that night Ophelia once again made some obvious advances to Ludwig as he made excuses of having more emails to get to. Ophelia felt a rage in her build as she was rejected once again.

It was exacerbated as Ophelia heard her husband moan from his office again. Ophelia rushed and watched through the crack again as Ludwig grunted as he stroked his cock. “Yes my Mistress… I’m … I’m… worthy!” Ludwig erupted violently as his body shook as if every one of his muscles contracted. Ophelia felt herself become wet as her jealousy and arousal reached new heights.

“Why would he rather fuck his hand over blogs and emails than with his horny wife?” She thought to herself. Ludwig performed the same ritual of cleaning his mess and taking a shower. Ophelia ran into the office to read the personal email. The latest one said. “Ludwig your stories are exquisite. I think you may be worthy after all. Come meet me and I’ll make your dreams come true.”

Ophelia ran back to bed as she learned two things. The blog with her favorite stories were authored by her husband. Ludwig was aroused by the praise from this mysterious “Mistress” that he planned on meeting to probably be intimate with.

Ophelia felt the tears fall down her face. Ludwig entered the bed as she pretended to be asleep. It was in that moment she resolved to fight for what was hers. The mistress may be some amazing vixen with beauty that far surpasses her own but Ophelia was going to go down swinging.

The next morning she stayed in bed as her husband left for work. She then jumped out of bed and went to Ludwig’s office. She found the address of the mistress and drove there. The retail store was large and had a nail salon attached to it. “Welcome to the emporium” a gorgeous employee said to Ophelia as she entered. “If you need anything do not hesitate to ask.” Ophelia slowly walked up to the employee. “Umm yes….I’m here to talk to the Mistress.” The woman’s smile vanished as she had a serious look. The woman then looked down at Ophelia’s long brown skirt and brown flats. She then smiled at Ophelia. “Of course you are! This way please!”

The woman lead Ophelia past the store into the nail salon. The technicians and clients were all gorgeous with makeup upon their faces. All were wearing tight dresses with bright colorful high heels. Ophelia tried not to stare but could hear what sounded like moans from the clients as nails were put on their fingers. “Mmmm I’m a bad bitch yes!” One of them said as Ophelia looked back the employee brought her back to focus. “This Way Miss?”

The woman pushed a door open to reveal a lavishly decorated hallway. “Mrs! Ophelia Bloom.” Ophelia told the employee. On the wall was an intercom as the employee pressed it she said. “Mistress. A Mrs Ophelia Bloom is here to see you.” There was a pause before a mechanical feminine voice answered.

"Very well. Send her in." The employee pushed another door at the end of the hall revealing a large opulent office. Inside sat a beautiful blonde-haired woman in her early thirties. She was wearing a tight black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her makeup was flawless, and her hair was styled perfectly. She had a commanding presence that filled the room. Ophelia felt a mixture of intimidation and attraction as she walked towards her.

“Ah Ophelia… I heard so much about you. Ludwig really does describe you well. So he sent you? For the package I prepared?” The Mistress smiled warmly as she motioned for Ophelia to take a seat on the plush couch. Ophelia sat down, feeling a mixture of nervousness and anger course through her veins.

Ophelia thought that Ludwig was planning to fuck this woman but it seemed she had something prepared for him. Something he wanted desperately. “Yes Mistress! He wanted me to get it for him. He didn’t want to wait and he is busy in meetings today.” Ophelia looked at the Mistress with a mixture of anger and determination. The Mistress smiled and stood up, walking over to a large desk and opening a drawer. She pulled out a small box and handed it to Ophelia.

“Now it can only be used once so make sure you’re both sure about this.” The mistress put her hands on her hips with a serious stare said. “ Absolutely no refunds and there are no reversals. Everything is permanent.” Ophelia opened the box and saw a vial with a cork stopper on top. “What is in this?” she asked.

The mistress raised an eyebrow and looked at Ophelia. “It is a potent mixture of “mauvaise femme” it has about a 5 minute delay though before taking hold. Ludwig asked for fast acting but this stronger batch…needs patience but it’s worth it. I’m sure you both will be happy with results. Now if you’ll excuse me Ophelia. I have quite a few scheduled appointments today. I just had to squeeze you in because I’m a big fan of your husband’s stories. I can’t wait to see them improve.” She smiled with a sly grin.

Ophelia rushed home. She left the box on the dining room table as she paced her home. She wondered why her husband wanted that gift from the Mistress. Ludwig’s stories played in her mind as she stayed deep in thought. “Is it real? Did Ludwig want her to transform into a bad bitch? To know how to dress sexy and be sexy?” Ophelia was still in disbelief but it all pointed to the same thing. Ludwig wanted her to transform. Ophelia felt that same excitement she felt reading her husband’s stories and she knew she could “make it a reality” for him.

It felt like an eternity but Ludwig finally came home. “Oh hey sweetie. I had a long day.” He said as he took off his suit jacket. Ophelia couldn't help but feel nervous. She was sitting at the dining table with the box in front of her. “We need to talk Ludwig…right now.” She said, her voice shaking slightly. Ludwig looked at her with a confused expression, not quite understanding what she meant. “Umm ok… what’s wrong?” He asked as he sat down.

“I met the Mistress today. I know all about your blog and your fantasies.” Ludwig’s face went completely white at his wife’s admission. “I mean it all makes sense now. You have a certain kink that you wanted to live out and now you can baby.” Ophelia put the box on the table. “I got it from the mistress today.” She paused, waiting for his reaction. Ludwig was frozen in disbelief. His heart raced as he tried to process what was happening.

Ludwig grabbed the box and opened it. “Where is it Ophelia! Where is the fucking serum???” He yelled, his eyes wild with desperation. Ophelia looked at him. “I drank it when you opened the door. I thought this is what you wanted.” Ludwig slammed his hand on the table. “You stupid bitch! The power! The beauty, it was mine! I earned it! It was my stories that got her attention. It was supposed to be mine. I was going to be free from this mundane life, living in luxury and you drank it? You have no passion… no imagination. Your frigid plain body must have killed the serum’s potency. It was supposed to be an instant transformation.”

“It has a 5 minute delay.” Ophelia whispered to Ludwig. Her heart was pounding in her chest as the serum pumped into her bloodstream. “Wait… what?Ludwig asked confused. “She said… it has a fff..five minute delay.” Ophelia felt strange as she placed both arms on the table. Ludwig looked in horror as Ophelia’s plain fingernails grew into red pointed nails. “No…” Ludwig nearly cried as he collapsed back into his chair.

“Mmm you’re right. I was a frigid plain girl.” The sounds of bones cracking and shifting filled the room as Ophelia’s body began to change. “Oooh but from now on I’m going to be a bad bitch.” The thin arms and legs of Ophelia gained muscle tone as she began to moan. Ludwig’s cock hardened in his pants as his stories were coming alive before his eyes.

“Ungh, I’m going to make you stroke to me daily as I fuck alpha males in front of you. I’m going to seduce company CEO’s and drain their bank accounts and their balls! How’s that for imagination!? I’m going to make you watch every fucking second as I have lunch dates with the Mistress. Ungh fuck !” The sounds of cracking stopped as Ophelia’s hair brightened turning from boring brown into golden blonde.

Ludwig hypnotized as the transformation progressed grabbed his cock. “You couldn’t help yourself huh? Mmm you see my hair change color? It’s just like one of your stories! I feel so fucking wet. My arms and legs. So strong and powerful!” Ophelia ripped her shirts sleeves off and tore open her long skirt.

Ludwig unzipped his pants as he panted like an animal. Ophelia’s breasts were next as they doubled in size. Ophelia’s skin become tan and flawless. “The fucking power, Ludwig! I feel it. I can get anything I want. Fuck anyone I want!” Her cheekbones raised up as her lips got fuller and covered in red lipstick. Ophelia stood up and turned around. “I can feel it my ass is growing!”

Her back muscles strengthened and filled out as her butt lifted up making a perfect peach. Her abdomen toned and became flat as her hips got wider and her waist slimmer.

Ludwig grunted as he came watching his plain, frigid wife become a truly powerful vixen.

“Hmmm you enjoyed that didn’t you? Didn’t you my pet?”

“Yes … I … never came so hard…ever.”

“Hmmm I guess you have a new story to write.”

#beautification #transformation #f2f transformation #breast expansion #origin stories #ass expansion #beauty is power #slutification #bimboification

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hermionewrites · 7 months

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femme fatale

summary: a morally dubious personal investigator takes a holiday to virginia as she had heard that aaron hotchner was in witsec. he was not.

warnings: MDNI!!!!! blowjobs, slight d/s dynamic, slight rough play, open ending.

a/n: This is my first smut like work! so please give me the benefit of doubt as i know i need to improve lol. Hope you enjoyed!! Happy reading <3 SEND ME REQUESTS PLEASE. I know aaron doesn’t come back after witsec but for the sake of plot, he does.

word count: 3062

In the past twelve years you had been everywhere in the world. Paris, London, Milan, Sydney, Nigeria, Moscow, and in forty nine of the fifty states. Every one held a different passport and a different name and accent. There was one state, however, you avoided like the plague. Virginia. Named after the virgin queen, birth place of the first president and home to Quantico, the FBI office and unit chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner.

Through the grapevine of criminal connections, you had heard that he had been pushed into WITSEC by Mr Scratch. Him and his son were in Michigan, living a normal life. So you decided to make your way to Virginia.

Your week was spent going around to all the tourist attractions, you had hazy memories of. The Smithsonian, the national gallery of art, and the Lincoln memorial but steering clear of the Capitol. Too risky. Finally, the nightlife.

Holidays in your line of work were rare and short. A night out in a bar, for fun and not information on a suspect was even rarer. You were going out for fun, to get drunk and find someone to pull back into your cheap motel before you were back on the road again. Lightly curled hair twisted around your face, framing it and highlighting the dark, sultry makeup that was precisely painted onto your skin. Dark liner pulling attention to your eyes and a deep red lipstick, surely to leave a mark.

The dress was black, tight, showing everything you had off. It fell around mid thighs that were covered in a silky black stocking that ran down to your feet that were held in expensive black heels. The red bottoms were unmistakable and were a subtle hint at your wealth, steering all of the right people your way.

You’d looked up the bars in the immediate vicinity by your motel. One was a club, that was too young for you, it would be full of college kids looking to score with an older woman. The other was one an older bar with a snooker table and a dart board. This one was too old, filled with older men. The one you’d decided on was called O’keefes. It had a dart board and a moderately sized dance floor. It was the perfect medley between young and old.

The sign outside was glowing red, lighting up the immediate area. Brown wooden doors had little glass windows and you could see the inside was dark with red accent lights, matching the sign in the front. Pushing open the doors, you immediately make your way to the bar and do a scan of the place. The bar was in the middle of the room in a square shape, you sit with your back to the door.

“Can I get a gin and tonic please.” You ask, in a strong french accent, the bartender and she nods, whisking away to go and mix your drink.

“I’ll pay.” A voice says from behind you and you turn around. He’s a blonde, tall, muscular man. “You’re French?” He asks and sits on the red bar stool next to you while nodding to the bartender for a beer.

“Yes, I’m on a vacation?” You say, feigning pauses between your words, giving the impression of changing your dialect to American. “It’s fun here.” You smile at him and rest your chin in your hand.

“Ah I was born here, lived here my whole life.” He tells you and grabs your drinks off of the bartender and you sit and begin to chat. “What do you do for work?”

“I’m an accountant. What about you?” You ask him, not breaking your eyes from his, they were bright blue even in the red light. Not your usual type but he would do.

“I’m a gym instructor.” He comments and subtly flexes. Your toes curl in cringe as he does this but you grit your teeth and make a face of recognition.

“That makes sense, you’re very” You look down and sigh, pretending to think of the word. Looking up you make a grunting noise. You look down again, coyly this time.

“Muscular?” He offers and you make an ‘o’ with your mouth and nod at him. “Yes, I go to the gym every day. I do all sorts of things.” Immediately you had regretted talking to this man. He started to go on and on about all the types of workouts and weights and how long and what muscles it works.

He talked your ear off. He didn’t stop. Your eyes roam around the room, watching all of the other people and they’re conversations that seemed miles more interesting. There was a blonde woman and a bald man having the time of their lives on the dance floor, clearly drunk out of their minds, they looked familiar. The red light bounced around the room and your eyes follow it, taking you on a journey of people watching.

There was another couple, this time in a booth, snogging each others face off. They looked absolutely enamoured with each other. Her hands were in his hair and his hands were on her hips.

Your eyes followed the bouncing light to a round table in the corner of the room. There was a group of five people all laughing and drinking, pointing at the people on the dance floor from a second ago. They were close friends. In the background of your thoughts was the blonde man, still rambling on about the gym and being buff.

The light took your eyes to the door of the men’s bathroom as someone stood out of the doorway. His shoes were black leather oxfords, polished and shining. Black slacks that were perfectly tailored and were tight around his thighs. The same could be said for his white long sleeved shirt, tight across his chest with two buttons undone. A small amount of chest hair peeking out in the gap. Now he was more your type. You looked up to his face to study it.

Your heart drops to your stomach as you take him in. The stool squeaks as you stand up from it quickly and the two of you just stare at each other. You’d also realise you’d walked into a bar full of FBI agents and the one who disliked you the most was looking directly after you. Glancing over to the table of the large group of people you had just observed.

“I am not feeling to well, I have to go.” You say, leaning down to the man, who you didn’t know the name of and watched him look confused. “The gin didn’t sit with me. Goodbye.” You put your hand on his shoulder and grab his beer which he hadn’t touched yet.

You had never been so glad to sit near the door. The split second decision to bolt out of the door was risky. Running out of the bar, you rip the door open and made your way onto the Virginian streets. First mistake, wearing heels. Being a PI provided you with a generous amount of funds. However, expensive heels this high we’re for being walked down the the street in the arm of someone. Not pelting it down paved streets, you already regretted your choice to go out tonight.

Second mistake, coming to Virginia in the first place. You heard the bar door open again and he ran through it, bolting after you. He had the upper hand here, knowing the streets. Quickly, you run into the back alley’s. You didn’t stop running, checking the street signs as you ran. Desperate to get back to your motel, you don’t look back once.

Guessing wasn’t your strong point, you think as you randomly pick another alley to run through, hoping to find some familiarity. All of them started to look the same, maybe you’d already been here, or maybe it was the panic. There was a T shaped turn, you could either go straight foreword or turn right in a couple yards. You run straight foreword.

Suddenly, as you pass the right turn you are slammed against the brick wall. You feel the backs of your tights get stuck to the brick and rip and you wince.

“You prick.” You groan and pull your hands up to shove him off of you. “What you do that for?” Bending down you bring your hands to your knees and puff for breath.

“What job are you on?” He says, with his interrogator voice. Eyebrows creased and shoulders squared to make himself look more threatening.

“I’m not on a job, Hotch.” You tell him and stand up straight, looking at this face close up for the first time in a while. Your mind short circuits for a second as you contain yourself. “You have a beard.”

“You’re always on a job.” He states, clearly not believing you.

“I’m on holiday!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up into the air. “You.” Dragging out the word you point at him. “Are supposed to be in witness protection.”

“How’d you know that?” He asks, confused. He takes a step forward, his chest rising and falling.

“Everyone knew?” You roll your eyes at him. “You had to disappear because of Scratch, you were in Maine.” You shrug. “Now can I please, go back to my motel.”

“No.” He says and takes another step foreword. “You’re a murderer.” He states. “I’ll walk you.”

“Alleged, you have no evidence.” You answer quickly, “You have a bias against me. I’m innocent.” You sigh and start to walk away from him. “We can’t be seen together.”

“I know.” You look at him confused. “To all of those things. But it’s dark, I’ll walk you.” He jogs to catch up to you and the two of you walk at a leisurely pace in the direction of your motel. It’s silent for a while and you take in the streets. “You’re British?” He questions, turning toward you.

“I assumed you knew, all these years.” You laugh slightly. “You have reading glasses yet?” You joke. He doesn’t find it funny. “One day, you’ll laugh.” The silence comes up once again, you swing your arms back and forth. “What did you tell your friends?”

“That I had to go.” He states and you turn into the street of dodgy motels. “Why did you mention my beard?” He asks as he walks you to the door. You turn the key you had in your bra, and lean against the open door way.

“It suits you, you look fit.” You shrug and smile. His face doesn’t move. “It’s a compliment, accept it.” You roll your eyes again and scoff. “You want to come in?” He shakes his head and goes to open his mouth but you interrupt.

“I don’t want to fuck. Calm down.” You walk into your room and wait for him to follow. “Close the door.” You hear it click closed. “It wouldn’t be a good idea for us to have sex again anyway.”

“Why?” He says with a strong breath out of his nose.

“You might get attached.” You smirk at him and he finally laughs. It’s a deep baritone, but silky like honey, you wanted to drown in it. “Also because I think someone knows we’re friends.” You sit down on your bed and pull your red bottoms and frown at the scuffed paint. You look up to him as you peel the ripped tights away from your legs, leaving you in your dress.

“What do you mean?” He asks and you rummage through your bag, pulling out a white envelope. You toss it towards him and watch him pull out pictures of you from vulnerable times throughout the years. “Are these not yours?”

“No, my blackmail is in a safe.” You give him a smile and lean back. “I was served them, like I was being sued.” You explain. “I’m trying to find who’s they are, don’t worry.”

“I will lose my job, if these get out.” He says flicking through them again.

“I know. They won’t.” You assure him and take the photos back, taking them back and sliding them into the envelope. The air in the room feels thick and you bury them back into the bottom of the bag. The dynamic was strange. He didn’t like you because he thought you were a murderer. You didn’t like him because he thought you were a murderer. However, you couldn’t deny the tension the two of you had. You had kept your meetings short for this exact reason, the room heating up. You look up and meet his brown eyes.

“Is that all your things?” He asks and you nod. “It’s not a lot.” He states and stands up rigidly straight.

“I don’t live anywhere for more than a month.” Zipping your bag shut. “I close my cases quickly. You can sit down.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “I should go.” You nod and watch him turn to the door and take two long steps towards it. You never said goodbye. This time though, he hesitated to twist the door knob.

“One more time, couldn’t hurt.” You stand up and the two of you meet half way, wrapping around each other. Your lips hit his neck and you start to suck gently while simultaneously unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. Your hands dive into the hair on his chest and generally feel him up through the open shirt. “You been working out?”

“Occasionally.” He says nonchalantly as your hands wander south. Down to his toned stomach and your fingers fiddle with the button on his slacks. You look up at him for permission and he nods. Slowly, you use both hands to unbutton them and teasingly pull down the zip. “Hurry up.” He grits and your hand slides inside the trousers but stay over his boxers. You felt him get hard in your hand.

He leans down to your neck and licks up to your ear and whispers. “Get on your knees for me.” You do exactly as your told and lower yourself down to the carpet.

“You’re so lucky you’re hot, this carpet is gross.” You say up to him and pull his black slacks down to his ankles. His mouth perks up at the compliment. You learn on the backs of your feet and wait. Your fingers trail up and down his thigh. He pulls down his boxers and that was a sight you missed.

Just looking at Aaron Hotchner, every one could tell he wasn’t small, in any shape of form. His build was big, his chest was big, his hands were big, you could go on. His dick was certainly big, you observe as he holds it close to your face. “Look up at me.” He instructs and you instantly do what he says.

You didn’t know what view you preferred. On one hand, his dick was pretty. On the other, he had grown a beard out while in WITSEC. They were both equal.

“Can I?” You ask, swiping your tongue over your lip but he cuts you off.

“Patience.” He states sternly. He liked to make you wait. You roll your eyes again but do sit there patiently. He pulls you gently from the back of your head closer to him. You furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering what he was doing. An uncontrollable red flush crawls up your skin as it dawned on you, he was measuring up to your face. Dirty man. He smirks and leans back, “Go ahead.” He finally says and you sigh in relief.

“Patience is not one of my strongest virtues.” You snark and lean in, taking a long, slow lick up his length. In the past few years, you had forgotten what he had tasted like, you didn’t want to forget again. Something you’d never forget was the noise he would make when you finally took him into your mouth.

That groan was music to your ears, a symphony that makes you blush. He’s heavy and warm on your tongue. You look up at him through your eyelashes and his eyes are screwed shut as he pants. Hallowing your cheeks, you slowly bob your head along him.

“Nor is it mine.” He moans out and runs his fingers into your hair. “Can I?” He strokes your hair and you nod, mouth still full of his cock. “Use your words.” He commands and smiles down at you as you pull off of him.

“Yes, you can.” You confirm and he grabs the back of your hair in a fist. He then guides you down on him again, but deeper than before almost breaching your throats and you couldn’t stop yourself from groaning, vibrating on him and the grip on your hair tightens slightly. “Christ.” You feel the leg muscles you have gripped in your hands twitch as he moves his hips forward to meet your movements.

The frequent small spurts of salty taste into your mouth signalled that he was getting closer to the edge. You try not to smirk and you take him deeper and he throws his head back with a throaty groan.

“I’m not going to last long.” He grits his teeth together and his legs twitch again, gripping onto the back of your head as you control your breathing through your nose.

He calls out your name, a word he rarely even whispers. It falls out of his lips as he finishes into yours.

He pulls out of your throat and you swallow, standing up and then perching on the edge of your bed. “Let me pay you back.” He says and takes steps towards your, lips landing on your neck. A soft moan leaves your mouth. But suddenly, the two of you are ripped apart by the phone ringing. He pulls away and answers, it’s not work, you can tell by his softer than usual tone.

“I’ve got to go.” He awkwardly says, pulling his trousers back up and buttoning his shirt. “It’s my son, Jack, he’s ill.” He grabs his wallet that had fallen on the floor in the chaos. “I’ll see you soon.” You follow him to the creaky door to see him out.

“No, you won’t.” He begins to walk away into the dark of the night. “Goodbye Aaron!” You call out into the darkness as he disappears.

#criminal minds #fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #ficlet #fluff #oneshot #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #smut #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch smut #first smut #hope you enjoy!!!

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mageknight14 · 3 months

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Dissecting the Femme Fatale Archetype: A Dive into Kanon Tachibana's Character

Kanon Tachibana is one of my favorite TWEWY supporting cast members. Probably not a truly unique opinion, as she's one of the more positively-received characters I've seen when it comes to online opinions on the game, but she's one of my favorites because she’s a perfect example of NEO’s more subtle character writing and gets the perspective flipped on her twice when you initially play through the game and then replay it. So, with that, let's get into her character and what makes her tick in particular.

When we first meet her, she doesn’t make the best first impression, what with her stealing the hard-earned victory pin from Rindo/Fret’s noses and sweet-talking them into letting her keep it (I also love how she glares at Shiba’s announcement, having seen this old song and dance).

Combine this with what the Social Network says about her leading other teams to their doom thanks to her honeyed words and sweet disposition and what we seemingly have is a classic case of the femme fatale character, someone who’s NOT to be trusted.

However, as we progress through the game, we can see that there’s actually a lot more to her than meets the eye. Even after point-sniping them, she still comes forward to give the Twisters advice from time-to-time when it comes to matters regarding the Game. Encouraging them to take on more team members, warning against going up to fight the Ruinbringers (Susukichi in particular), all that jazz.

At the same time, however, she also takes care to reaffirm that she’s also suspicious of the Twisters and their capabilities, often showing surprising amounts of protectiveness when it comes to the other team leaders. These switches between friendly teasing and hard-hitting accusations understandably unnerve the team a bit.

On top of that, throughout the weeks, she also shows a talent for picking apart Fret's surface-level compliments/attempts at flattery, herself being an expert when it comes to that sort of thing as noted by her Social Network profile.

While she is mainly looking out for herself and the Variabeauties, she also does have a sense of honor/fair-play when it comes to be able to fight on an even playing field, which she showcases in her alliance proposal to the Twisters on W2D3.

In the span of one convo, she was able to:

-Pick out that the Twisters are the biggest wild cards in the structure of the Game and note them as such, giving them incentive to look into their own capabilities and find her offer more appealing when weighing their options.

-Play into their doubts regarding the Game and reaffirm to them that this is really the only option they have left at this point if they want to have any hope of actually escaping.

-Blow away Fret’s preconceptions that she’s just as ingenuine as he is as shown by his nervous laughter

-Emphasize that if they’re able to pull it off, it’s a win-win for everyone involved.

It’s made apparent that Kanon is an incredibly skilled negotiator, though understandably Rindo still has her doubts about her because she’s been equal parts threatening and supportive, which sends a mixed message. Who’s to say where her allegiance truly lies?

However, a surprisingly strong affirmation on her convictions comes from no one other than Motoi himself, who actually vouches for Kanon’s intentions and belief in the Twisters being genuine on her part. This along with Swallow’s prodding later on gets Rindo to change his tune. Now, there’s a dozen different interpretations on why Motoi would go out of his way to vouch for Kanon’s character but the fact that he was actually right on the money is a pretty subtle hint that they know about each other and how they tick more than people realize…

Then we go into W2D7, where Kanon’s recounting of the Ruinbringers’ activities and her muted reaction towards Motoi’s erasure emphasizing that she’s been at this for a long, LONG, horrifying while, becoming practically numb to it all.

And when Sudden Death in Week 3 comes around, she starts to kick up her critique of Fret and his issues into overdrive, wanting to see him grow for the better knowing full well that she and the Variabeauties might not make it at the end of the week. And unfortunately for her, Fret, and the Beauties, that fear ends up becoming a reality.

The following day, Fret flat out tells the others about how he felt about Kanon: that he wanted to BE like her, finding her genuine nature and confidence in who she is as something to aspire to, and wanted her to see him reach that level.

By then, our perspective on Kanon has flipped: a scheming femme fatale who turns out to be an intelligent, real, and loyal soul. Someone who starts off cold towards the Twisters before coming around to genuinely like and appreciate them (note the little smile in image 2!)

However, this is only half of the real Kanon we get to know and when we take a look back at some of convos within the game, the Reports, and see past Fret’s idealized image of her, we get to see a much more deeper side to Kanon than what was already there.

First, we need to talk about two aspects of Kanon; her hidden resentment of the Twisters/the system she’s trapped in and her trust issues. As noted above, Kanon is quite curiously protective in regards to the other Player teams, even accusing the Twisters of sabotaging them at some points, and this is for one particular reason: she and the rest of the Beauties are in an unspoken alliance with both teams. One where the top 3 teams (besides the Ruinbringers of course) keep their footing by sending new players and other teams to last place. This is something that’s actually alluded to on W2D3, with the Beauties and Purehearts corroborating together to take down the Twisters.

I also want to draw your attention again to these scenes here, where in the second timeline Rindo has Replayed to, Kanon already knows about Fuya challenging the Ruinbringers whereas before in the first timeline she didn’t, hence why she’s a bit more antsy this time around.

The reason for this is because, due to the Wicked Twisters screwing up the balance of powers between the teams with their sheer existence and sending the DRS plummeting to last place on W1D5, Fuya has become more daring/reckless, desperate to etch out a win against Susukichi. While Fuya is noted by in the Social Network to have surprisingly strong Imagination, there's a reason why he and the the DRS are mainly in dead last.

Kanon and Motoi are the most powerful of the (non-Ruinbringers) teams solely because of their ability to manipulate things in their favour despite both being weak in psych/Imagination. In that regard they’re the most "successful" within the constraints of the rigged game. Fuya, on the other hand, while having strong psychic powers, isn't as wily as the other two in regards to their social prowess and failed to keep his team properly motivated and prevent them from feeling demoralized, which is shown most prominently on W1D5 where Rindo uses his time travel to reroute them from fulfilling their duties by playing on their desires in their moments of weaknesses.

With this in mind, it's no wonder that Fuya became so desperate to risk it all against Susukichi. And while the Twisters do almost bring about change by beating the Ruinbringers, it ultimately doesn’t matter in the long-run due to how incredibly rigged the Shinjuku game is and as a result, the DRS are eliminated, getting rid of the Beauties’ and Purehearts’ safety net.

This kind of stuff is what I mean by Kanon being a perfect example of NEO's subtle character writing. At first glance, Rindo's nonchalant note of her behavior in the second timeline isn't anything to write home about, but it's when you look at all these individual pieces and start lining them up all together, a clear picture starts to be formed. It's what makes NEO so fascinating as a work to explore everytime I replay it.

The Reports make it especially clear that the teams have been through this experience for 30 LOOPS, which has left them teetering on the brink of despair and coping with the situation in anyway they can, with W1D5 (as noted before) and W2D4, as well as other segments, exploring this in more detail.

Imagine going through what is essentially a never-ending hell for weeks on end with no opportunity for rest so you come up with a system to at least stall the inevitable before a couple of kids come around to throw that system out of wack but it all ends up amounting to nothing. With this in mind, it’s honestly no wonder that a part of Kanon resents the Twisters for what happened, with her Dive on W3D3 bringing up all of these lingering feelings to the surface.

However, Kanon knows that the Twisters realistically wouldn’t know about any of that. How could they, after all? She knows that they’re fundamentally good kids at their core and knows that her feelings towards them aren’t fair so she keeps them buried to focus more on her tasks. She tries to take all of the responsibility upon herself and not let anyone else get caught up in the crossfire but this leads into one of her fatal flaws: her inability to trust in the capabilities of her team.

Throughout the game, it’s made pretty apparent that both the Twisters (Fret in particular) and the Beauties idolize her, with the latter propping her up as their Kween. And to their credit, Kanon IS a genuinely good leader, one worth looking up to. However, with all of those expectations comes a sense of isolation, a feeling that you HAVE to take on all of the burdens because if you don’t, who else will? This is shown when she splits up the Beauties when the threat of the Plague Noise comes around, not trusting their capabilities. However, all this did was leave the Beauties as slim pickings for the Noise, including Kanon herself. This is actually foreshadowed all the way back in Week 1, where she declines potentially recruiting Nagi because she doesn’t want to ruin the dynamic she and the Beauties have going.

This is also a reflection of how Rindo himself initially acts, not wanting recruit more team members because he’s afraid of getting dragged down into failure and having no faith in his or his teammates’ capability to achieve things for themselves. What’s interesting is that Kanon does it because she wants to shoulder the burden/responsibility by herself whereas with Rindo, he does so because he wants to AVOID having to take responsibility for any potential fallout, relying on someone else to do it for him. However, as the game progresses, Rindo gets better about this, learning to let his barriers down, reach out to others more, and trust in himself and his friends’ capabilities.

In fact, when trying to save Kanon, Rindo nearly makes the same mistake as her by asking Fret to split up, but when Fret shows up, Rindo and co. are down to support him. And although they didn’t succeed in saving her, they were able to grant her the opportunity to die as herself and gain valuable information on combining Fret and Nagi’s powers to combat Shibuya Syndrome that helps them out in the following days.

Overall, Kanon is an incredibly interesting character with a lot going on underneath the surface (in a way, she’s basically Fret’s Hanekoma) and I hope that this analysis on her was able to at least shine some light on her various nuances.

#the world ends with you #ntwewy #neo twewy #neo the world ends with you #kanon tachibana #motoi anazawa #fuya kawahara #analysis post #character analysis #twewy

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