#dark!feysand x f!reader smut

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Feysand x f!reader: Bloodied Wedding Bonds[***]

A/N: Anything relating to dark!feysand, I am 100% down to write it :)

Warnings: Forced marriage, fingering, smut, making of bargains?, sacrilege, squiring, non-con

Word Count: 4,211

It’s not your place to ask questions.

You know it’s not.

But when your clients are the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, it’s a little difficult to keep your mind from wondering. A failing marriage? Marital disputes? Hedonism? None of your business. Your job is to please them, and that is all you should be focusing on.

From the fact alone that they’ve been continuously visiting you, asking after you for nearly a year now, seems to be enough evidence you’re doing well. You’d hope so. Anything they ask for, you give. Anything they want to try, you let them. Anything.

So when your High Lady tells you of a scene she—both of them would like to try, you obey.

————

You try to suppress a shiver as you step over the temple’s threshold.

A slight breeze plays with the hem of the elegant white gown that had been left on your bed, the veil fluttering across your concealed features, hiding the light dust of cosmetics you’d applied—a tint to your lips and cheeks, nothing else.

You jolt when you receive a pinch on the ass, but relax when his familiar wash of night finds its way to your senses. Powerful arms wrap around your waist, a strong, male chest pressing into your back, his chin curving over your head, “you look lovely, dear. White suits you well.”

A smile tips the edges of your lips as you twist your head, peering up into his violet gaze, “and here I was, thinking it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony,” you tut. His eyes gleam in the darkness, the corners of his mouth curving, “I simply couldn’t resist.” His hands grip your waist, and you’re flipped around, the swell of your breasts pressing softly into his chest, “you look so pure in white. I’m having a hard time not forcing you to take your vows bare.”

The shiver that runs down your spine is as real as he is, pleasure warming your skin as you lean in to him. “Isn’t a wedding all about intimacy?” You ask, smiling coyly, “I’m sure you’d be forgiven, Lord.”

A sound of deep, male satisfaction rumbles in his chest, arms tightening and you feel the delicious press of something hard over your abdomen. “Such a tease, aren’t you, darling?” His hand slides lower, cupping your ass and your spine arches. “Only for you two,” you murmur over his soft lips. Breath warms your mouth as he chuckles quietly, “good to know you’re a loyal whore.”

You bristle at the term, but he gives you an apologetic look, “wife.” Amusement glitters in his gaze and you wonder at the sincerity of his correction. “I’m not your wife yet, Rhysand,” you taunt softly, giving him a rueful little smile. This time his laugh is sincere, “I love that about you, you know?” Your smile fades as you peer at him curiously.

Naturally over the months you’ve developed a bond with them, but the kind you’re expected to have with all your clients. To make the transactions easier. You work better if you’re more attuned to them.

“What is it you love, Lord?” His smile widens as he spins you round, walking with you down the aisle, “that you think you have a say in whether you wed us or not.” You laugh at his joke and his arm squeezes you tighter. Pressed to his side.

The High Lady appears at the end of the aisle, and breath catches in your throat. Clad in a silky blue that borders on violet, she’s regal. Hair tied back and curled, a few strands framing the soft, beautiful planes of her face. Lips a rosy red, awaiting patiently as you’re led toward her.

She greets you with a kiss, and you follow obediently. Mouth parts over yours, her tongue sliding in. Rhys’ hands release you, yielding to his mate as he steps around to her side, leaning against the altar as he watches hungrily, arms braced on the hard surface.

“I’m sure he’s already told you how delicious you look in white,” Feyre comments, pulling back a little. You move after her, capturing her mouth again. She hums disapprovingly, but doesn’t scold you for it. Though she does land a light pat to your behind. A small sound whines in your throat; her kisses become more eager. Firmer.

It’s only when Rhys’ hands land on your hips you realise she’s been walking you backward, pushing lightly while keeping attached to your mouth so you drop into his lap. Your spine curves automatically as you feel the hot press of his cock against your backside, winding your hips lightly to give him some friction. Groans rumble at your back, and you melt between them.

Feyre’s tongue strokes over yours and you slide your hand over the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as Rhys moves your hips to his pleasure, using each other as you like. Her teeth nip your lip and you whine, jolting in a way that has Rhys moaning roughly. She’s getting rougher.

Nails bite into your hips; you hiss. The High Lord’s mouth opens over your shoulder, kissing and licking up the bare skin until he’s beneath your ear. Feyre’s fingers skim up your front, working in sync with her counterpart as they hook beneath the straps of your dress. The cold air bites at your nipples as the fabric falls away, quickly encompassed by her hot, wet mouth. Moans spill from your lips as you look down at your High Lady. Her round, blue-grey eyes watching you as her tongue does all sorts of wicked things that should not be done in a temple.

“Feyre,” you whimper, fingers tangling in her hair as she lightly pinches your nipple. She hums; Rhys’ hands slip between your legs, hooking them over his thighs. You lean forward, bracing on the altar beneath you as your spine curves, heat rubbing over his cock. Rough groans grace your ears in response, his hips buck, pushing you forward. “Such a fucking tease, aren’t you?” He grits out, finally putting his teeth in you.

Your eyes widen, then squeeze shut, tugging Feyre closer to your chest, praying for her to copy his movements. A squeal breaks from your lips as her canines scrape the sensitise skin, slowly trailing lower, lower, lower. Hands push away the white fabric with ease, and her mouth opens over your lace-covered heat.

You gasp—they usually tease you for much longer. But she’s giving in so quickly. Thrown off balance, grappling for stability while her tongue dances leisurely over your cunt. “Feyre,” you pant, “what are you—” Pushes underwear to the side. Tongue flicking over your clit.

Rhysand’s hands snake around your waist, grazing up your front. Pinches your nipples. “Don’t think,” he whispers softly at the shell of your ear. His fingers flick deftly over your sensitive skin, urging you to give into them, “just feel.” And by the Mother, you do.

She pushes your legs wider, pulling back only to remove the offending lace then her eyes are drinking you in. You open wider for her, and she moans softly. “Want my mouth, sweet thing?” She asks, pads of her fingers pressing on your inner thigh. Heavy puffs of breath exhale from your lungs, fire warming your veins with addictive pleasure.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes locking onto hers, “please.”

Her lips curve upward, making your muscles go weak with the dark promise. Canines scrape over your throat, and you’re dragged back to Rhys, so your attention is elsewhere when she bites your clit lightly. You whimper at the pleasure, hips bucking for more. She smiles over your cunt, teeth grazing the sensitive bud. One of Rhys’ hands glides up to cup your throat, tipping your head back, then sliding higher. Covering your eyes.

In the dark, it’s so much better. Imagination runs wild, infinite endings to this path they’ve sent you down. You can’t prepare for when Feyre bites and nips at that sensitive part of you, can’t tense for when Rhys pinches your nipple, tugging. Can’t keep in your soft yelp when one of them smacks between your thighs, the wet slap reverberating off the holy walls.

“Filthy thing,” Rhysand croons, and you flinch when two thick fingers slide between your legs. Feyre’s pulled away, making way for him as he plays with the wetness that’s coalesced there. “Rhys…” you plead softly, wanting him to slide up to his knuckles, curling against that spot he’s had memorised since the first time he’d touched you.

“What do you want, and how badly do you want it?” He purrs, circling your entrance teasingly. Your head tips back onto his shoulder, cool breeze washing over the exposed skin of your top and bare thighs. “I want you to fuck me with your fingers…” you breathe, panting with need.

His hand retracts, smacking down on your tender sex, catching your clit beneath his digits. You flinch, moaning sharply. “How bad, birdie?” He repeats, soothing the pained area with gentle rolls of his fingers, Feyre’s pink tongue helping with the stinging. Muscles melt, and your legs spread wider. “Anything…” you stammer softly, the word catching between your moans.

A low snarl of approval reverberates through his chest, picturing how his lip is curling to showcase perfect, sharp teeth. “Anything?” He repeats, intonation quirking with malevolent interest. “I wonder, how far would you really go for an orgasm?” He laughs lowly, closer to a growl, really.

“I’ll crawl wherever you ask me to,” you answer, and he snarls with approval. “Such a clever tongue,” he croons, fingers sliding down to your centre, again oscillating around your entrance. “Would you promise that to us?” He asks.

You nod drunkenly, too focused on how close his skilled fingers are to where you want them to pay close attention. He’d told you to feel, so you’re feeling.

Rhys hums at your back, then his fingers are retracting, spreading you wide for his mate as she dives back in, tongue lapping and flicking eagerly, suckling your tender clit.

“What about your cunt? Would you promise that to us?” He asks, hunger dragging beneath his question.

“It’s yours anyway,” you moan, spine curving as her tongue swirls over your sensitive bud, dropping lower to push against your sopping hole. He snarls again, and you know he’s pleased. “So well trained, aren’t you, little lynx?” He spits, hand still keeping you in darkness.

“What about you, then? Think that’ll be good enough?” Arousal spikes your pulse, Feyre’s precious little tongue pushing into you, desperate to taste you; be inside you in some way.

“Yeah…” you moan sweetly, winding your hips in encouragement as your clit begins to tingle with heat. His hand smacks down again, Feyre leaving just a moment before. You jolt, not knowing what you did wrong. You open your legs wider in attempts to soothe whatever wrong you committed, hoping if you accept more pain it’ll please him.

It’ll please you, too.

“Say it,” he snarls softly, teeth scraping over your ear as he again spreads you wide for his mate to sweep in. “Promise yourself to us. Prove you’re worth the orgasm.” Sweet pleasure blooms in the pit of your belly, pulse picking up at the danger. “I promise,” you whisper, the words a pained breath from your lips as he pinches your clit, Feyre’s tongue pushing into your hole. “More,” he growls, the demand making your hips buck.

“You—…I’m yours—! All of me…completely!” You whimper between your heavy pants. “I promise! I’m yours!”

His mouth fashions itself into a feline smile beside your ear, fingers finally circling over your clit, void of that edge of pressure. “Yeah? Mine and Feyre’s? Promise you’re ours? Belong to us?” Your heart flutters in your chest, fluttering between your legs, too. “I do…!” You whine, hips bucking, hands fisting atop the altar, “I do…I do! I do!”

Fingers and fangs switch place. Breath whooshes from your lungs.

Her teeth circle your clit, tongue flicking out, just as he sinks in up to his knuckles, dragging the pads of his fingers over those spots that make dark and light swirl in your vision. Eyes roll back into your skull, pleasure finally taking you by the throat as it slams you down. Spine arches, toes curl, mouth drops open.

No words come out as your body tenses, then melts, turns hot and liquid as you flow. Lap at the edges of your skin. Burning. Burning from within as fire scorches your blood, singeing your insides with pleasure so intense it blocks out the sting of the bargain, the promise not registering in your mind.

They hardly let you come down from your high before you’re being roughly tossed onto the altar. Barely a second passes between that last flutter of your cunt and the kick of pleasure as Rhys lines himself up, and slams in to the hilt.

The cold stone bites into your back, despite being covered by a veil of cloth. Light burns your quick-adjusting eyes, before being eclipsed as Feyre parts her thighs over you, smothering you as her heat covers your mouth, clit perched atop your nose.

Sense again leaves you, just the feel of Rhys slamming in, deep enough you can feel him in your stomach, pounding you into the sacred stone. Feyre’s hands tangle in your hair, roughly pulling you against her hips as she grinds over your face, her arousal making the drag over your mouth and nose easier, so she slides back and forth. “Stick that tongue out for me, birdie,” she moans, nails scraping over your scalp.

The words hardly register, pleasure numbing your senses while your eyes remain shut, basking in the wet glide of her heat over your lips; nose. She snarls, lifting up only her knees, looking down at you over her shoulder, landing a harsh pat to your cheek. Her fingers bite into your jaw, gripping tight, “open.”

Pain stings up your spine, buzzing in your head as your body follows her order, while your mind scrambles to keep up. Something had overtaken your will. Something had stolen your autonomy.

Heartbeat spikes, and you land three hurried taps to your High Lady’s hip.

Never once have you used your safe word with them. With others, yes. But never them.

Anything they’ve wanted, they’ve gotten. But right now, you’re panicking.

It’s the first rule of your occupation—under no circumstances are bargains ever to be brought into the establishment. They’re never to interfere with the relationship of prostitute and client. They’re too powerful to be messed with; you’ve always stood by that rule.

Feyre pulls off you almost instantly, Rhys’ hips halting a second later though his hands span the tops of your thighs. Panic blurs your mind as you push up onto your elbows, peering down your body. A dark ring of ink had ingrained itself on your stomach, outlining the circle of your belly. Fingertips drag the dark imprint, and you feel a little sick.

“Get rid of it,” you whisper. Your eyes flick to the High Lord’s, his own gleaming with something that has you shrinking back into yourself. Something dark and malignant.

“Rhys…” you pant softly. Breath catches, arms slide over your shoulders, Feyre’s thighs propping you up. Your head tilts backward, exposing your throat as you meet the blue-grey of her eyes. Rosey lips lift into a quiet smile, “you’re ours, now.”

A shudder that’s unrelated to the temperature shivers down your spine as you shake your head. “No…” you breathe. “No…we can’t—… Bargains are—”

“Shh…It’s okay, sweet thing.” Feyre strokes hair from your face, “it’s okay. You won’t get in trouble for serving us.” You simply stare at her, flicking from one blue-grey eye to the other, trying to recall the words of the promise.

“What—… What…?” In your mind, you’re trying to piece things together, broken bits of conversation. “No. I…I can’t, Feyre.” You look at her beseechingly, but she simply continues gently stroking your hair. Your attention turns on Rhys. He’s High Lord—he has to listen. “Rhys,” you say, voice managing to come out even; firm. “Rhys I can’t—… This is a line I can’t cross for you. Remove it.”

Violet flickers, stars winking out in places as he puts you under a hard stare. You raise your chin: this is something you can’t back down on. It’s a bargain for goodness sake.

“You would disobey your High Lord and Lady?” He asks. You blink.

“It’s not a matter of obedience. It’s a matter of respecting my autonomy. I do not want this bargain mark; I don’t even remember the terms. Remove it.” You sit up fully, back feeling cold as your arms wrap protectively over your front.

“You promised yourself to us,” he replies, eyes narrowing on you. “In return for your orgasm, you promised we could have you.”

Breath halts in your throat, eyes stilling on him. This can’t be happening. Fingers fist over the skin of your upper arms. “Free me from this bargain, or I will refuse to have you as clients. Either of you. It is well within my rights to do so,” you say firmly, despite how hard your heart is hammering.

The edges of his mouth quirk, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Lie back down,” he says, as if you’ve said something funny.

“Rhysand!” You snap, defensively pulling up the straps of your thin wedding gown. “This is serious,” you hiss, “you do not make a joke out of things like—”

“Lie down.” Violet drops to icy indigo, eyes hardening as your own widen, muscle complying wilfully. Grey-blue peers down at you, and your brows curve. “Feyre…” She smiles softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Why are you smiling?” You manage, swallowing bits of your fear, “this is serious.”

Her thumb brushes your lips, pushing on the lower one gently, “you’re our wife now.”

Her hand grips your left gently, slipping that unique sapphire ring onto your forth finger—it fits, like magic. “We’ll do this properly another time,” she murmurs, cupping your cheeks. “Get you a proper ring, have a proper ceremony,” she whispers, thumbing away the wet streaks that are beginning to roll back into your hair. “But you’re ours now. That’s all that matters. So you don’t have to worry about being in trouble with that brothel, okay?”

Rhys’ hands tighten on your hips, slotting himself closer between your legs, his length resting hot and heavily over your wet cunt. Eyes tear away from blue-grey, piercing into violet, “stop. Stop that. You can’t do that.”

He smirks, drawing back, letting you feel the slow drag of his cock over your cunt. As it drags down to your centre, tip pushing at the soft dip between your thighs.

You shiver, eyes going teary as you stare at him. “Rhys…” you whimper. Nails digging into your palms while Feyre keeps her hands over your shoulders, pushing you into the stone of the altar.

Rhysand groans at the sound, pleasure drawling from his mouth, rubbing the tip of his cock over your wet heat, bumping your clit. “Say that again, little lynx,” he orders. “Beg for me.”

The bargain crackles over your tummy and tears roll back. There’s no way out of this unless they release you. “Rhys…” you repeat, tongue forming the word all on its own. Adding the pleading undertone, too. As if you want it as much as they do.

Feyre’s eyes latch onto yours, hands cupping your cheeks as she leans down, kissing your glossy lips—glossy and smeared with arousal from her own cunt.

“How does it feel?” She asks softly over your mouth. “Tell me what it’s like having him inside you.”

More tears roll as your jaw opens on its own, ready to answer her question. “Feels good,” you whimper, brows curving with fear. “Filling me up.”

She makes a quiet sound of pleasure and intrigue in the back of her throat, before she’s planting another kiss to your lips, then—

Oh, gods.

“Open up for me,” she murmurs, thighs parting above you as she crawls to be above your face. “Let me feel that sweet tongue of yours again. She always makes me cum so well.”

Rhys presses in a little deeper, just so his head is inside your warm heat, pushing a whine from your lips.

Your mouth opens for her, tongue pressing over your lower lip so she can glide over you with ease, swipe her clit over the rough wetness of the hot muscle. She moans at the sight, lips lifting into a distinctly Feyre-like grin, “good girl.” Before her things widen, and she sinks down onto your mouth.

Tears roll back into the cloth that’s coating the altar as she uses you for her pleasure. Rhysand’s hips drag back, then push in roughly, shoving you further up the stone. Feyre winds over your mouth, finding her pleasure on your tongue.

“Go on,” she goads, sweetly. As if she isn’t degrading you to just a toy for her to put her cunt on. “Start licking. Like you mean it, too.”

The wet muscle flicks out and starts licking at her heat, just as Rhys picks up the pace, graduating from rough pushes to heavy poundings, slamming himself into your pussy until he’s buried to the hilt, creating a bump in your tummy.

Your High Lord groans, his hand splaying across the bulge in your abdomen, pressing down lightly as he fucks you into the sacred stone. “Such a lovely, warm cunt, huh?” He drawls, free hand gripping your hip. “Perfectly snug fit,” he snarls softly, “like you were made for us.”

Feyre whines as you suckle her clit, knowing well what types of sensations get her heating up, winding that coil tighter so she can soak your mouth. Your tongue pushes at her entrance, and she grinds against your face, hands playing with your nipples, pinching and flicking lightly while your own hands grip her thighs.

Rhys thumbs at your clit, drawing an embarrassing whimper from your throat. They both moan in response, Feyre tightening over your lips, needing to come on your tongue, needing to have her sex fluttering from your mouth.

His cock touches all those lovely spots, kissing and dragging over them, the slight curve enabling him to abuse them over and over, until you’re at the edge again.

“Come on, sweet thing,” the High Lady hums, grinding her hips over you, clit swiping over your tongue, sinking her entrance onto your nose as you suckle the sensitive bud. “Make me cum, won’t you? Make it so I’m coating your face, yeah?” She moans, and you cry beneath her.

Rhysand continues pounding into you, and with the feel of him inside your heat, the pad of his thumb playing with your clit, and her fingers on your nipples…you shatter.

Whines and moans spill from your lips, hips bucking wildly, trying to keep up with him while he slams into your cunt over and over until you’re being send scattering into overstimulation. He twitches inside of you, just as Feyre cries out, the liquid of her release spilling into your mouth just as Rhys does the same into your cunt.

You cry at the pleasure, white robe still adorning your skin, though it’s crumpled and wrinkled now. Fourth finger burning beneath the brand of the sapphire wedding band. Skin tingling where the bargain ink marks your skin.

Feyre moans loudly, the sweet sounds of her pleasure bouncing off the temple walls as she squirts, splashing over you as your eyes squeeze shut, continuing your attack to her sensitive, puffy clit, nipping at it whenever you can.

Hot spurts of Rhysand’s cum spill into you, both his hands gripping your hips to keep himself as deep as possible. “Such a good, well-behaved cunt,” he drawls, thumb swiping over your taut bud, muscles jerking at the sensation. “Think she’ll drink all of that up, huh? Keep it nice and deep? All tucked away like the greedy thing she is?”

More tears fall at the demeaning words, but there’s no time for sorrows as he pinches your clit tightly, making you flinch. “You’re forgetting part of your services, little lynx,” he purrs, making you whimper into her heat.

Reluctantly, holding back more tears, you manage to lift your shaky legs, bending at the knee so you can cross them round his hips, like you would normally do with whichever was between your legs that occasion. He groans with pleasure as you tighten your hold on him, keeping his cock deep inside your cunt.

The two of them lean forward, meeting above you as they taste one another, Feyre’s hips rock over your mouth, easing out her aftershocks while Rhys grinds himself against your heat, the tip of his cock dragging over that sensitive spot repeatedly.

You can’t stand the way they now touch you, with possessive ownership. Soft pathways trace onto your skin beneath their fingertips, as if stroking a pet to sleep.

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[throneofsapphics]

haunt me like the wind that blows part 2 or both your pillow sides will stay warm forever 😔

haunt me like the wind that blows (part two)

(part one) (part three)

Feysand x f!Reader

Summary: They weren’t her dreams. They couldn’t be, not after how hard she fought to get away from them. 

Word Count: ~2.3k 

Warnings: dark feysand, kidnapping, physical/mental abuse, dubcon, a sprinkle of smut, blood, suicide attempt, gaslighting, not proofread well

A/N: that’s one way to motivate me. mind the warnings please y’all! 

Rhys had dragged her back to Velaris, and Feyre waited with a beaming smile on her face. She welcomed her back as if she’d taken a small trip away - gone to visit a friend or relative, not fled in desperation. 

“I’m so happy you’re home,” she murmured and gathered her in her arms. She had to force herself to remain stiff, to fight the urge to melt into Feyre’s embrace. She despised how right it felt. Nothing about this was right, being dragged back here against her will, stolen away in the middle of the day, from the home and life she built for herself. 

She separated herself from the High Lady, taking a few steps back. Feyre watched her warily, like one might watch a feral kitten. 

Her eyes darted between her and Rhys. 

“Whatever you’re thinking of,” he hissed, “don’t.” 

“I’m sure she’s just readjusting,” Feyre soothed, stepping towards her. “Aren’t you my love?” Y/n swallowed harshly and didn’t answer. She frowned at her, and her voice grew a tad colder. “Aren’t you?” 

She flinched as Feyre’s hand gripped her shoulder, her nails digging in painfully, but tilted her chin and rolled her shoulders back. “I hate both of you,” she forced as much venom into her voice as she could. Feyre recoiled slightly and she felt Rhys’s glare on her, branding into her side. 

Talon’s gripped her mind painfully and she forced her walls up. Her body shook slightly under the effort, and she was rendered helpless as another force battered into her. One of them, she could hold out against but both of them it was nearly impossible. 

She grasped her head between her hands, screaming at the top of her lungs. It hurt it hurt it hurt. “Please,” she sobbed, falling to her knees. The pressure was too much, it felt like she would explode - burst into a thousand pieces, her mind gone to the wind and leaving behind a thoughtless, brainless form. As if it was never there, the pressure disappeared. 

Both of them bracketed her sides, pulling her hands away. “What happened?” Rhys asked her, his eyes searching her figure for any wounds. As if he hadn’t just … 

“You …” she looked at Feyre who had the same questioning look on her face. No indication of what they’d done, a perfect mask crafted on both of their faces. “You tried to break into my mind,” her voice grew shrill and loud - screaming into their faces. 

A small sting hit her cheek. Not harsh enough for her to recoil, but enough to surprise her. 

“You will watch your tone,” Rhys’s voice was smooth and cold as night, his eyes filled with warning. She lifted her hand to cup the warmth, the small red patch left behind by his palm. 

Feyre tilted her chin and pressed a kiss over the patch. Y/n had forgotten about this part of them somehow. One would play good, the other would play bad, and they switched roles frequently to leave her reeling. 

Tears filled her eyes, and to her shame they dripped down her cheeks. 

Rhys brushed one away, “You’ll be crying a lot more by the time we’re finished teaching you a lesson.” 

“Rhys,” Feyre chided, but didn’t counter him. 

Her backside was bruised for a week, and that was only the beginning. 

-

“Did anyone else touch you?” Feyre asked so casually she almost missed the intent behind it. 

“No.” An honest answer, she didn’t let anyone, neither did she seek anyone out. No matter how much she despised them, it felt wrong and she couldn’t bring herself to do it - even though she wanted to. 

“And you?” 

“Pardon?” She turned to meet the female’s gaze, finding blue grey eyes filled with predatory intent. 

“Did you seek anyone else out, did you touch another?” 

“No.” She answered firmly, and saw how some tension left Feyre’s shoulders. They would be able to scent if she had. “I wanted to,” she continued before she could think through it. Feyre’s eyes narrowed, her shoulders tightening again. One hand clenched into a fist, before releasing. She’d already dug herself a hole… “There were plenty of offers,” she shrugged casually, and turned away from her, back to the book she’d picked up. Maybe through some strange stroke of kindness, or desire to endear her to them, Rhys had found the book she’d been reading and bought it for her. 

She felt Feyre’s presence standing in front of her, but didn’t look up. Y/n reminded herself that they don’t deserve her attention, her affection, they have no right to it. A gust of wind blew the book away and she bit the inside of her cheek. A hand fisted in the back of her hair, yanking her head back, exposing the arch of her neck. Her mate was furious. Absolutely enraged. Her satisfaction at pissing her off quickly dissipated as she ran a finger down the column of her throat. 

“You belong to us,” she hissed, pulling her up to stand. 

“I belong to no one,” her voice shook but she forced the words out. The grip on her hair tightened painfully and she winced. 

Feyre winnowed them to the bedroom, and she scrambled as soon as they landed - putting as much distance between her and the High Lady as possible. 

“You need a reminder,” Feyre said softly, deceptively gentle, “don’t you, my love?” 

It wasn’t a question that needed an answer, if Feyre decided she needed one, she would be getting one whether she wanted it or not. 

-

She knew they were in her mind. There’s no way she would’ve developed these kinds of feelings on her own. Dreams of a peaceful life with him and Feyre, of her accepting them wholly - dedicating herself to them. 

They weren’t her dreams. They couldn’t be, not after how hard she fought to get away from them. 

If they couldn’t get to her in her waking moments, they would attack her in her sleep - and she was completely defenseless against that, the only solution would be to not sleep, but if she was to escape again she needed to be alive and well to do it. Although, with each passing day escape looked less and less likely. 

It was early, nearly sunrise, and she felt heat coiling inside her, her entire body tightening, a moan of pleasure left her lips as she writhed on the bed, a strong arm holding her waist down as her legs were propped up on shoulders. Long hair tickled the inside of her thighs as lips sucked against her clit. She arched her back, “Feyre,” she moaned … She shot up in bed. 

“Something wrong?” Rhys asked, rolling over to see her. Imprints of the sheets lined his cheeks, but a knowing smile played across his features. 

“No,” her throat bobbed with the word as she ignored the wetness pooling between her thighs. “Just startled.” 

-

Rhys had shields surrounding everything. Every window had a shield on it, the door, the entire river estate - if she were allowed outside. She has no doubt in her mind he had set some sort of alarm to tell him every time she opened one, or went out onto the grounds. Half of the time, she’s able to leave the house, although not the estate, but the other half she can't. He, apparently, hadn’t forgotten her idea for permanent freedom because every time she entered a room - any knives or weapons would disappear. As soon as she finished eating, cutlery would disappear. 

-

She stood in the kitchen, alone. Or she thought she was. She eyed the ceramic mug in her hands - one of her favorites. The impulse came over her, and she acted before thinking it through - the mug crashed to the floor, leaving a few sharp pieces behind. She scrambled to gather them, dropping to her knees and ignoring the sharp sting as a part embedded itself into her skin, she would have to dig that out before they got home. 

The pieces were stored in her pockets, hidden as best as she could. She cleaned up the remaining bits and hoped Nuala and Cerridwen wouldn’t notice one missing mug. 

-

Somehow, she managed to keep the pieces hidden for a few weeks, long enough for her to be able to use them. 

They weren’t due back for another few hours - a visit to Hewn City, and Nuala and Cerridwen were nowhere to be found. Probably spying for Azriel. All the better for her. Over the last several months, she’d spent time trying to earn their trust. Of course, she was still resistant to them at every turn, but showed enough softness for them to start doubting her desire to escape. Enough to balance the line between keeping true to herself, and getting her the time and space to do what she wanted, what she needed. 

She found the sharpest piece, and stood by the mirror. Would she really do this? Go through with it. She has no doubt they’ll find her in another lifetime, but they’re immortal - it would give her centuries of peace. Centuries of freedom. She took in a deep breath, and slashed the piece across one wrist. Then the other. 

Blood loss quickly overcame her, but she felt a sense of peace - as if her brain was going quiet. The last thing she remembered hearing was Rhys’s yelling - what, she couldn’t tell, and a pair of arms catching her as she fell. 

She groaned as she woke, sun rays shining through the windows. She blinked heavily, trying to wipe the sleep and grogginess out of her eyes. Soft sheets surrounded her, an elegant canopy bed … she startled, trying to launch into sitting, but chains yanked her arms behind her, giving her just enough room to sit but not to go any further. Her bedroom, her shared bedroom, at the river estate. A failure, she was a failure. 

“I’m quite glad you failed,” Y/n heard Rhys drawl. She ignored his voice, and tugged at the chains. Soft bandages wrapped around her wrist, dulling any sting or scraping from the iron manacles clamped around her. 

A shadow loomed over her, and fingers tightly gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. She met his eyes, and even as fear began to drip through her she tried to throw every bit of defiance she could into her glare. But, something like fear shone in his eyes. Fear and misery and anger. Could it be a mask? Something he’s throwing on to try to …

“No, it’s not.” He interrupted her train of thought. 

“Get out of my head,” she growled, narrowing her eyes. Rhys didn’t release his grip on her, and forced her to keep looking at him. 

“You have no mental walls left.”

She felt for them, tried to reach them. “You destroyed them.” Her chest tightened, her fists clenched, her breaths grew heavy. Violated, a complete violation of her privacy. 

“We did,” he admitted, finally releasing his grip on her. “You lost the right to any privacy when you tried to kill yourself in our bedroom.” The bed shifted as he sat next to her, running one hand down her thigh. She supposes he thought it would be comforting, or soothing. Her body agreed, but her mind hated it - absolutely hated that he was touching her. She took some satisfaction, a tiny amount, in knowing that if he listened he would know just how much she hated it. 

His hand trailed up her thigh, pushing the nightgown as he went, exposing more of her bare skin. Her breath caught as he traced the inside curve of her thigh. Against her will, a tightness started to build in her core, just a bodily reaction, she chanted to herself, trying to ignore how arousal crept into his scent. 

“I do like you in chains,” he purred into her mind. 

“Stop.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to separate herself from the sensation. His fingers dragged along the inside of her thighs - ghost like touches that left goosebumps in their wake. 

His fingers curled and dug into her skin, harsh enough they would leave bruises behind. “I don’t think you want me to,” hands pushed her shoulders back, laying her out on the bed as he straddled her waist. 

She couldn’t do anything about him on top of her, and wasn’t sure she wanted to. 

“That’s right,” a midnight soft voice echoed in her mind as he traced a knuckle beneath her breast, before his thumb brushed over her nipple. Her hips keened on reaction, bucking up into him. They didn’t move, not with him atop her, but he didn’t miss the motion and a feline smirk crossed his beautiful features. 

His thumb tugged at her bottom lip, releasing it from her teeth. She hadn’t realized she was biting it, or how harshly. A drop of blood had gathered on his finger. His thumb pressed against her lips, and her mouth parted automatically. She tasted her own blood and the slight tang of salt from his skin. His eyes gleamed as her tongue swirled around it. He didn’t have time to pull away as she bit down harshly. Not enough to draw blood or break skin, but just enough to leave imprints behind. He snarled and tugged his finger free, gripping her chin to force her mouth open. 

“Still a brat, I see.” He murmured almost reverently. 

“Did you expect anything else?” She resisted the urge to spit at him. 

His body shifted, and his forearms caged either side of his head. His face, only inches away from her. “I’d be disappointed otherwise.” 

A draft hit her as the door swung open, and soft footsteps padded over to their side. 

Rhys shifted to lay next to her, moving her so Feyre had room to lay on her other side. Caged in between the two of them. Trapped. 

A sickening part of her, the one she wasn’t sure was real, delighted in it. Delighted in being trapped between her two mates - at their mercy. Similar to Rhys’s movements earlier, Feyre stroked up and down her leg, sending a shiver down her spine. “See, this is where you belong,” her voice flittered through her mind. 

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 12: Plans - Part 2

The conclusion! Sorry for the slight cliffy, but hopefully the smut and drama are worth it. 

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please let me know~!

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 14,000+

Summary: You're over the moon with love for Javi and don't think it can get any better, so can a flare of rage change both of your unspoken plans?

Warnings: Javier Peña ruining all other men forever, graphic descriptions of sex, including explicit depictions of oral (m+f receiving) and unprotected sex 🤭 Use of provocative pet names, depictions of violence, drunkenness, and slight Dom/sub play, cum play, size kink, use of sex toy, praise kink. Some slightly Dom!Reader, Possessive!Javi, Wrathful!Javi, and Soft!Javi. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

Chapter 1: Nicknames | Chapter 2: Tempest | Chapter 3: Solterita | Chapter 4: Cagey | Chapter 5: Want - Part 1| Chapter 6: Want - Part 2 | Chapter 7: Insecurities - Part 1 | Chapter 8: Insecurities - Part 2 | Chapter 9: Passion | Chapter 10: Peach | Chapter 11: Plans - Part 1|  Read at AO3

Taglist: @redsilentwolf28​ @just-here-for-the-moment​ @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​ @mandosmistress​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @omgreally​ @knittingqueen13​ @mamacitapascal​ @chronic-nosebleed​ @hnt-escape​ @eri16​ @gracie7209​ @casssiopeia​​ @athalien​​ @qwertymx​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @pascalesque​

Chapter 12: Plans - Part 2

The door bursts open and is shut swiftly as you and Javi toss your belongings to the side table, blindly locking it while he sheds his jacket before he pulls you against him and devours you with the kiss he's been burning to engulf you with the minute you touched him in the car. You reciprocate by grabbing at his shirt and yanking him to follow you down the hall to the bedroom, shying away from letting him pick you up, driving him wild with urge – forcing him to chase you a little. It isn't until you slink back in the hall to instead pivot gracefully to use your momentum to steer and push him back against the wall that Javi realizes what you're doing.

His charged exhale catches in his throat when you tear his shirt open – buttons going flying to mutely clatter to the tiled floor while you press him up against the wall and suckle wanton kisses into his neck. Your hands grope his warm, bare chest, pinning him in place for your heated kisses. He groans and arches back, body seeking yours as you work his shirt off his shoulders and tug it away from his sculpted arms. Naked from the waist up, with only his watch flashing under the hall's light on his wrist, Javi stares in awe down at you and prepares to hook his hand into your hair to pull you close, but you jerk away and shoot him a defiant look.

"Hands on the wall."

Javier grunts at the order and tenses, cock jumping against the confines of his jeans as you stare up at him through your dark lashes with a rapaciously exacting look and grip his belt buckle. His hands press flat down to the wall at his back and his chest broadens from the excited inhale he takes, lips parting as he watches you untuck his belt loose before yanking it with a swift tug from the loops of his jeans to be tossed aside. Your hands snap the button of his jeans undone and ease the zipper of his fly down with tortuous calm as you watch his stomach tense and his arms flex with anticipation.

He groans a needy husk, simmering with desperation to take the upper hand when you suddenly step back and pull your peasant floral dress up and off your head, revealing a nude bra and panty set, and tussling your up-do into freeing more rogue strands while you stare hungrily at him and make a big show of patiently pulling your flats off, tossing each aside one at a time before drawling, "Listen to me very carefully, because I will not repeat myself. You are going to stay still and keep your hands to yourself while I do what I want to you."

To punctuate the kind of things you want to do to him, you get on your knees for him and stare sultrily up at Javi as you tug his jeans down mid-thigh so you can free his throbbing erection, earning an excited little hiss from the riled up golden-tanned hunk you've been yearning for. Teasingly, you skate your hands up his hips and stomach while you lave a languid twirl of your tongue around the head of his cock.

"Ah—f-fuck, querida—" Javi stammers roughly and struggles to keep his hands against the wall while his hips buck involuntarily to the devious stimulation. He groans in frustration when you squeeze his hips playfully and lightly suckle his tip before dipping your tongue against the slit. Javi hoarsely gasps and tosses his head back. "—C-Can't just stay still, p-please, baby—"

"You want to fuck my mouth, Javier?" you ask in a seductive lilt, and the way his cock strains and throbs as he twitches and groans at that is just delicious, so you press, "I want you to fuck my mouth until you come—"

He bites down a moan and sets his jaw, features tensing under the sheer will he's exerting in not pounding his cock down your throat. "H-how can I stay still while fucking your mouth, pinche seductora?" he husks provocatively and fixes his smoldering gaze on you when you just give him a brilliant smile.

"Easy…" you purr and surprise him by nuzzling his cock against your warm cheek before you caress an open mouth kiss along the side of his length, humming sexily and staring dreamily up at him. "Beg."

You feel his cock pulse in your touch at your scintillating order, so you smile and give it a kiss before nuzzling his warm apex, cherishing how spiced and intoxicating his scent there is and loving how he groans a reedy sound.

"Plea-Please, let me fuck your mouth," he breathes out on an ardent exhale and you angelically look up at him and smile, quite pleased. "I-I'll be gentle, promise—"

"Did I tell you to be gentle?" you admonish and lean back, the swells of your breasts rising when you press your tits together by tucking your arms at your sides and resting your hands on your thighs. Javier stiffens at your domineering stare, arousal going into a tizzy when you shoot him a chiding smirk before murmuring, "Or, did I tell you to fuck my mouth until you come?"

Javi's mind is filling with dizzying lust and rabid urge, and the way his skin flushes around his collarbones and up his neck tells you your smutty depravity is literally going to his head, so you patiently smile up at him until he collects his starved breath to growl, "D-Don't want to be rough."

That softens your heart as much as it gets you tingly in your core, so you lovingly wrap your hands around his cock and stroke him as you sigh tenderly, "Always so good to me, being sweet – treating me right, even when I want you to wreck me—"

"Oh shit—baby, you're driving me crazy," Javi exclaims in a wound up gravelly rasp as he lulls his head back against the wall.

"I know," you chuckle softly and trail one hand from around his cock to cup his balls as you swipe the underside of his throbbing length over your tongue. Javier lights up with pleasure and clutches his eyes shut as his mouth falls open on a startled moan. "Mmm, I love having your cock in my mouth. Love how good it tastes, how thick and heavy it is on my tongue—"

Javier's hands are twitching against the wall, fingers splaying and flexing impulsively as you suck him off and praise filth up at him, all the while you pluck the tethers of pleasure you've earthed in his core and strum carnal exhilaration into him. He's shamelessly reveling in you dominating him on your knees, devastated into raw yearning for you while you worship him with a symphony of spoken desire. Honeyed praise falls from your lips in between sucks and mouthing of his cock – 'amado, I want you always, te amo, love sucking your big dick, can't get enough of you,' is chimed melodiously to him as you give him a blowjob that has him flattening out to the cold cement at his back and biting his lip so he doesn't accidently drown your glorious words out with his needy whimpers.

When you bow to lave loving licks and suckles to his heavy sac, Javier's hands finally jerk off of the wall and bury in your hair as pleasure pries beseechingly up his spine just to zing down to the base of his cock when you tilt your mouth up and take his cock as far as it can go in your mouth before you moan and take more.

His mind switches into feral mode as you grapple your hands to the back of his hips and pull him closer instead of holding or pushing his pounding thrusts back while his guttural sounds catch harshly in the back of his throat with every heaving piston-like stroke into your tight, silken mouth.

You are taking deep breaths through your nose and hanging on for the ride as your knees grapple to keep their purchase against the tile while you knead your fingers into his ass and widen your jaw for him. Javi's moan ricochets down his body and into your mouth – his dick acting as a sounding rod, and you are definitely seeing to be dowsed by this powerful achingly exquisite man you love, so you press your forearm along his lower abs and force him to lean back into the wall. You feel his muscles bunching up, and know he's close, so you concentrate on wrecking him with pleasure.

Just when he feels the head of his cock glide against the roof of your mouth, Javi's shoulders tense and his hips stutter at the lewd sensation before his lips part on a strangled sound as you shift and bob your head until your nose is pressed against the course curls of his pubis and his cock is practically down your throat.

"Oh god—god! Fuck," Javi shouts as his climax snaps loose and his balls draw up and tight, cock swelling and straining against the drenched vice of your mouth as he begins to warn, "Gonna-fuck-gonna fucking come—!"

You moan and surprise him by releasing your ruinous vice and letting his cock sit pillowed on your tongue, wrapping your hands around his throbbing length and jerking him through his orgasm just as it hits and his thighs shake with the effort of buckling against the wall and holding him upright as he erupts. His cock spurts thick ropes of cum into your mouth, causing you to make a little startled mewl at the force of his ejaculation and how warm it is as it hits your tongue. Javi's fingers twist in your hair as he rides out his orgasm, mindlessly groaning inarticulate exaltations as you savor his climax. You moan when he accidentally fidgets and bumps the head of his dick at the corner of your mouth and shoots the last of his load to your chin when you can't catch it back in your mouth in time.

Your surprised gasp sounds equally excited as you stay still and let him keep thrusting through the tight ring of your conjoined palms squeezing around his cock, and a few more pumps of cum surge free from the effort and dribble down your neck and chest before you delight in the sensation and take his cock back into your mouth, sucking the remnants from the source.

Javier's eyes roll into the back of his head as he slumps against the wall and shakes, hands unlatching from gripping your hair to grapple for purchase and hold himself up from crumpling in a spent heap. When his brain scrapes back together from the ruin your talented havoc threw it in, Javi exhales and rasps a sigh.

"Jesus…fucking…Christ…"

Your little giggle has him smiling as he comes back to himself, realizing he's become a sweaty, wrecked and pulsing tangle of flexing muscles and buzzing insides, eyes shut as he gulps greedy breaths and tries to remember his name. He hears you hum and feels your tender touch caress his hips and sides while you let him recover and regain his senses.

"Good job, querido. You follow direction well," you purr playfully when his shoulders and stomach muscles relax, and Javier drunkenly lulls his head so he can tip it down as he finishes collecting himself. His dark eyes are intoxicated and sated as they stare under heavy lids down at you. The sight he sees when his glazed gaze clears has the flush burning up to his ears from where it was already radiating in his cheeks.

Your hair is tussled loose from the clip and dangling like a wild mane around your shoulders, and your chest is tight and high from you pressing your arms to either side of your breasts so you can keep the streaks of his cum from dripping too far down before you can collect them with dexterous swipes of your fingers and bring them to your lips. When you glance virtuously up at him as you savor his illicit spend, Javi feels like he could die right then and there, and be totally fine with it.

"Ho-Holy hell, querida…you're going to be the end of me," Javi stammers in awe, and when you smile unabashedly at that, he can't help cup his hand under your jaw and drag his thumb over your chin to get at a bead of his essence you missed. Before he can recede his touch, you lick the pad of his thumb clean and suckle it. Enthralled, he groans, "Fuck—cómo carajo te merezco, preciosa?"

His amorously gruff purr has you soaking your panties, so you press a doting nuzzle and kiss to his stomach. "You put up with me – dunno if that means you deserve me, but I love you nonetheless," you sigh and let him pet your hair soothingly.

"Stand up, hermosa," he murmurs down to you, and you do, but hesitate because of how sticky you are and how salaciously raunchy you feel. He senses your skittishness, so he breathes a heavy sigh as he pets your hair from your face. "You, are everything I never thought I would ever have a chance having…everyone wants you," he husks and pulls you close, uncaring about your post-salacious-temptress coyness, and cups your jaw while he caresses your lower back to nudge you to press up against him. "I know you could have anyone else, anyone you'd want," he murmurs tersely before brushing a kiss along your cheek as you sigh and shiver at his words. "I don't deserve you, but I'll do whatever you need – anything you want—"

"Javi, I just want you to love me," you muse softly and caress his cheek. "I want to be yours."

Javi is so bowled over and overcome by the simplicity of it that he lets you encircle him so you can shower kisses against his chest while he absorbs just how in love he is with you and how you love him explicitly, without demanding anything but his love in return.

"You're mine, querida," he promises and kisses you lovingly before drawling amusedly, "But my ass hurts from digging into this hard fucking wall, so can we move to the bed?"

You have to muffle your guffaw into his throat when he holds you against him with one hand while he tugs his jeans up his thighs so they can hang open around his hips. "Hah, now you know how I feel every time you take me here in the hall, eh, guapito?" you snicker as he huffs sardonically while tucking himself back into his jeans before he debonairly picks you up and carries you bridal style into the bedroom.

"Your ass can take it though," he muses goadingly as he playfully deposits you onto the bouncy mattress in order to toe his boots off, unfasten his watch and set it on the dresser before he goes to turn out the light in the hall. While he does so, you sit up and balk at how insanely depraved you look in your reflection. Hurriedly, you untangle the clip from your hair and toss it to the dresser before shaking your locks loose and standing to turn on the lamp on the closest nightstand, all the while he watches you as he maneuvers out of his remaining clothes and tosses them aside before sauntering up behind you. "Hmm. This?" Javi husks in a honeyed tone as he gropes your ass and turns you around to press up against him so he can purr against your temple, "It's heavenly and oh-so-resilient."

You scoff provocatively and relish his naked body pressing cheekily against yours. "Uh-huh. Meanwhile, you'll never know how fucking sore and achy you get me, galán," you tsk with fierce delight while he grunts ruefully. "I didn't say it was a bad thing," you snicker and angle him to sit on the side of the bed so you can tip his handsome face up to meet your chaste kiss.

Javi hums, hands fondling your ass before you coquettishly pull away. He clicks his tongue admonishingly and mutters, "No you don't," and snatches you close by your hip as he declares, "I need to bury by face in your pussy after your little game in the hall." When you tense demurely, he orders, "Take these off," and kneads his fingertips over your buttock while he starts suckling kisses into your sternum.

Suddenly shy, you shimmy away and blush as you remember your daring salon results. "Ok, promise you won't laugh," you preface, which surprises Javi, and even though his brows quirk up, he nods and keeps his expression guarded as you strip your bra off while you explain, "So, Anita cajoled me into a beauty salon, and they had this service I didn't really know about, but said what the hell and had it done."

"…Don't get mad, but I didn't notice anything different," he muses and leans on an elbow as you hesitate in pulling your panties down. "Although right now, I'm distracted by your fantastic tits to really notice anything else…"

With a snarky roll of your eyes, you shed out of your panties and stand before him in the low, warm light of the nightstand's lamp. Javi's eyes become molten pools of awed want, lips parting to ask something he's already forgotten. Awkwardly, you ramble, "Supposedly it's all the rage in Brazil, and she said she'd gotten it done before, but I was not ready to be all smooth down there—"

"Come here."

He suddenly orders in a surly purr, sitting up and reaching for you to pull you over so he can have you stand next to the outside of his thigh as he surveys your body with his hands. His smoldering eyes covetously delight in your completely nude and smooth mound before fanning up your heavenly body. The light catches across your dewy skin and gleams in the drying tracks of cum that cling to your collarbone and breast, so he idly rubs them off your skin for you, gaze sweeping appraisingly over your studded nipples and taut belly. You feel heat collect in the apples of your cheeks as he smirks and glances up at you when he brushes his fingers softly over your smooth pubic area. He sees how bashful you are and skims his fingertips up your torso to fondle your breast tenderly.

"Do I have to start waxing too, because I don't think I could handle the pain—" he jokes in a gravelly drawl, and you laugh out heartily at the silly suggestion, appreciating how he always quells your nervousness with his charming, confident grace. You lean into him and bury your fingers wryly into his hair, smiling and sighing amorously when he nuzzles your cleavage. "It's hot, but you're always hot regardless, querida," he muses and kisses your stomach. "So…where is it?"

You furrow your brows and blink down at him inquiringly. "Where's what?"

Raising a sarcastic brow at you, he caresses his fingers over your stomach before trailing them down your smooth mound to trace your warm, wet seam. You gasp a charged little sound and clutch his shoulders. "That little toy you used to tease me with on the phone, atrevida," he rumbles ardently and dips forward to place a kiss to your bare mons pubis. "I really hope it's not in the nightstand drawer with the gun—"

You hiccup a giggled sound and nudge his shoulders back to scoff, "Tan gracioso. Well, if you're gonna be such a burlón, then—"

The challenging musing you were scoffing turns into a squeak when he picks you up effortlessly and swings you onto the bed before he pounces onto you and nuzzles hungry kisses into your neck while he pins you into the pillows with his broad torso.

"Either I eat you out, or I fuck you while I grind your little toy over your clit. Pick one," he husks alluringly at you as his hands steeple into the pillows so he can trace his nose along your hairline, breathing in your soft perfume.

Your pussy tingles and you get needy at having to pick only one, so you haggle, "…Can't I have both?"

Javier chuckles and leans back to stare derisively down at you as he smirks debonairly. "Mmm, you greedy little thing—"

"It's my birthday though, so…I want both," you muse chastely while your eyes narrow goadingly and you give him a salacious grin.

He trails his fingertips from the hinge of your jaw to your chin, eyes narrowing appraisingly. "…Beg," he purrs, expression etching into devilish delight as you press your plush lips together. "Your birthday officially isn't for another few hours, guapita." You give him a doe-eyed pout, and he can't help grin at you before kissing down your body. "Mmm, such a malcriada…" Javi rumbles against your skin glibly as he glances up at you when he settles between your legs, watching you get breathy and excited when he nuzzles your mound and hums.

You toss your head back and bite your bottom lip when Javi moves his rumbling lips over the hood of your clit as he pushes your thighs wide open so his broad shoulders can take up space between them. His talented fingers part your folds, and you whimper when he flicks his tongue in languid circles around your clenching slit before he stops and only keeps trailing his fingers along your warm cunt.

"Ja-Javi," you get eager and writhe for more contact, but he just keeps his touch slow and teasing, so you whimper, "Pl-Please, want your m-mouth on me so bad," and blush, sighing out when he rubs his thumb over the hood of your clit at that.

"Is that what you were thinking about while you got off on the phone? My mouth on your wet, needy little pussy?" he murmurs hotly against your thigh as he keeps edging you into frustrated urge while he nuzzles your inner thigh and breathes in your heated, sweet scent.

"Y-Yes," you hiss and squirm, hands digging into the bedding and mewling from him pressing the pad of his thumb flush over your throbbing clit now. "Nnngth—!" you whimper and undulate your pelvis, seeking more friction and feeling like you're burning up with desire.

"Think about this all the time," he grouses in a charged rasp before finally dipping his tongue into your folds while his fingers hold them parted open for him. He hums at your taste and savors your reedy mewl of excitement. "Love burying my face in your pussy—wish I could do it all the time," Javier purrs before doing exactly what he's described, and you light up with pleasure as he nuzzles your cunt and groans against it.

You feel your core slicken with eager wetness as Javier devours you with shameless devotion, arms folding under you so his fingers can wrap around the tops of your thighs and hold you from writhing wildly under the onslaught of lascivious pleasure. Desperate, you arch and grip your hands in your thick tresses to keep from pulling harshly on his, becoming mindless in your aching arousal as he strums velvet fire into your center with his tantalizing tongue.

"Ah-oh god, Javi—!" you cry when he buries his tongue inside you and rolls it as he groans hungry desire against your quivering center. Your body roils at the exquisitely searing pleasure, and just as you bite down on your lip to stifle your whimpers, Javi twirls his tongue out of your clenching entrance to sinfully swipe at your clitoris with deft licks before plunging two fingers into your rippling sheath. You keen a breathless, "Nnng-ahh!" before tossing your head back and convulsing around his thick digits. "Javi! Oh f-fuck, oh god Javi—"

When he corkscrews his fingers and engulfs your pulsing bud with his mouth, you lose yourself and cry out incandescently until you're dissolving into mindless mewls and whimpers and writhing decadently on the bed. Javier moans and keeps finger-fucking you through your orgasm while his tongue circles over your clit until he feels you squirm and twitch from the electric contact of hypersensitive heat sparking under your skin where his mouth is.

You're so engrossed by the aftershocks of your orgasm that you don't even realize you've dragged your hands down from your hair to instead grip and squeeze your breasts. The exhilarating post-bliss feeling leaves you uncaring of how wrecked you look, and Javi is beguiled by your flushed cheeks and rapturously spent repose – stretched taut over the bed with your legs butterflied out, eyes shining like glimmering stones as you sigh in sated delight.

Javier hums, which pulls you back into your body to stare down at him and breathlessly watch him nestle in the open cradle of your pelvis so he can lap your climax like its honey he will not let go to waste. Once he's satisfied, he sucks on his slick-drenched fingers and plants a soft kiss to your smooth mound. Fidgeting and giggling, you whisper, "Your moustache tickles, babe," and smile dazzlingly down at him.

He chuckles and kisses a path up your body before draping himself over your warm form. "Speaking of tickle," he muses amusedly and caresses your hair over your shoulder for you so he can plant a sweet kiss to the spot under your ear. "You really wanna play with your little toy too? We can have fun with it some other time," he reassures while you comb your fingers soothingly through the hair at his nape and nuzzle his cheek.

Your eyes smolder with flirty promise when you hook your legs around his hips and brush your pelvis against his. "If you think I'm not going to have you inside me after all that, you are daft, mi amor," you drawl and relish how Javi's eyes darken with urge and he suppresses a thrilled shudder. "Drawer on your left."

The lust you harbor for Javi is like a potent drug, and the way he looks at you when he sits up and reaches into the drawer for your little pink vibrator tells you he is just as addicted to you. It's exhilarating and powerful – this feeling you only have for Javi, and you want him to feel how amazing he makes you feel.

Smiling wryly when he inspects the slender bullet-shaped pink vibrator, he quirks his brow with intrigued curiosity when he turns it on and holds it against the center of his palm before switching it off and giving you a devious glance. You can't help sit up so you can wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss on him while you murmur humorously, "I didn't pick it out."

He grunts sardonically and settles you back down onto the bed before kissing your lips. You taste yourself in his mouth – lingering in his moustache, and the way he shivers when he cups his hand down your throat to caress down your collarbone and feels his sticky seed that had been unable to dry on your heated skin has you both becoming rapacious.

Before long, Javier is gliding his throbbing cock along your soaked petals, titillating you both with the dewy friction when he breaks the kiss and husks, "What're the rules, querida?" When you blink dimly at him, avid attention on the delicious rutting of his dick against your tingling cunt, he snickers huskily, "Where can your toy go and not go?"

Your cheeks heat up at that, and you sigh, "I've never used one, so I don't know…where the no-go's are."

"Hmm, ok," he grunts reassuringly and switches it on before lightly pressing the tip of it to your womb. You immediately giggle, so he grins and drags it up your midriff to draw a circle around your right nipple. When your eyes get heavy with want, he murmurs, "You're beautiful, mi amor. When you look at me like that, I know I'm a goner," and smirks when you take his wrist and guide his hand down to press the vibrating bullet to just above the hood of your clit. He groans, and you feel his cock twitch against your dimpled entrance.

"You will be if you don't stop teasing me, chavón," you husk on a breathy whisper and reach your other hand down to guide his cock into your tight, clenching heat.

His moan is delicious decadence to your aroused senses, and the way he fucks into you has your toes curling and knees pulling up, mewls of approval driving him wild as he grips his free hand to your knee and guides the other to rub the vibrator's head in teasing circles over the hood of your clitoris just as he strokes against that nested cluster of pleasure inside you. You moan and grab his wrists, holding on as he drives you up and up into an insanely buzzing tizzy. It has your inner walls fluttering and your muscles tightening under the unfamiliar-yet-blazing delight of being filled by him while the vibrator's greedy friction over your clit tingles you through to the deepest part of your core.

When your grip jerks wildly at his wrist and presses his hand to move the vibrator lower until it's flush with the top of your entrance, Javier exhales a sharp, startled sound that melts into a groan. "H-Holy shit—mmmph!" he exclaims in a tight growl as the pulsing is close enough now that it shoots crackling pleasure through him too, flooding a wave of buzzing delight from where he's pounding his thrusts to the base of his cock to then shoot down lower.

He feels your sheath start to flutter and clutch around him, and when you bite back little whimpers of 'Javi-Javi-Javi!' he pistons his thrusts in deep strokes through your clenching, molten heat until you wail and your eyes squeeze shut when you come apart, shouting his name and digging your nails into his wrists as you become awash with bliss from a sense-shattering climax.

The sight of you going wild from your orgasm and the feeling of you gushing out your climax to drench his cock and drip down his balls to the bedding is what pushes Javi over the edge into his own fierce climax. His hands snap up to discard your mindless grip and the vibrator so he can grab your hips and hammer his cock into your heavenly cunt just as the coil of voracious lust boils over and out of him. He thrusts home in you and moans your name as he spills his seed hot and deep in you, hips stuttering in rhythm with every final stroke into your vice-like heat that ripples and clamps down around him. Javi hunches over and groans into your shoulder just before he collapses over you, completely seared through and spent.

Utterly wrecked and ruined with delightful ecstasy, you both are gasping, roiling beings melded into each other for a fleeting eternity while your sex-addled psyches recover. At some point, you both cuddle and sloppily kiss, sweaty and tingling as your pulses calm and the cool air coming from the windows through the curtains lulls the heat from your scalding flesh. Your senses recalibrate and finally realize the incessant pulsing of the vibrator is still going on, and when you mewl at Javi rumbling inarticulately while he flails his hand unseeingly across the bed, he nuzzles you and gives up, not wanting to part from your warm embrace.

"I'll…get you…batteries," he sighs and lays on top of you while the pulsing continues, which after a few silly seconds, has mirth bubbling up in your spent body before it chimes out in a discordant laugh. Javier huffs and buries his face in the crook of your neck and rests, blithely sated and not about to let go of the feeling any time soon.

Eventually, you're able to think coherently again, and end up comically reaching your arm out to try and reach for the damned toy, but when it's just out of your grasp, you tug the comforter to slide it closer. Snatching it and switching it off, you set it aside and sigh.

"Am I too heavy?" Javi mumbles against your neck. You smile and shake your head as you drape your arms around his back. "Good…cuz I can't move."

You chuckle softly and nuzzle his hair affectionately. "Neither can I. That was…"

"…Really good?" he queries when you trail off.

"Soul-shatteringly good," you exhale elatedly.

Javier is very pleased with the review, and nuzzles his triumph into your neck with an adoring, suckling kiss.

You both eventually recover enough for Javi to roll off and lay next to you. He breathes deep, contented breaths as he holds your hand in his against the bed. Smiling, you privately delight in the fulfilling ache in your muscles as they flex against the phantom sensation of being stretched to the max and exquisitely railed by him – enjoying the feeling of his cooling seed dripping out of your tight slit even as you squeeze your thighs together. This is bliss.

"Shit."

You open your eyes and glance over at him, humming, "Hmm?"

He's wryly staring at the ceiling as he derides in a gravelly tone, "You ripped one of my favorite shirts open."

When he glances roguishly at you – eyes twinkling and lips quirking impishly, you laugh and mock, "Javier, you literally have the same damned shirt in every color," and squeeze his hand, pursing your lips at his goading grin, and snickering, "I'll sew the buttons back on after work tomorrow, you pain."

He chuckles at that, taking your hand and pulling it up to his lips so he can brush a kiss at the backs of your knuckles.

Before it gets too late, you both rally what's left of your energy to shower together, and when he lazily lopes down the hall in a towel only to stop and turn when he hears you picking up his shirt buttons from the floor to gather them up into your palm, he humorously sweeps you up and carries you – wrapped in the towel and protesting – to bed. Now that you're not under the dominion of your rapacious lust, though, you balk at how wet the bedding is, and Javi wryly pulls the comforter off.

"What is it with you and needing clean sheets—?" he drawls teasingly while you get all flustered.

"As opposed to you sleeping on nasty sheets?" you counter and dress the bed with fresh linen as quickly as you can while grappling with your embarrassment.

"It's not a big deal," he croons and turns off the lights before ushering you affectionately under the covers, reassuring, "It was hot—"

"I've never done that before," you mumble and bury your face into his chest. You've heard of squirting before, but you've never been one until tonight. Hell – you'd been so fucked-out, you hadn't even felt all the wetness. The pleasure had been so intense though – having Javi inside you and the vibrator stimulating your clit. The gratification had been overwhelming and left you sensationally overloaded.

"For fear of saying something that'll annoy you…it happens," Javi muses and rubs your back soothingly. You can hear his smirk when he purrs, "It's an achievement, and now that I've gotten you to do it once? I'm gonna try and get you off that good every time."

You snicker and shake your head at that, kissing his chest and letting him shift you so you can cuddle more comfortably against each other. Once you're both under the cool covers for a while, snuggled up in the dark, you murmur, "Thank you."

Javi is half dozing when he hears that, so he grunts and stirs awake to drowsily mumble, "For what?"

"For…everything," you whisper, hesitant, before elaborating, "For surprising me, the gift…this. Just everything."

Javier buries his nose into the top of your head and inhales your comforting scent. Glancing blearily at the alarm clock on the nightstand, he grunts and purrs, "Nada de eso, mi amor. Feliz cumpleaños," and nuzzles a kiss to your temple.

You melt at that and just curl into him, sighing and closing your eyes to him kissing the top of your head before he shifts and sighs.

What feels like a blissful slumber later, you begin to stir at distant, clattering sounds that are mutedly pulling you awake. Grumbling, you roll over and reach for Javi, but come up empty. The semi-consciousness snaps to full waking when that racing sense of panic zips through you and you shift up in bed and begin to frown. However, the panic ebbs when you look at the dresser and see his watch. A scan of the room indicates Javi's clothes are still where you last saw them, so you pull yourself up to sit in bed as your dulled hearing starts to sharpen on the sounds coming from down the hall. Stretching and yawning, you fist your fingers into your tussled mane and grimace at how bad your bedhead is while your muscles protest and whine heavily from the throbbing soreness that snaps back at you when they flex.

Seeing it's a few minutes before the alarm should go off, you reach over and switch it off while using the stretch as an excuse to pop your joints in your legs. The vibrator is lying next to the alarm clock, so you grunt, yank the drawer open and deposit it inside before shutting it with a snort at yourself. On a secondary glance about the room as you reach for your silk robe and shrug into it, you realize Javi's jeans are gone, and as you tie your robe closed and walk towards the doorway, the smell coming from the hall stirs your senses. Scrubbing at your eyes, you quietly lope down the hall and peek around the corner into the kitchen.

The sight that greets you is the stuff made of pining fantasies – the infatuated dream one would find in romance novels.

Standing in your kitchen wearing only his semi-fastened jeans, Javier is cracking eggs into a buttered pan on low heat and studying another pan that has something simmering in it before picking up a wooden spoon to dutifully stir. The delicious aromas have your toes curling just as much as the sexy spectacle. The amorous glee you feel for this dashing, ridiculously hot man half-naked in your kitchen keeps you hovering to just play the voyeur a little longer.

His hair is mussed and stubble dusts in a light smattering over his handsome countenance, broad bare shoulders and sculpted back shining golden from the early morning rays cresting through the kitchen window. He dips his finger into the remnants of sauce clinging to the spoon and tastes it, humming in approval before checking the eggs are frying evenly with a spatula. Javi seems to be making some silent calculations as he lowers the heat on the stove, and it isn't until he catches movement in his peripheral that he glances over at you with those wide, brown puppy eyes. Smiling, his brows quirk flirtatiously at what you can imagine is a visage of a well-fucked woman standing before him.

"Mornin', gorgeous," he muses as he sidesteps away from the stove to peck you on the lips. "This is almost done," Javi remarks coolly as he saunters back to the stove and turns the burners off, adjusting the pans before setting another pan onto the freed up burner.

Your heart feels like it's floating in your chest and needs to be lassoed with string before it ascends out of your body. Butterflies fill your stomach and warmth spirals in your womb as you watch him cook you breakfast. "W-What's almost done?" you pipe in an effervescent musing – voice raspy from disuse, shimmying close to get a better peek. The inhale you take now up close is scrumptious, and you lean sidelong to watch him pour some olive oil in the now-hot pan.

He smirks. "I had to cheat a little, but it's my huevos rancheros," he answers confidently as he sets the tortillas into the pan to toast them with some light olive oil on both sides. "These are flour tortillas instead of corn, and I couldn't find any cilantro, but it should do," Javier remarks warmly as he nudges you with his hip. "Go sit—"

"Oh no, I'm going to take this in and bask in the awe-inspiring sight," you lilt playfully and press your plush lips together to stifle a wily grin.

Javier chuckles ruggedly and shakes his head amusedly at you before starting to plate the homey dish. "I couldn't find a coffee brewer or kettle, so we'll have to grab a to-go from Don Gilberto's later," he muses and relishes how you avidly watch him work.

"Yeah, I don't even bother with it. I suck at prepping a coffee kettle and the regular coffee makers are trash," you lambast wryly as you try not to melt from him humming and offering you the wooden spoon to have a taste of the ranchero sauce. Licking a smear, your eyes widen and twinkle at him. "That is yummy," you praise and smile when he dips his chin down and hides his meek little smirk. The thought of licking that sauce off his chest flashes raunchily in your mind's eye, so you sigh jokingly, "You call me a malcriada all the time, but then you spoil me like this, so what's one to do…?"

Javi laughs and pulls you close before nuzzling a silly huff into your neck – stubble rasping across your skin while he showers kisses up to your lips. You slink against him and wrap your hands around his shoulders while he gropes you cheekily. Pulling back when he squeezes your ass, you snicker and caress his hair, combing it down for him. "It's your birthday. Let me spoil you," he purrs and taps your ass. "Now, go sit, cariño," he orders in a sexy growl and herds you to flounce off to the kitchen table.

In the soft morning light, with the delicate breeze dancing through the windows, you both sit and eat breakfast at your table. You're relishing how good the meal is, and have to glibly admit that it's probably the best breakfast you've had, wondering if your delight is heightened by the fact that the man you love made it for you. His eyes smile with mirth as you try to be dainty while gobbling it all up, and when you glance up and catch him staring, you lick your lips and lean over to brush a tender kiss at his jaw.

"This is just as good as my lasagna," you chime in a drawl. "Damn you."

He grins, dimple on full display, as he tsks, "We won't know for sure until I finally taste it."

"The prep time is hardly the same, atrevido," you snicker and go to collect your empty plates when he thwarts you and does it himself. Tingling with giddy enchantment, you watch him take everything to the sink and start rinsing, settling in as if he's literally going to wash everything right now, and you can't take it. Why is the domesticity of it all making you so hot for him?!

You decide not to ponder the why and just shut the faucet and literally tow him to bed. Javier doesn't complain. Especially when you yank his jeans down and shove him onto the bed as you simultaneously disrobe, then climb on top of him and ravish kisses over his torso as you sink your dripping pussy onto his cock until you bury him to the hilt.

The quickie is such a good way to get ready for your day after practically pining like a schoolgirl for Javier cooking like a damn stud in your kitchen. His content smirk while you get ready post-shower tells you he's very satisfied, and he doesn't jibe or tease while you collect your discarded clothes from last night and fret sheepishly about having gotten carried away when you see how you'd indeed ripped every button off of his shirt when you tore it open.

He finishes dressing before you and decides to lounge on your made bed and watch you slink into your black pencil skirt with the tasteful mid-thigh slits that give you a bit more movement, opining slyly on the blouse you should wear whilst you sort through the options from your closet. When he teases that you should put on the rosy silk blouse with the shiny buttons – commenting 'the snap buttons will come in handy later' – you gasp at your sudden recall, and rush down the hall to get the cordless phone and dial your grandmother.

Coming back in and sliding your arms one by one into the blouse while you exchange the handset from one hand to the other, you chat with her quickly to thank her for the gift. Javier smirks and sits up to swing his legs to the side of the bed so he can reel you close and snap the buttons closed for you, snickering when he can faintly hear your grandmother ask in Spanish, 'So he came by first thing to deliver my gift? What a good boy.' You roll your eyes and grin as he fondles your breasts and pretends he's only smoothening out the wrinkles before tucking the blouse's hem into your skirt for you.

You put him on the spot by commenting cavalierly that you have to run to finish getting dressed because Javier has been keeping you from getting decent, and he can hear her cheeky cackle from where he's sitting. You grin down at him once you've ended the call and tossed the cordless phone onto the bed next to him. He chidingly wraps his arms around you and kisses you with puckish retaliation.

Once you've managed to finish getting ready, you both rush out the door, and after a stop at your favorite coffee shop you're driving together to work.

He looks so damned handsome as the sun dents across the windshield and flares around him, catching in the rim of his aviators and the face of his watch, haloing around him thanks to the smoke tendrils coming from his cigarette. He doesn't have any big meetings, so he's dressed casually – fresh pair of jeans and crisp cream-colored button shirt under his green canvas windbreaker. You idly think it's a good thing so many people in the office are smokers, because the light whiff of cigarette smoke that clings to your hair and clothes every so often would surely rouse suspicions. Then, as quickly as the thought comes, it annoys you, so you shove it away.

"Will I see you tonight?" you ask and sip from your coffee cup, expression guarded, since you don't want to come off clingy or needy after he literally already made your birthday weekend the best one you've ever had.

"We might end up working late if they get us some reports we asked them for," he replies in his smooth baritone as he cracks his window more so the cigarette smoke can seep out as he drives. "If we don't, I'll be at your place to help you out of that blouse," Javi drawls in a gravelly purr that sends heat to coil in your core, especially when he glances at you over the rim of his sunglasses and winks at you.

You can't even bring yourself to swat him for his cheekiness, so instead you purposely snap the top button of your blouse undone and trail your fingertips daintily along your clavicle as you hum and sigh, "I think I can manage just fine, but wouldn't mind the company."

Javi grits his jaw in riled intrigue, knowing he totally set himself up with that one.

Once he's dropped you off and you've hustled on foot to the embassy, you're positively glowing with exuberance, sensing your outfit and confident stride turning a few male heads, but not caring as you strut down the hall towards your department once you've exited the elevators. Javi is in much the same mood – except he has to stifle his content smirk as he walks by the usual snarky assholes he has to stalk by to get through the bullpen and into his and Steve's office. His partner is moodily sitting at his desk, and when Javi shrugs his jacket off and hangs it up before sliding into his desk chair, Steve perks up and gives him an expectant look.

"Well?" he rasps in a drawl and leans back in his chair, lacing his hands together to rest just below his chest.

"Well, what?" Javi deflects as he sets his service weapon in the drawer and drops his cigarette pack to the corner of the desk before he flips his files folder open, not sparing the eagle-eyed agent a glance.

"C'mon, don't hold out on me," Steve cajoles and grins when Javi shoots him a sneering stare. "You didn't come home last night—"

"Jeez. What, you keeping tabs on my comings and goings?" Javier deadpans sarcastically before quirking his brow when Steve snorts and flicks a pen at him. "Real mature."

"After the stunt you pulled, hell yeah I make sure to keep an ear out for the slam of your door," Steve retorts and shrugs. "You're my partner, so asshole or not, I'll look out for you."

Javi can't help snort at that and toss the pen back across at him. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. I'm liable to blush," he grouses in a singsong.

Steve blows a raspberry at that and waves Javi's bullshit off by flipping him the bird.

Once they've gone to lunch and are grabbing something from the vending machines, still brainstorming different scenarios for how a tunnel could be accessible from under the prison, the two DEA agents are distracted from their conversation to hear animated chatter coming from just outside of the break room.

Leaning over to spot who's talking, Javier notices Ellis, your coworker and buddy, chatting up some of the guys that relented in being trained a few weeks ago – the guys who share part of the bullpen space with DEA, agreeing to meeting up after work at some hangout a lot of the former armed services guys frequent. Ellis then comes into the break room and greets the Centra Spike guy that's currently fussing with the coffee machine while Steve and Javi nurse their soft drinks at the table in the corner.

"Hey, Ed! A bunch of us are doing a little surprise thing after work. Hope you can join. It'll be at Ace's Tavern—"

"Little surprise thing for who?" Ed inquires as he adjusts his glasses to sit higher on the bridge of his nose.

Glancing around, Ellis leans over and mutters, "It's hush-hush, cuz she'd kill me if she finds out…" and explains how your birthday is today and since you wouldn't let him mention it Friday, he's organized a little shindig at the bar to surprise you after work. "You might get your chance to ask her out," Ellis chimes and grins knowingly at the man, and while the analyst gets flustered and grumbles an 'Alright, shut up with that, I'll go,' Ellis seems to finally realize how rude he's being inviting one person to something in a small space that's filled with two others.

Feeling like his southern mother would be so disappointed in him for excluding people, the amiably congenial man from Tallahassee pivots seamlessly to acknowledge the two DEA agents and chat them up. He doesn't know Murphy or Peña very well, and he's not the kind of person to let other's opined opinions influence him, so he figures it's the right thing to do. Plus, DEA are the last holdouts to the pilot program, so he decides it's a perfect excuse to ply his way to cajoling them into submission.

Ellis invites them to the surprise party, and when Steve puts on his best poker face and nods, he pats Javier on the shoulder and drawls coolly, "We'll be there. Thanks for the invite."

Javi shoots Steve a murderous glare when the other men leave the break room. Steve just raises his brows, feigning innocence. After, when they're both in the sanctity of their office, Javi sits broodingly at his desk and lights a cigarette, taking a long, surly drag before exhaling and scowling over at Steve. "You are a pain in the ass—" he begins to grumble.

"What? It's only a little happy hour thing we actually got invited to, for once," Steve scoffs and dismisses his partner's gruff temper. "I need a break from staring at these damn maps and aerials anyway."

It's around close to quitting time when you're collecting your data logs and tidying up your desk, dimly realizing Javier hasn't called to let you know if he'll be working late or not. You figure it means he's tied up on something and if he can come over, he either will just show up later tonight, or call you from his place. You're wondering if maybe you should call him when Ellis appears before you, hovering and waiting for you to hazard a curious blink up at him.

"C'mon, girlie. I'm taking you out for a drink," he announces and smiles at you when you wryly pout. "Nope. You didn't let me do anything, and I'm a shit bartender, so I'm taking you to a decent place where they specialize in rum."

"It's a Monday, though—" you begin to argue.

"So? Live a little, kid!" he chuckles and masterfully pied piper's you to his car and drives you to the place you've heard of, but haven't actually checked out before today.

As you're walking through the entryway of the rustic-looking tavern with the Havana-styled shutters and the rattan propeller ceiling fans, Ellis can barely contain his grin as you glance across the long bar top before turning into the interior alcove where different faces from throughout the embassy startle you by shouting, 'Surprise!' and showering you with a litany of 'Happy Birthdays!' of varying intonations.

You are bemused, wide-eyed and shocked before turning to Ellis and seeing the deviously gleeful grin plastered over his face. You swat him, but can't muster the anger as you spot Anita waving goofily at you.

Everyone you could imagine is offering you a drink or coming to chat you up, and it's startling how elated the feeling of being thought of so highly enough that people would come drink and toast to your birthday makes you. The bar fills out with different cliques that really only have their association with you in common. Centra Spike are at the back table adjacent some of the C.O. staff, Mil Group is at the end of the bar, the cleaning girls are laughing it up with Anita while Ellis chats up Lou and the few CIA resources who actually show their faces around the building. You dutifully make your rounds to all the factions, letting some buy you a drink or gift you with little tributes you happily accept, like chocolates from the girls, and a pricey bottle of rum from the fellas of Mil Group.

Just as you're getting dizzy with social overstimulation, you turn when you hear Ellis greet, "Hey, fellas! Pull up a stool," before telling the bartender to take the newcomers' orders and put it on his tab.

Turning to see who Ellis was being so chipper with, you practically feel your pulse careen off a cliff before catching itself when your brain demands you keep your demeanor guarded while you stare across the room at Steve and Javi.

Before you can even think of what to do, Luke distracts you by coming over and handing you a Cuba libre. "The signature drink for the birthday girl," he snickers in a silly tenor and smiles when you scoff and accept the drink.

From where they're sitting, Steve finishes chatting with Ellis while Javi silently surveys the bar full of embassy staff of varying occupations. He lights a cigarette and nods his thanks to Ellis for the drink as the man strides over to join your conversation with Samson.

Covertly, Steve muses to Javi over the rim of his glass, "She's popular."

Javier grunts and drinks his whiskey, eyeing you secretly while you laugh at Ellis and sic his wife on him for the saucy jibe he just made. "Yeah," he remarks dryly and flicks his cigarette ash into the nearest tray.

Steve stares over at him, twisting his lips amusedly. "How bad would you get in trouble for going up to her?"

Javi scoffs and downs his whiskey before signaling the bartender for another. Steve snickers and follows suit, and after a few minutes they're just chatting about nothing in particular, then wondering if there are other ways to get proof of a tunnel underneath La Catedral that they just haven't thought of.

"Agent Murphy," the soft lilt stirs them to turn and blink at you, and Steve swivels in his stool to face you more while Javi remains tense – elbow draped casually over the bar with his cigarette frozen in mid sway from just being at his lips, when you pleasantly croon, "Agent Peña."

His soulful eyes flick to yours and a small smile tugs his lips while Steve greets you and wishes you a happy birthday. "—Ellis invited us. I think he's angling to use this as the chance to finally get DEA into the pilot," Steve drawls and smiles at you. "But, we're pretty stubborn, so he's got a better chance selling ice to an Eskimo."

You laugh – a soft, melodious chime that dissolves into that silly sigh Javi thinks is so charming. "Well, I'm sorry to break it to you, but Ellis pretty much has, so I'm sure he'll wear you down. And if he doesn't? Then you have to contend with me," you joke and quirk a goading brow at Steve. Javi chuckles and takes a sip of his drink, using it as an opportunity to look at you fully and communicate with only the narrowing of his smoldering gaze that he wants you so bad right now. You feel that heated ember of desire burn in your core for him, so you take a drag of your own drink before using the loud conversations filling the bar as an excuse to lean closer and tell Steve, "I really am sorry for how I spoke to you—"

Steve scoffs amiably and chivalrously assures you, "Water under the bridge. Just promise not to be too mad," and gestures with the sidelong shift of his eyes towards Javi before musing, "He ain't looking to incur any wrath."

You satirically bite your lower lip and arch an imperious brow at that before murmuring only loud enough for he and Javi to hear, "I'm pretty sure he likes to incur my wrath every so often—"

Your teasing barb is interrupted by Ellis calling you over, so you spare Steve a conspiratorial wink before smiling with your eyes at Javi as you turn to strut off.

Javi is completely besotted with you after that, and Steve is amused with how he burns with it and has to keep his agent façade up. "I feel you, buddy," Steve muses, tone commiserating as he pats Javi on the back, and when he grumbles and takes a long drink, he can't help goad in a low mutter, "Think a double date is ever in the cards—?"

"Huh, the little miss thinks she's really god's gift."

Reeling, both Steve and Javi glance over at the opposite end of the bar, a few stools down from them, where an analyst that Javier recognizes instantly is sulking into his scotch as he mockingly glares at your back from across the room.

"What was that, friend?" Steve calls out to him, and Danvers slides his inebriated glare over at him.

Javier is boring his dark, narrowed stare at the man as he levels Steve with a scornful sneer before barking, "You got hearing trouble? I said that bitch really thinks she's something."

Steve feels Javi coil up at that, so he intercedes and leans over the counter towards the other man to patronize, "Well she must be if your dumbass is sittin' at the bar people are at celebratin' her—"

Danvers confrontationally lashes, "Fuck off, this is my bar – I was sitting here minding my own business when half the damned consulate waltzed in to fawn over that smart-mouthed little—"

Javier is stubbing his cigarette into the ashtray and sliding his drink aside while the belligerent asshole is haranguing about minding his own business, and when he edges close to calling you another name, Javi's kicking his stool back to stand, but Steve forcefully maneuvers around him. Nudging the stool back under him as he shoves Javi with a lot of effort back onto it while trying to diffuse him, his voice is steel as he levels Danvers with, "Take a sabbatical to another bar, bud, if you know what's good for you."

The drunk man challengingly hauls up to his feet and attempts to square up to Steve when another guy who seems to know Danvers intercedes and tugs him back, but not before he scoffs and mocks, "Not gunna let some pussified washout tell me shit—"

The commotion pulls your attention back to the bar just in time to see Steve slug a guy just as Javi was snapping up to his feet and shoving his partner's hand from his shoulders – as if he'd been holding him back. Shocked, you and a good amount of the bar watch some people grab the guy and start to haul him out of the bar while Javi is a broad, coiled sentinel Steve is shoving back and muttering curtly to. Just from the set of his shoulders and how Javier has his chin tucked, you know he's fuming, but you have no idea what the hell happened or precipitated such a flare up.

Nador and Benson rush at a clipped pace to go see what the hell happened when Lou shoots them a sharp glance, since they seem to know Danvers. Ellis whistles and chortles, "I did not invite that guy, I swear," while Luke guffaws and Anita comes over to stand next to you to cajole you over to the table some of the girls have camped out at. You hesitate, wanting to go to Javi and see what happened, but you see Nador and Benson approach Steve and talk to him, and from the body language, it seems they're on his side about whatever the hell happened.

Then, Javi shoots you a heated glance over his shoulder before he motions to Steve in a 'let's go' gesture, nodding to Benson after he tells him something and pats Javi on the back.

You're dying to know what transpired, but end up having to work the room for another hour until only you, Anita, Ellis and Luke remain from the impromptu gathering. Internally wilting as they joke and toast you and you play along, you can't help feel guilty. All you want to do is call Javi, and you're working up the nerve to suggest to Ellis that you all call it a night and head home already, when your friend blurts, "—Yeah, what the fuck was that? Who was that asshole?"

"Danvers," you answer, remembering the time you'd verbally eviscerated him in front of the fountain. "He's in Threat-assessment."

"Yeah. We work with those guys every once in a while. Benson said he was talking shit about you," Luke volunteers, and stirs you to direct your startled gaze up to widen at him. "Nador and him are friendly enough, but even he said the guy was out of line, and they had to basically threaten to report him to his superior if he didn't get lost."

"Whoa!" Ellis is astounded. Anita watches your expression become furious, thinking about how the misogynistic son of a bitch must've said something and it riled Javi – enraging and forcing him to defend your honor only to have Steve get in the mix.

"He's a piece of shit chauvinistic scumbag who likes to talk down to women and bully people he doesn't think are equal to him," you blurt out, eyes blazing as you simmer with rage. "I cussed him out once and he's clearly still ass-sore, but the fucker doesn't have the balls to say whatever he said to my face," you seethe, and this is the most angry Luke has ever seen you, so his expressive brows shoot up to his hairline and his jaw slackens while you go off. Ellis amiably reels you back, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and squeezing until you feel your fury ebb back.

Needless to say, you are moodily stewing while Ellis and Anita drive you home, comically gripping all your gifts in your arms and impatient to jump out and stalk furiously up to your apartment. You thank them both and apologize for being ornery, but they both chuckle and wave it off, offering you genuine smiles and reassurances before they drive off.

Once in your apartment, you set everything down on the kitchen island next to the vase with the roses, and go get the cordless phone.

The phone in Javi's apartment starts ringing, but he stays stubbornly still as he sits at his couch and glares up at the ceiling while Steve sits on the opposite leather couch and frowns at him.

"Are you gonna get that?" he drawls, half in the bag and bleary-eyed as he quirks his brows quizzically at Javier while holding the slightly sweating icepack to his knuckles.

Javi's head started spinning from drinking most of his new bottle of whiskey and fuming while Steve kept him company to make sure he wouldn't go after that guy and beat the ever-loving shit out of him like he was seething to do. He's now so drunk he can't even smoke, because it'll make him nauseous, so he tries to ignore the ringing phone mounted on the wall.

"…Don't trust myself," he mumbles lowly and scrubs his hands down his surly features before exhaling noisily. "I fuckin' did the one thing she was worried about—"

"She expected you to sit there like a mouse while some guy railed about her?" Steve counters slyly and shifts to lean deeper into the couch. Javi grunts broodily at that, so he adds, "Just answer—" right as the phone stops ringing.

Javier sighs and goes to reach for his slightly filled glass of whiskey, grunting his protest, since he has to shift more than his drunkenness will allow. His mind keeps angrily replaying what happened at the bar, and the only thing that helped rein his fury in was hearing the Mil Group guys curse the fucker out. They'd even walked up and told Steve, 'Nice hit. Danvers tried to talk that shit to us,' as well as, '—He's fuckin' lucky we didn't hear him,' before Steve told Benson what he'd said. The man glowered and told Steve, 'We'll vouch for you if he tries to bitch to the brass,' before patting Javi on the back and telling him, 'Bet he'll feel it in the morning, at least.'

Surly, Javi gives up and leans heavily into the armrest of his couch, wondering how bad it would've been had Steve not run interference for him, when his satellite phone starts to ring. Swiveling his heavy-lidded stare to where it sits on the coffee table, Javi is about to stretch out to grab for it when Steve swipes it out of reach with his good hand.

"Don't you fucking dare—" Javi begins to threaten when Steve hovers his thumb over the button that will answer the call.

"Stop being an asshole and answer then," he gruffly derides and tosses the phone over to him.

Javi fumbles to catch it and grumbles before laboriously climbing to his feet, swaying, and storming off to get privacy just as he answers the phone.

"…Peña," he answers warily and tries not to sound as drunk as he feels.

"Are you ok?"

Javi feels like a complete asshole now for having wanted to ignore your calls. "Yeah…I-I'm sorry, querida," he murmurs, and when he hears Steve not so covertly sit up and adjust like he's trying to listen in, Javi stumbles to stalk into his bedroom and close the door for more privacy. "I didn't mean to fly off the handle—"

"…Did you think I was going to be mad at you?" you ask incredulously before your tone melts into a mirthful chuckle. "I heard what happened. If the tables had been turned, I would probably be sitting in a cell right now."

Javier exhales and snorts at the ridiculous mental image that conjures, and just grumbles lamely, "Fuckin' Steve is the only reason why I'm not sitting in one…"

You sigh, and he suddenly wishes he wasn't as drunk as he is so he could go to you. "So…what're you wearing?"

Disarmed, Javi chokes on a scoff before laughing like a fool. "The same clothes you saw me in, atrevida," he slurs as he sits on the corner of his bed and snickers.

"Hmm, well it's too bad things went sideways, seeing as I could've really used the help in getting out of this blouse after all," you taunt in a flirty purr. Javi groans, feeling arousal start to tingle down his body. "You looked so pissed. I was dying to go over and take you somewhere—"

"Hey man, if you're gonna start having phone sex, it's cool. I'll just be taking a little siesta on the couch here!"

Disgruntled, Javi gets flustered and snarls, "For fuck's sakes…"

"Steve's crashing at your place?! Jeez, babe!" you begin to cackle while Javi swears and grumbles. "He sounds drunk as a skunk. How much did you two drink?"

"…A bottle each, plus what we had at the bar," he answers in a toasted drawl. You chuckle sultrily at that. "M'not gonna feel so hot in the morning," Javi rasps and lays back on his bed as the buzz really gets to his head now. "…Miss you, baby."

You smile, feeling over the moon. Stretching out on your bed, you murmur, "Same here, mi amor. You and Steve sleep tight," you snicker and hear him exhale a grumble at that. "I love you."

"I love you too, preciosa. Goodnight."

You hang up and roll wistfully around in bed, overflowing with how in love you are with him and suddenly wanting everyone to know it. The thought gives you pause, so you sit up and deprecatingly sneer at yourself as you get up to start getting ready for bed.

As you're sliding under your covers with his shirt and a sewing kit to put all the ripped buttons back on it before going to bed, Javi is chucking a pillow really hard down on Steve's head as he storms out of his bedroom, causing the glibly smashed man to laugh and adjust it under his head while be stretches out more comfortably on the couch.

"Call your wife, idiot," Javi barks from the fridge, as he pulls out a jug of cold water to chug straight from it so he doesn't wake up completely fucked with a hangover in the morning.

"You call my wife, pendejo," Steve drawls comically and kicks his boots off.

Exhaling after having his fill, Javi shoots him a snide look before acerbically asking, "You sure you wanna pass out there?"

"This couch is comfortable as hell, so, yeah," Steve buzzes laconically and flops face down into the leather cushions. "…Why?" he suddenly pipes up.

"…No reason," Javi chimes and closes the fridge, lopes back over, and muses, "The working girls always did rave about the couch."

"…Oh c'mon!" Steve protests, but Javi kicks his door closed and hastily strips before crawling into bed in just his underwear and flopping onto his stomach with a gruff grunt.

While he and Steve end up managing a miraculous resurrection from the bottles they crawled out of the following morning, you are having a merienda break with the girls after spending most of your morning dealing with Ellis being a clingy big brother type. Now, as you sit back at your desk, he wheels over from his spot to bug you – asking if you really had fun last night, insisting you shouldn't feel bad about being surly after the mini brawl-that-was-not, and asking if you want a do-over, because the fellas at Mil Group were game.

"You're just looking for an excuse to be the social peacock you are," you snicker and needle a pressure point on his side when he goes to put up his feet onto the corner of your desk. "I had a lot of fun. I just cannot believe that guy literally sat there like a douche all night hating from afar."

"Oh! I forgot to tell you. I ran into Samson before my last meeting. Turns out he and Benson went up to Danvers' boss and told him what happened. He was bothered by what you'd said – that the guy has a history of being a prick. They said if he didn't get a suspension, they would go not only to human resources, but they'd take it up to Noonan," Ellis dishes excitedly to you, and you blink in awe. "Lou gave them the ok to do it."

"Wow…I'll have to buy them all another two dozen doughnuts, then," you smile slyly.

Just as your eager beaver of a buddy dishes on more gossip from around the water cooler, Javi and Steve are annoyed at getting the reports they'd been waiting for.

Nothing. No trace or signs of any kind of tunnel. Unrelenting in their belief that they're missing something, they agree to pull a late night review session at Steve's, so, close to the end of the day, Javi calls you at your desk and lets you know he won't be able to come over tonight. You're cool and reasonable, joking you'll take advantage and catch up on chores since you spent all of Sunday gallivanting around with a handsome man. Even as he and Steve pour over the aerial shots and maps at his dining room table and partaking in Connie's cooking, Javi can't help his mind wander to you.

It isn't until Connie points out the absolutely-fucking-obvious anomaly in all of the aerial shots and he finishes making some calls to his contacts in CNP that he and Steve come up with a plan about interceding on the delivery trucker while en route from La Catedral. Just as Steve hangs up from coordinating their ride over to Medellín in the morning, Javi is packing up his files and slipping his cigarette pack in his shirt's breast pocket, looking forward to having a smoke and calling you, when Steve can't help giving him a goading look.

"What?" Javi snaps as he spies Connie just out of earshot, rocking the baby in the room adjacent to the hall he was going to head down and exit.

"Don't get mad, but I heard from one of the Centra Spike guys that Samson went with Lou's blessing to put the screws on Danvers' boss. Said they'd take it to Noonan unless the fucker got suspended for the shit he pulled last night," Steve tells; tone hushed as he picks up his drink from the counter and downs it.

"…Why would I be mad about that?" Javi laconically muses and tosses his folded jacket over the arm cradling the files, completely dismissive.

"Huh, yeah well…liftoff is at 8am, so don't be late," Steve muses knowingly and follows Javi to the front door so he can see him off and lockup. "See that she slathers you sparingly with the cocoa butter this time? It started giving me a headache in the car last time," he drawls just as Javi opens the door.

Freezing in place when he hears Connie chime from the adjacent room to the hall leading down to the door, "Cocoa butter? Who's using cocoa butter?" Javi shoots Steve a sharp glower.

"Your husband is hard-up and needs you to lotion him up, Connie. Do everyone a favor and see to that?" Javi calls out in a snarky drawl before flipping Steve off and breezing out the door with a flippant, "Goodnight."

Javier is in and out of his apartment soon after, and while he drives to your place, he calls you on his phone. You'd just slid under the covers when the cordless phone rings at the nightstand closest to your side of the bed. Answering it, you are thrilled to hear he's coming over after all, so content that you don't even care that you're in your frumpy pajamas when you're answering the door and pulling him inside.

"—Know it's late, cariño," he sighs in between your kisses as you let him drop the duffle to the hall before you unbutton his shirt while he lets you wheel him in front of your bed. Once you've tugged it open so he can shrug out of it, you work on his belt, snapping his badge and beeper off to store on the dresser while he yanks his gun from the back of his waistband and sets it aside. The whole time, you're both stealing kisses and caressing each other. "—Came up with it last-minute, so wanted to see you before we leave tomorrow," he finishes explaining after you've helped him strip and he's picked you up in his arms and you've encircled your hands to his shoulders, nuzzling his neck and humming along with what he's telling you as he takes you to bed.

You arch up against him when he tugs your shirt off your head before he pulls your sleeping shorts off. "Mmm, so we have to be quick and go right to sleep then, eh?" you chime lusciously and wink at him when he settles between your thighs.

"Preferably…but I can't guarantee that I can stop at just a quickie," he tells you frankly, and you bury your hand in his hair and tug him down to meet your hungry mouth.

You're both completely naked as you fool around a bit, rolling around on the comfortable bed and bantering between kisses.

"—God, I wanted to jump your bones at the bar—" you tell him when he ruts against your hip and touches your wet, warm pussy while he suckles a hot kiss into your sloping muscle.

"—Fuck…in front of everyone? How insatiable—" he growls before you roll to straddle him and lick his Adam's apple as you grind down on him.

"—Damn right, malcriado. I can't get enough of you—"

Javi pivots you back onto the bed and playfully wrestles with you, laughing when you have to resort to gripping your hands to the hinge of his jaw and pulling him close so you can tauntingly lick his lips. The silly foreplay soon simmers into carnal chess, where you both tantalize one another in being the first to lose patience and pounce on the other, but Javi easily loses when you tell him the fantasy you thought about all day. After all, how could he not bring something so fantastic to fruition? So, he does by flipping you around and maneuvering you onto all fours as he presses up against you from behind.

"Just like this?" he rumbles against your warm skin before nipping at your nape and grinding his cock against your dripping pussy.

"Mmm, yes. Want you to pound into me, Javi," you sigh in a reedy purr, and Javier groans in approval. "Love it when you fuck me like this – with your hands holding onto me," you tell him in aroused frankness and squeeze the hand at your waist and the one clutched around your shoulder reassuringly.

That has Javi burning with pride, so when he snaps his hips against you from behind and shoves his cock in your tight, contracting heat, he moans, "Wanna make you feel so fucking good, mi amor."

And, he does – with zeal – and you love it, feeling feral with pleasure as he fucks you with primal urge, lighting you up with passion as he plunges and slams into your delicate pleasure with brutal accuracy. The way you keen and cry out his name is addictive, so he keeps snapping his hips against you, sweat breaking out over his forehead and temples as the ardent session of coupling crescendos while the sounds of your dual pitched breaths, the squelching of him fucking through your rippling silken sheath and your whimpers fill the room.

"Oh Javi—Ahh, y-yes, oh god, Javi, right there! Ple-Please, right there—!" you stammer desperately, body splintering apart with rapture as he keeps slamming his cock into your g-spot. His next strokes are combined with him pulling your hips back and down onto him. You wail in delight and cling to his hands where they're gripping you possessively just as you start climaxing.

"That's it-mmph—that's it, baby. Oh fuck—f-feels so fucking good, you coming all over my cock," Javi praises gutturally as he keeps fucking you while you writhe and mindlessly keep your hips rocking backwards onto him.

"N-Need you," you whimper, adding in a pitchy stammer, "W-Want you to come so bad in me, Javi. Love feeling you fill me with your cum—"

Javier answers you with a strangled groan and starts pounding into you, and just when you stifle a little whimpered moan, Javi buries his throbbing dick deep and hoarsely shouts out as he orgasms, fingers dimpling into your skin from the force of the bliss that erupts through him.

It's not sex talk for encouragement's sake – you really love it when Javi comes, the way it feels as it warms your already burning insides and ripples through your core from the force, how he tenses against you but also melds into you as you both buzz right after the moment of reached bliss.

When he tugs you down to the bed in a sated heap along with him, you revel in being spooned by him while he's still inside you. You both catch your breaths, content to just rest like this as your senses stabilize and the fulfilling sense of completion that settles within you chastens the high of such passionate sex.

The sensational accomplishment of being filled with Javi's seed is ridiculously primordial as it stirs you with some sinful sense of delight you don't think you could ever explain, so you keep it to yourself as he grunts a sated sound and pulls out of your heat. You dimly register him leaving the bed, but smile when he returns quickly with a washcloth, giving you doting aftercare while you hum and sigh. The pleased smile softening your plush lips and cresting your eyes into half moons enchants him, so he lays sidelong and takes you in. Your dark lashes fan across your flushed skin, skin dewy from sweat and lips parting in a sigh as you seek his scent, turning your face into his chest before tilting up to nuzzle his throat.

You feel so good – completely settled and at peace after coupling so fiercely with Javi. The tranquility that washes through you has your body already docile, seeking sublime sleep, so you stop fighting your drowsy eyes and let them fall shut.

"Would you ever want people to know you're mine?"

Your eyes flutter, dreamy expression quirking curiously as you hum – unsure you heard him right. "I'm yours," you mumble and curl into him, kissing his neck and sighing.

Javier's dark eyes soften at the edges, smile brushing the top of your hairline as he pulls the covers over you both, before he murmurs, "Yes, you are."

When he kisses you goodbye at your door and lopes off early the following morning, Javi is already making plans for when he gets back into town, looking forward to more than nailing a bunch of narcos to the wall, for once. The primary one is romancing and cajoling you into expanding the circle of people who know about your relationship to at least include Connie, so he can bring you over for dinner upstairs, and take you to his bed downstairs. It's what he's thinking of while he and Steve catch their ride to Medellín whilst you're lying in bed and clutching the pillow that's laced with his scent.

You have plans too, after all. Some of which include relenting in your control-based fear of exposing yourself to the judgment and whims of others. You figure you can take baby steps – starting off with letting Javi take you to his place, maybe even meet his partner and his wife for dinner sometime? The pining idea of introducing Javi to your closest friends and confirming, yes, you are most definitely a couple has crossed your mind half a dozen times unbidden already. It would be the reasonable, logical step to make these few things reality, wouldn't it?

You both end up learning the hard way that life doesn't care about either of your plans. But for now, you both look forward to them, unknowing of how fraught they will leave you both in the long term.

____________

Read Chapter 13: Fury

Spanish-English Glossary:

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Pinche seductora = Fucking seductress

Amado = Beloved (male)

Te emo = I love you

Cómo carajo te merezco, preciosa? = How the hell do I deserve you, precious?

Hermosa = beautiful

Guapito = affectionate way of calling a man handsome (in the diminutive term)

Galán = Handsome man

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Tan gracioso = Real funny

Burlón = joker; teaser

Guapita = Sassy/foxy/daring/testy lady

Malcriada/malcriado = brat/spoiled

Mi amor = My love

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Nada de eso, mi amor. Feliz cumpleaños = None of that, my love. Happy Birthday

Cariño = darling/sweetheart

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Pendejo = Dumbass; jackass

Merienda = A post-breakfast snack break

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Feysand x human!reader: Tag, you’re it - Part 2[***]

A/N: Do you like my cookies? They’re made just for you. A little bit of sugar, but lots of poison, too.

Warnings: noncon, smut, mention of whips, kind of sex-slave things?, mentions of rape, impact play, face-sitting, suffocation, fingering

Word Count: 5,444

Your eyes snap open, instantly scrambling back at the sound of the key in the lock.

The gate swings open, allowing your self-appointed mistress to step inside, her feet silent on the wooden floor, bathed in a thick, dark red rug. Like blood-soaked moss.

The iron bars dig into your spine as you whimper, pushing yourself into the corner, where the metal meets the plaster of the wall. Your legs curl up to your front, arms hugging your knees tight as you try to tuck yourself into a tiny ball.

“Sweetness, stop doing that,” she tuts, standing at the entrance to your cage, situated near the end of their bed. “It’s been weeks. You know we aren’t going to hurt you,” she reasons, arms folding across her chest as she stares down at your cowering form.

Sometimes you’re lucky, and they’ll allow you to stay in your cage as they couple, forcing you to watch as they enjoy one another. Other times, you’re dragged from your confines kicking and screaming, until one of them inevitably takes your mouth for themself.

“If you mean me no harm, let me go,” you rasp, throat still raw from the night before. You’d kicked off just a little too hard, which landed you a night with the High Lord. And Rhysand, plus the chains and whips he’d subjected you to, wasn’t something you wanted to be reacquainted with anytime soon.

Her brow narrows, lips pursing.

Then she’s walking toward you, eating up the distance in a few quick strides, and you press yourself tighter into the corner. Your padded shackles clink as they drag across the rug.

She squats down just a way from you, making you squirm beneath her piercing blue-grey eyes. “What’s this about, hm? You were doing so well,” she muses, peering at you intently. “What happened?”

Fear and anger pump through your blood, hugging yourself tighter. “You murdered by husband, Feyre,” you snap, vision blurring at the memory. “You murdered, and raped, and stole,” you snarl, tears brimming at your lashes as you glare at her.

Her own brows narrow, a mix of pain and fury in her eyes as she stares at you, hard. Then, “your husband, as you call him,” she says icily, “was a rapist. A rapist, and a coward. We saved you from him.”

“But I didn’t need saving! I didn’t want saving!” You cry, nails digging into your knees as you keep yourself balled tight.

“He was ruining you,” she snarls lowly. “He wasn’t good for you. Couldn’t provide for you. He only wanted you so he could have a wife.” She pushes forward then, gripping you by the jaw as your eyes lock with hers, intent and piercing. “A pretty, little trophy. The Mother knows you’re the best thing that ever happened to him. He knew that too,” she growls, lips brushing over your own. “Every damn person could see it. You were too good for him.”

You squirm in her grip, trying to jerk away, but she’s so powerful and strong you can never hope to escape. “I. Love. Him.”

“He’s dead,” she snarls back, pulling you closer. “He is dead, mutilated, and buried. Dumped in the ground for the worms to feed on him. What’s left of him.”

“And I still love him more than you,” you spit back.

You know you’ve found your mark when she goes still, features leeching of colour, turning a ghostly shade of white. Fury glitters in her blue-grey eyes, icy rage surfacing, sealing over.

“We were friends, Feyre,” you continue on. “You were the closest I have ever been with someone, and now you keep me in a cage.” Her jaw tightens, but she says nothing. Just staring at you with that fury that has nowhere to go. “You can say what you like about him. Keep telling yourself those lies,” you breathe, nails piercing your skin. “Maybe you think he was ruining me, that he was tearing me apart, but you’re the one who caused me to be like this. You. Are. My ruination.”

The smack comes out of nowhere.

One moment you’re staring into her eyes, and the next your head is snapped to the side, cheek stinging with pain. Vision blurs and tears fall, unable to stop them, no matter how hard you try.

“You will either learn to love us,” she grits out, a cold fire burning in her gaze. “Or you will continue on like this. If you’ll be so stubborn as to waste away over that miserable wretch, then so be it. Drown in your grief.” Again she grips your jaw, crescent shapes surely indented in your skin by now. “But don’t come crying to me when you become so damaged even we won’t tolerate it.”

The moment the words are out of her mouth, regret flashes in her eyes. Pain flares in her gaze, and you feel that final thread be snipped off. The final string connecting a woven tapestry, split into two.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, eyes widening. “I didn’t… You know I didn’t mean that…” She cups your cheeks, staring pleadingly. “Sweetness, forgive me.” She presses her forehead to yours, touching you so gently, reverently, as if you really will shatter.

You jerk away, landing a kick to her stomach, but it merely bumps her away a little—always so much stronger than you. “You’re just like him,” you spit, pushing every ounce of betrayal and hurt you can muster into you eyes. “No, worse. This is so much worse than anything Tamlin ever did to you.”

It’s not a physical smack to the face, but it might as well have been.

Her eyes again grow cold at the mention of her past lover, lip curling. “I am nothing like him,” she snarls, gripping your shoulders.

“Aren’t you?” You snap back, kicking off again—you might be able to get through to her. “Keeping me locked up? Trying to make me dependant on you? Taking away my autonomy?” You spit at her, each word seemingly knocking a brick from that wall. “At least he never raped you.”

The final brick falls, but it doesn’t bring the aid you had hoped for. Instead fury crushes down on you, ire blazing in her eyes, hot like steel fresh from a forge.

You’re thrown to the floor, breath knocking from your lungs, air wheezing from your lips as your head hits the rug with too much force. Your eyes fly wide, paralysed as your stomach spasms with the strength of the shove.

“And here I thought a night with Rhys would have fixed that attitude of yours,” she says icily, walking over to your shackled body. “Where did that come from, huh? You were never so easily agitated before.” She stalks over to you, staring down at your winded body, muscles struggling to move. “Maybe we’re being too soft on you,” she muses, making your blood run cold. “Maybe we need to take a rougher, more absolute approach to breaking you in.”

Feyre’s deft fingers fly to the band of her leggings, pushing them down her thighs, over her calves and off her ankles, leaving her in her shirt and underwear. She steps over your head, looking down your body as you attempt to wriggle away. “It seems the only time you’re at all like your old self is when you’ve got something to do with that lovely mouth of yours,” she growls, squatting over you. Even with your human senses, you can scent her arousal from how close she is.

You squirm away, but she drops down, placing her cunt over your mouth, sealing it shut with her weight. “Much better,” she purrs, thighs spreading as she rolls her hips, clit rubbing over your lips. “You’re so much more enjoyable when you’re just a place for my pussy. So well behaved.”

The High Lady’s hands bury in your dress, and you shriek and squirm as she pulls the fabric away, up to your waist, baring you to her. You squeeze your thighs shut in attempts to hide yourself—they didn’t allow you to wear underwear. That would give you too much dignity. They want you ready at any time.

You twist your head to the side but she shifts her hips, squeezing you with her calves to keep you upright, so she can rub and roll over you to her pleasure. “I think you need the fight beaten out of you. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” Her hand smacks down between your legs, and you scream—with pain and surprise.

Again, you try to squeeze your legs closed, but bands of darkness tug on the shackles attached to your ankles, wrapping up the iron and looping beneath your knees. Forcing your thighs open.

She brings her hand down again, catching your clit beneath bone, and you whimper into her heat. The wet fabric settles over your features, dampening your lips and nose as she grinds onto you, pleasuring herself to your pain. She smacks again, and tears fall.

Feyre doesn’t stop. Spank after spank is landed to your soft, tender sex, until slick is attaching to her fingertips, connecting them to your cunt by thin threads of slippery silver. She snarls with feminine satisfaction, delighting in the way your thighs tremble, how your chest is rapidly rising up and down with your muffled cries. Her middle and forth finger slide down, spreading you wide as she leans down your body, shifting her weight over your face.

The two fingers press to your sopping entrance, before pushing inside, roughly. Sliding up to her knuckles.

She’s pleased when you whimper, nosing at her sopping entrance as you try to squirm away.

“You say you hate us, yet you get this wet from a few harsh touches, sweet thing?” She croons, indulging in the obscene squishing sounds your cunt is making as she slides her fingers in and out. You only whimper, refusing to bow to her will.

Her fingers retract from your cunt, smacking down again, and you scream, jerking violently as the sting lances up your thighs. She lifts up onto her knees, gripping your jaw with the fingers that were just inside of you, arousal smearing your skin. “Come on, sweetness. Tell the truth, for once,” she snarls, lips lifting in a feral grin. “Such a pretty liar.”

Your nose scrunches in distaste, tears rolling back through your hair as she keeps you trapped beneath her cunt, pinned to the rug. “I hate you,” you spit out instead. “I will never love you,” you say, wetness blurring your vision as your chest heaves with sobs.

Her lip pulls back from her teeth as the undersides of her feet slide beneath your head, pulling you up into her cunt as she locks you in, squeezing tight. She releases you long enough for her underwear to vanish, before she’s shoving you back in, wet heat pressing onto you, slicking your mouth and nose.

Again her hand smacks down, and you can’t help the way your lips part in a muffled scream, hands grasping at her as you try to escape, but she pulls you tighter. Can’t breathe.

You sting between your legs, tears spilling as she continues abusing that tender, intimate part of you, pain searing into your tummy as he smacks down on your raw, swollen clit. The world spins a little and you need air, you need to breathe—

Warm, strong hands are pushing her off you, carefully.

You gasp for breath, falling back into the ready arms as cries continue to wrack your body, lungs spasming from the intensity.

Rhysand pulls you to his chest, your back to his front as you shiver and sob, giving you strength to fall into as your own fails you.

Feyre growls in the back of her throat, shifting slowly to face her mate. “Give her to me.”

The words alone drag whimpers from your lips, the little strength you have being used to push yourself back into the male, scrambling into his cruel arms. Arms that are currently holding you so delicately compared to the iron grip she’d just had you in.

You’d always known she was a huntress. Always’d had that slightly wild edge to her, the part that was well-acquainted with cold winters and brutal slaughters. It was different actually facing that part, though. Having it turned on you.

You scramble back further, hands pressing onto the tops of his thighs as you leverage yourself. He’s crouching down, hunching over you possessively. Not quite protective, but not offering you up, either. A strange combination indeed.

Soft, hot lips press to your temple, and you whimper, not having the energy to shift away from him. “I thought she was ours, Feyre, darling,” he purrs, holding you a little tighter to his body. “I’m getting a little jealous over all your time together.”

“Rhys,” she snarls, moving closer.

You snatch your legs in, flinching away from her, curling into the High Lord.

Both of them mark the movement, noting the significance.

You just chose him over her.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you shuffle away from her, burying into Rhysand, burrowing into his warmth and strength. Violet eyes gleam with interest at the pressure you’re creating, as if you want to crawl inside of him, nestle beneath his skin.

“I think you need to calm down,” he says softly but firmly, watching his mate. “You’re scaring her.”

Her brow narrows, but she pauses. “You’re being too soft on her,” she accuses lowly, letters dragging from her tongue. “She’ll never come around if you keep allowing her to sway you like that.” Rhys doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash, hand moving to stroke your hair, as if calming a pet. Strangely, it works.

“You think I’m being soft on her?” He repeats, attention dropping to you, between his thighs. His hand lightly grips your throat, spanning your neck and jaw, allowing him to tip your head back. “Do you think I’m being too soft on you, little lynx?” He asks, violet eyes piercing into your tear-filled ones hungrily.

You shake your head. “No, Rhys,” you whimper, lower lip wobbling, and he feels your heartbeat spike beneath his fingers. He makes a low sound of approval in his throat, eyes flicking back to Feyre’s. “See? So polite,” he drawls, squeezing a little tighter. “So well trained.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Feyre snarls, glowering at the two of you. “If you don’t punish her when she misbehaves, she’ll know she can use that in the future. Are you listening to me?”

His violet eyes have latched onto yours, brows curved upward, expression tired and pleading. He groans in the back of his throat, tightening his hold on you, fingers pressing against your pulse point, pushing tears from the edges of your lashes. “What about you, Feyre, darling?” He asks, gripping your chin so you’re forced to face her. “How would you fair if she gave you those pretty bedroom eyes?”

Blue-grey locks onto your bright, tear-filled gaze and she stiffens.

Rhysand hums. “Thought so.”

Feyre narrows her eyes at her mate. “I don’t like it when she mouths off like that.”

“Well, how about fixing those misconceptions instead of punishing her for them, hm?” He counters, returning to stroking your hair, liking how your sobs subside beneath his touch. “You want to encourage her behaviour?” She snaps irritably, prowling forward a little, making you tense up in his hold.

A low laugh rumbles from his chest at that, but he continues petting you, allowing you to start softening beneath him. “I think our previous method clearly isn’t working. Or rather, it’s worked enough so that now we’re going softer on it, she’ll know the difference. Isn’t that right, little lynx?” You blink bright, gleaming eyes at him, and he smiles.

“If we’re both more gentle with you…would you like that?” He asks, softly stroking your skin. You manage to blink away your tears, getting a hold on your wobbly lower lip. Then you give a near imperceptible dip of your head.

Violet flicks smugly to blue-grey, and you shiver in his arms, wondering what you just signed up for.

“So, we compromise?” She says, drawing your attention to her. “Is that what you want, sweetness? We’ll be more careful with your frail self, and…what? You’ll stop being so difficult?”

“You killed my husband,” you hiss out, weakly. “And you’re upset about me being—”

Faster than you can register, Rhys’ hand has slipped between your thighs. You tense, bracing for another smack that will have a fresh wave of tears surfacing, but instead he softly touches the pad of his finger to your sopping entrance, dragging back up your centre to gently roll over your puffy clit, gliding across the taut bud with ease.

A quiet moan spills from your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut, toes curling as he plays with you. Heat washes over your body, and you hate how you’re reacting to him. How you’re stumbling straight into his lap.

“We’ll be more careful, and she’ll fall open for us,” Rhysand murmurs, smug grin on his curved lips, enjoying how you’re melting at his fingertips. “Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

You try to think it over. Them being more gentle with you means no more nights with the High Lord and his whips. No more biting and unending pleasure torment. Your eyes flick away, dropping to the rug. What if this is the best deal they’ll offer you? What if this is the best it gets? It seems like a way to escape their torture. At least, in a way.

Rhysand hums with satisfaction as your head dips, shame warming your cheeks—because you’re considering it. Considering bargaining with them.

“Either way,” he drawls, hands sliding beneath your arms, pulling you up with him as he stands. You whimper, the intimate area between your legs aching, vision blurring at the edges. “I think you two should do some making up. Isn’t that right, sweetness?” He grips you tightly as he guides you from the cage, toward their large bed. Fear spikes in your blood, and you try to dig your feet into the ground, attempting to push away from the haunting structure.

“Uh, uh, uh,” the High Lord tuts, stopping behind you. “I thought you were going to be good for us.” Darkness swirls at your feet, humming and lulling, imploring you to follow his movements. Your toes curl, pressing back into him. “This is wrong…” you whimper, trembling beneath his hands.

You try to turn, and he lets you, keeping a light grip on your hips. “This isn’t right, Rhys,” you say softly, peering up at him pleadingly. He takes a step forward, and you obediently yield. Take a subconscious step back. “What isn’t? What are right and wrong, really?” He counters, taking another sweeping step forward, and you’re aware of the bed closing in on you.

“This,” you say, emphasising as you flick your gaze over him. “I don’t—… How else can I make it clear?” You cry. “I don’t want this. Either of you. I never have. Not like this.” The mattress presses against the back of your thighs, and you stiffen. Your time is up.

He takes a final step forward, so you’re tight against him, hips digging into you, chest to chest, craning your neck upward. “I think you’re lying, again.” And with that, he’s grabbing you by the waist, lifting you up and tossing you onto the mattress with terrifying ease. You squirm and scramble but darkness has already constrained you, tying you to their bed as hunger darkens his violet eyes.

“Like I said, I think you two need a little make up session. Get nice and messy,” he purrs, prowling round the bed, only to settle behind you. His arms wrap over your tummy, pulling you back into him, so you can feel the firm hardness of his length. You writhe, attempting to contort away from his dominating hold.

A secret conversation passes between the High Lord and Lady, then she’s slinking forward, pushing your legs open. You whimper, squirming away in fear of what she’s going to do to you. You’re so sore and sensitive…

“Behave,” she snaps, brow narrowing at you in silent reprimand. Rhys snarls in warning, but she snarls back. Blue-grey eyes flick from his in favour of yours, and you shrink away, a whine building in your throat as they pierce into you. “Feyre…” you plead softly. You need her to be gentle, or…

Something in her features softens, and she uses a slight bit less force as she spreads your legs, baring your gleaming heat to her. “Want me to be careful, sweet thing?” She asks lowly, the pads of her fingers pressing into your thighs. Your lower lip wobbles, but you nod, slowly. “Not going to get in my way? Not going to try and stop me?” She drawls, settling comfortably on the bed, mouth prone to attack your clit. You shake your head, muscles tensing the closer she draws.

“No? You’re going to let yourself enjoy it, this time?” She purrs, hot breath brushing over your heat. It’s her own sort of test—to see if you’re really willing to compromise. So you nod, dutifully, praying for forgiveness.

Her eyes spark, locking on yours as she delivers a small lick to your inner thigh, nipping at the skin. Rhys hardens further at your back. “Say it. Tell me you’ll enjoy it. Say how you like it when we do this to you.” Again, there’s a warning growl from Rhys, and your heart drops.

Feyre’s lips quirk, and she moves a little closer to your heat, a wolf circling in on her prey. “Go on,” she goads, “tell me how much you want me.”

“Feyre…” the High Lord warns, her name ripping from the back of his throat. “I thought you wanted us to make up, Rhys,” she snaps, “these are my terms. Either she can accept them, or…” She leans forward, lips latching over your heat so he’s unable to see as her teeth tug on your clit.

You flinch, whimpering, but push your legs wider. “I…” you stammer, softly, hands fisting over your stomach, still slumped against Rhys. “I’ll enjoy it,” you whimper, thighs shaking with the effort of not trying to close them. “I won’t— I won’t try to stop you. And I…” you swallow, arriving upon the hardest part. Tears blur your vision, but you blink them away. “And I like it when you do this to me. I want it.”

Rhys’ hips roll into you, grinding the hardness of his cock into your backside, groaning softly. Feyre’s eyes gleam with delicious satisfaction, removing her teeth from your sensitive skin, licking gently over your slick heat. “That’s better,” she says, kissing your clit softly.

You whimper, trying to ignore your words as they replay in your head, bringing one hand to your mouth, knuckles pressing over your lips. It’s an effort to keep your thighs spread with how sensitive you are, but you don’t have a choice in the matter. She’s lapping and licking, gentle flicks of her tongue sending warm zaps of arousal to your centre.

The High Lord noses your neck, hot lips brushing the sensitive skin as he moans quietly, a lustful exhale of breath. “What lovely things would you say for us, hm?” He asks, canines scraping the shell of your ear. “What sweet sounds could you make?”

You shiver in his arms, sorrowfully tipping your head to the side, giving him unrestricted access to your throat. He takes the offer eagerly, mouth attaching to your smooth skin, already sucking bruises into you, teeth scraping as he searches for a spot he wants to bite. Where he wants to stamp his mark into you, to be seen later. Serving as a reminder.

Feyre shifts, tucking her knees beneath her as she slides her fingers into you, the warm, wet muscle in her mouth swiping over your clit, making you bite back a moan. She suckles the taut bud, soothing the stinging from earlier and you push your teeth into your knuckles.

The High Lord sees, and doesn’t approve.

His hand grips your wrist, pulling it from your mouth as she curls her fingers against a certain spot. A high-pitched whine spills from your lips, and he finally bites down, canines pressing into the soft skin of your throat, printing his mark on you. “Don’t hide those sounds from us,” he scolds, roughly yanking your hand from your mouth.

You attempt to seal your lips, clenching your jaw shut, but they have other plans.

Rhys tugs your dress higher, darkness swirling around your bodice, then it vanishes. You squeal, attempting to cover yourself with your arms. Even now, even after all these times, you hate it. He shoves your hands away, tutting softly, “now, now. You said you’d be good. Or shall I let Feyre have free reign for the night?”

You sob weakly, coil tightening in your belly, resisting the urge to cover yourself, spreading yourself wider in attempts to make up for it. Feyre nips at your clit, and you hiss. The taut bud is sore and swollen, puffy from attention, every flick of her tongue sending sparks burning between your legs.

“Mm sorry…” you manage, opening yourself up to the senses, the pleasure she’s putting into you. “Yeah? You’re sorry for disobeying? For hiding yourself from us?” He purrs beside your ear, hands cupping your breasts as you squirm against him. He groans as your rear presses against his cock, the seam rubbing against him almost painfully. Deliciously so.

You nod, palms settling over his thighs, needing something to hold on to. “Say it,” he groans roughly. “Say how much you like it. How badly you want us to touch you.” Tears spill, rolling down your cheeks from the torrent of emotions they’re subjecting you to.

“Rhys…” you beg desperately. “Rhys, please…” You don’t want to say it. Don’t want to give them another word. Even if they were once your everything. He raises his fingers to your mouth, pushing them onto your tongue firmly, coating them in saliva. “Say it,” he commands softly, stroking the wet muscle. “Say it, or we’ll have to go back to our old methods.”

His wet digits retract from your lips, brushing over your nipples, making them peak, becoming sensitive to the air. You attempt to crane your head back, but are unable to with him so close behind. “Rhys…” you whimper, tears dripping onto your chest, Feyre eagerly suckling your clit, pumping and curling her fingers against spots she shouldn’t know about.

The High Lord tugs on your nipples, making your eyes squeeze shut, spine arching as your rear presses harder onto his cock, straining against the seam of his trousers. “Say it,” he growls, low in his throat, “say you like it. Tell us you want more.” His teeth scrape over the shell of your ear, and you flinch. “And make it believable.”

Feyre’s tongue swipes over your clit, making you squirm against the pleasure, deft fingers dragging in and out, rubbing against your inner walls.

“I…”

The High Lady adds more pressure between your legs, and your muscles go weak, melting into Rhys’ chest as your eyes roll back. Dizzy with warmth. In the back of your mind, you think you can feel his lips lift into a hellish grin, watching from a far corner in your head as one of his hands leaves you, trailing down over your tummy.

Feyre pulls away, a mix of slick and saliva connecting her mouth to your heat as Rhys’ hand takes her place. Her fingers are still pumping and curling, and that heat is still building, and you’re almost entirely relaxed against him.

That is, until he presses the pad of his middle finger hard over the tip of your clit, soreness blaring through your mind.

You squeal, panting and writhing, pushing her fingers deeper into your cunt, letting them touch sensitive, more intimate spots that have small moans spilling breathlessly from you. “Rhys…” you beg, eyes squeezed shut as your nails dig into the muscle of his thighs.

“I’m not stopping until you say it,” he says roughly, slowly oscillating his finger over your clit, the soreness sending blinding white flashing behind your eyelids and your hips buck. Feyre’s free forearm slides over your abdomen, pinning you to the mattress as you try to roll down onto her fingers.

“Come on,” he goads, amusement lilting his honeyed voice. “Just a few words, and I’ll stop.” The circles tighten, Feyre’s fingers brushing against spots you feel she’s intentionally targeting. “Say it, or I’ll make it worse,” he laughs darkly.

You whimper, mind spinning as you attempt to remember the words he’d ordered you to speak. Struggling to form them on your tongue. Heat builds; the coil tightens. “Rhys…” you moan, hips trying to buck up but she’s keeping you down. All you can do is take them. Every thing they force onto you.

Your lips part, head tipping back as you slide lower down the mattress. “I…I want more,” you whisper, heart splitting as tears drip down your cheeks, wetting your skin. “I—” You cut yourself off with a moan, nails biting harder into Rhys’s thighs and you wonder if he can even feel it. Maybe he enjoys it.

“Come on,” he urges, “just a bit more, then this can all stop.” You don’t want it to stop.

Fuck, you don’t want it to stop.

The realisation slams into you right as Rhys pinches your clit, and the loudest moan yet bursts from your lips. Your hands scramble about, searching for purchase frantically, trying to grip onto something as you feel the wave crest.

“F…Feyre…” you whimper, squirming and writhing. They hold you tighter, restricting your movements and louder sobs spill from your lips. “Please…please, please more.” Rhys’ breath catches and Feyre’s eyes flick to you, each of them memorising the way you move, the desperate jerks as you try to shift how you want.

“That’s it,” the High Lord breathes, letting up on your sensitive clit, only for Feyre to latch on in his stead. “So good. That’s our girl. So well—”

They let you go long enough to move.

You push up and flip over before his hands have your hips in a bruising grip. You cry out from pain but crawl further up his body, arms shooting over his shoulders as you press into him. His violet eyes widen marginally before your mouth opens over his, the echo of pain still reverberating around your thighs.

Feyre reattaches her mouth to your cunt, switching her fingers and her teeth as her tongue pushes against your entrance, thumb pressing into your clit, her nail scraping over the swollen bud. Your nipples graze his chest, and you shatter right then and there—with his fingertips still digging into the softness of your hips.

Your hips wind against her, hands threading in Rhys’ blue-black hair, the thick, silky locks feeling good between your fingers. Your hands fist as you pull him closer, and he groans—a sound deep within his chest. You feel it resonate into your own as his tongue flicks out, stroking over yours as he pushes after you. His canines catch on your lower lip and you moan, sweetly.

You don’t have the time to face what you’ve done as the aftershocks fade, taking the remnants of your strength with them, leaving you with mere scraps of energy.

Arms give out, and you collapse onto him, Rhys lying back on the pillows as he basks in the reassuring weight of your body against his. Quiet pants whisper from your lips as you remain stretched out over the High Lord, void of any clothing, mind still blank from the orgasm.

Feyre presses a kiss to your entrance, before dragging herself away from your heat, trailing a pathway up your spine until she’s draped over you. You feel the full press of her breasts against your back, and subconsciously arch your spine, curving into her shape so you can mould together.

Her lips press to your neck, and a soft sound of pleasure hums from your mouth, a quiet breath of ecstasy.

Rhys’s arms wrap around the both of you, making sure you remain tucked between them.

Right where you belong.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Feysand Taglist: @girlmadeofavocados @zara-aliza

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark! Feysand x Human! Reader: Tag, You’re It[***]

A/N: I have no words for how much I love this ask

Summary: eenie, meenie, miny, mo, catch a lady by her toes, if she screams don’t let her go.

Warnings: Non-con, smut, breeding kink, mean Dom!Rhys, dark!Feysand, mentions of rape, slight predator play, slight necrophilia (cut off fingers), mentions of torture, 7.5k words

Necrophilia part follows from: ‘He’ll never put his hands on you again.

Well…’

“I—…what?”

The High Lady stiffens at your shocked tone. Almost horrified. Besides her, Rhysand’s eyes sharpen, piercing into you. She sucks in a calming breath. “We can get rid of your husband, you won’t have to live here anymore. With him.”

Your lips part in shock, both of their eyes following so keenly that you snap your mouth shut. “I love my husband,” you utter. “And this home is one we built together.” Silver lines your eyes as you try to summon anger but all you feel is betrayal. “I understand it’s nowhere near your level of wealth,” you flush, eyes hot, “but my husband and my house are both very dear to me. I will not leave them.”

“Just give us a chance,” Feyre whispers, gently, reaching to settle her palm over yours but you jerk back. Pain flashes through her grey-blue eyes before she smothers it. “No!” You keep your hand close to your chest, leaning away from her in the chair. “I’ve told you very clearly, High Lady—” Feyre stills at the title, in replace of her name, “—I love my husband, and he loves me. We’ve grown together throughout the years and there’s no one I would be happier to spend my life with. Besides,” you add, voice quieting as your eyes pierce into the female’s, “we’ve decided to try for a child. By this time next year I will have a baby to look after.”

She actually flinches at the line. A reminder of how fae bodies take longer to reproduce, how slim the chances are. A private worry she had confided in you, many moons ago. The High Lord’s eyes narrow, thinking about all the ways he could make you submit to them. Rhysand watches as you raise from your chair, tension rippling across his chest as you move to the door. It would be so easy to sink into your mind, slide through your mental shields and force you to your knees.

But his mate is still young and would not approve of his darker methods. He needs to find a way around the obstacle of morality, and quickly. Before you leave and things begin to get messy. Who would’ve guessed you’d be so loyal to your scummy husband? Anger burns across his chest at the thought alone. How you could put up with the man was beyond him. He knew the two of them would treat you infinitely better than he ever could. You just needed your eyes opened, to see their side.

The High Lord is brought out of his mind when Feyre stands from her chair, striding after you on her elegantly fae legs, swallowing the distance. Her movements are sharp, precise. No soft edges to be found. Her mind is hardened and he sends a question across the bond. It rebounds off a wall of glittering, black adamant, so pure his talons hardly leave a scratch.

Her hands land on your hips and you flinch when she spins you around, shoving you against the unopened door. “It wasn’t a request,” her words are lethally soft, warmth freezing over as ice slices through her eyes. “I was giving you an order.” Then her hands pin you to to the exit, holding you still by the sweep of your bones, and her mouth crushes down on your own.

You completely freeze, caught in the crossfire as you still. Your mind blanks with utter terror as she forces her tongue between your lips, tasting you as she growls. The sound has your hairs standing on end, tingling sensitivity erupting across your skin as her mouth overlaps your own.

The High Lord’s eyes widen, shock coursing through his blood as he watches, enraptured. His mate keeps you against the door, taking what she wants. Then she’s pulling back, a silver thread of saliva connecting your lips as you stare up at her. “Rhys,” she commands, and you’re paralysed as the male stands, exuding malice as he prowls forward, settling at her back. He towers over the both of you, and his violet eyes gleam with dark delight.

“Yes, my lady?” He drawls, hands settling at her waist, hunching over as he settles his chin on the elegant slope of her shoulder. Both of their hungry eyes remain on you, pinning you to the door like an insect to a dissection table. “Bedroom. Now.” Her voice cuts through the air, like a freshly forged blade through a narrow sheet of ice.

He presses a kiss to the space below her jaw, hands dancing over the lace at her sides. Violet eyes pierce into you before he vanishes, wisped away in a plume of shadows. Your eyes turn to the female’s, afraid, “Feyre—”

“‘Feyre’, now.” Her expression is stony, blue-grey eyes thunderous. “I thought you were content to address me as High Lady,” she spits out. You cower before her, power straining in the air, the metallic tinge shoving itself up your nostrils.

You swallow, raising your hands slowly in surrender, “I swear, I didn’t mean to offend—”

Her hand grips you jaw and you cry out, her nails biting into the soft skin of your cheek, “don’t back out now,” she croons, “you said what you wanted to. Chose your path.” Silver lines your eyes as terror screams in your blood. Her lips brush over yours as she leans down, eyes hard and unforgiving, “you dug your grave, now lie in it.”

Her lips once again crash over yours and you cry out, tears free-falling from your eyes, pouring down your cheeks as you try to scream. One hand snakes around your hip, keeping you still with her overwhelming strength. Her other snakes between your legs, fingers dancing through the fabric of your skirts, settling against your bare heat. She completely dominates your mouth, even as you thrash, her teeth nipping at your lips, tongue conquering your own as she shoves you into submission.

A growl rumbles across her breastbone as she feels wetness at your entrance. The heel of her palm rubs over your clit as you try to scream for her to stop, to get away from you. Two of her fingers dip into your cunt and you cry harder, writhing against her grip even if it’s utterly useless to attempt to escape her. She’s brilliantly, powerfully fae, and you’re undeniably, detrimentally human.

Your hands slide away from trying to shove her off, instead scraping at the door. If you can just find the handle—

The wood gives way behind you, allowing you to stumble back, crashing to the floor as your legs give out. She’s silhouetted in the frame, unusually tall, proportions too elongated to pass as human. Sharp talons protrude from her fingertips, glinting in the light. She snarls, and all it takes is that first step across the threshold that has you scrambling to your feet, sprinting down the hallways. An animal growl echoes along the corridor behind you, bouncing off the walls as your feet pound against the floor boards.

You swerve left, careen right, hit the stairs. You practically leap down them as you hear her following after you. Her steps are slow, leisurely, but you hear the menacing scrape of claws along wallpaper. It grates on your ears and you’re surprised you don’t trip with how weak your legs feel.

You fling a door open, dashing inside as you search for the final set of stairs to lead you down to the ground floor. It’s another hallway. There’s no time. You sprint down it, feeling the pressure of power in the air as she gains on you. You nearly trip on a rug but keep your balance, zipping down the corridors until you find a set of stairs. They only lead up.

Her footsteps echo on the dark mahogany floors, the deep red rugs doing nothing to soften their harsh thud. She’s practically behind you.

You take the stairs three at a time, breathing hard as you turn right at the top, searching for a place to hide. You run down more corridors with dark floorboards, more hallways with red rugs. Shit. You must’ve gotten turned around. Were you even on the first floor?

Where are you, little traitor?

The High Lady’s voice slices through your mind and you clutch your temples, the sound much too loud. It must mean she’s close. Fuck. You stumble along the narrowing hallways, but trip, sprawling on the floor. Pushing up, you see the loom of her shadow around the corner, lurking just out of sight. You turn on your heel, arms pumping at your sides, heart pounding in your chest.

You round a final corner and you know you can’t continue for much longer. Your throw open a door, spinning on your heel as you make sure to shut it as quietly as possible. You can’t hear it over the thunderous beat of your heart. In your peripherals, you can see your hands shaking as you release the handle, backing up on your tiptoes.

Powerful arms slide around your waist, pulling you tight against a strong chest, “there you are, little lynx.” You scream, pushing away from him as you turn. A vicious grin plays on his hellish mouth, stalking forward until you’re cornered against the wall. Your lungs are burning as you again reach for the handle, but it’s gone.

Disbelievingly, you stare at the flat wood, no sign to be found it was ever there. “What did you do?” You stammer, tears brimming at your eyes as his grin widens. “I didn’t do a single thing. That was all her.” You shrink away from him as he leans down, arms wrapping around your middle, the broad length of his shoulder pressing against your stomach.

Screams tear from your lips as he hoists you into the air with casual ease. You don’t weigh a thing to him. “Let me go!” You cry, slamming your hands into his back, aiming either side of his spine. He flings you down atop a wide mattress. Your marital bed, you realise. “Please, Rhys. My husband! What of my life!?” Your desperate pleas fall on deaf ears as his grin widens with pleasure.

“Keep still,” he drawls, arms folding over his powerful chest and you can’t find the will to move. It’s been taken from you. “I’m sure she’ll be along in a moment to decide what to do with you.” Tears blur your vision, and a moment later, the door swings open. A shiver licks up the High Lord’s spine as he sets his gaze on his mate, who is thrumming with dark power. Embracing the Night.

You scramble back on the bed, up to the headboard, pressing into the corner as she prowls across the room. Her talons glitter in the fading light, the room awash with blues and greys as darkness descends. “You want to make this difficult, little traitor?” She spits, standing at the end of the mattress. You shake your head, mouth trembling as your hands shake.

The grey-blue of her eyes shutter at your answer. “Come here.” One slim finger points to the spot directly in front of her. You swallow, tremors wracking your muscles but you manage to sporadically push forward. Maybe you should listen to her, get her out of that cold, wrathful state. Hands settling shakily into the sheets, you crawl forward, stopping before her as you sit back on your calves, kneeling placatingly.

“Rhys,” she addresses, never taking her cold eyes from you, “sit down.” He follows her orders, taking one of the comfortable armchairs facing the bed. He sprawls across the seat as if it’s a throne, long legs crossing over one another as he settles for the show.

Feyre’s claws retract, hand fisting in your hair sternly. “Eyes on me.” Instantly, you return you gaze to her, and her grip lessens. “Will you be good for me?” The question slices through your tender threads of hope. Your lower lip wobbles, but you nod. You just need an opening. Maybe you can throw yourself out the window.

The High Lady’s eyes pierce into you, staring deep into your soul. “Kiss me,” she commands, and you still.

“W—…what?”

“Prove you’ll be good. Kiss me. Show me you mean it.” Her brow narrows, “unless you’re lying.”

“Fey—” She glowers at the pet name you’ve had for her. “Feyre. Please.” Your hands raise to settle on her hips, holding her in reverent supplication, bowing your head, appealing to the friend you’d once had. “Maybe, if my husband could—”

She snarls, cutting you off as she jerks your head upright. “That useless sack of meat doesn’t deserve you.” You swallow down your tears at the way she speaks about the man you love, heart stinging, wishing he could be here to hold you. You were so close to your happy ever after. “But if he could just come with me! Then…then maybe…” You meet her gaze heart sinking. “You can have me.”

A thunderous growl resonates throughout the dark room and you try to shrink from her, hands pulling away as if stung. “The next time you mention him, I’ll kill him myself.” Despair wracks your heart, shuddering within its boney cage. You fling your arms around her in a last effort to summon forward the gentle friend you’d had, your closest companion, the one who you had thought you’d listen to above anyone else. Her word had been law unto you, until she’d changed.

“Please, Fey,” you sob weakly, shuddering in her arms. She stiffens under your touch, finally feeling your skin against hers as she’d dreamt about for so long. She can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the full press of your breasts against her own, the soft tickle of breath over her shoulder as your arms grip her tightly. As if you’re scared to let go of her. “I know you’re in there…” Hot droplets land on the bare expanse of her shoulder, pooling in the dip of her collar bone. “So please, come back to me. I miss you so much. Come back, Fey…”

Her hands brace your waist, gently pulling you from her. You settle back onto your knees, hands flat against her neck, just below her jaw as you look at her with dim hopefulness. You watch as her eyes glaze, in discussion with her mate. When she speaks, her voice has softened, something of her old kindness lighting the icy grey of her eyes. “Why do you love him?”

Tears spill as hope lights in your chest. “He completes me, Fey. Like how you say Rhys completes you. I can’t—…without him, I… I wouldn’t be me, Fey. He makes me whole.” You look up at her with pleading eyes, her own softening just a fraction. “It’ll pass,” she soothes, hand landing atop your head with a feather-light touch, stroking your hair calmingly.

“What…?”

Sadness lies in the depth of her dark gaze, “you’ll recover from him. Like I did from Tamlin. You’ll get better. My sweet girl…just let us help you.” The spark dims, snuffed out by her words. Then the torrent of emotions rain down on you as your hands fist in the collar of her low cut dress, pulling yourself up until you’re chest to chest. “How would you feel, Feyre?” You shout at her, tears pouring down your cheeks as you feel like you’re being cleaved in two. “What would you do if someone tried to take you away from Rhys? How would you feel if they tried to force you like you’re doing to me?”

“Why have one when they could have both?” She murmurs, looking deep into your eyes. You shake your head as her own hands slide adoringly up your sides, cupping your jaw. “No…that’s not… You’re not listening to me!”

“I drink in every word you give me, treasure every moment of your company in the chambers of my memory,” she breathes over your lips. You’re sucked into her mind, swallowed as she shows you yourself through her eyes. When you and your husband were struggling badly and you’d broken down, crying and shaking in her arms. When she’d tried to leave you alone on your birthday, thinking you’d want to share it with the man you claimed to love. Yet you had snuck out - after dark - to her own mansion in the human lands, where you knew she had made the journey to in order to at least be around to celebrate.

Her memories swarmed your mind, tainting the once dear images with a sinister gleam, a lurking presence waiting for the right moment to pounce.

The High Lady sees that same look in your eyes as the night you’d confessed to skipping meals to ration food over the harsh winter, the despair. The doubt you’d survive. She doesn’t want to hurt you, but she knows you’ll be better away from him. You just need the bandage ripped off, like what Rhys had done for her when he’d saved her from the Spring Court. She’d been dissonant at first, but had come back to life under his care.

And they could do the same for you. Nurture and guide you until you were healed of your husband’s marks. Until you wouldn’t question a lone grave dug in your back garden in the house you would leave behind. For them. They could keep you as you are, take you into their home, welcome you to their bed. She knows it will take a while, months perhaps for you to come to terms, to understand the past, but the time will come. Second by agonising second.

“But he loves me, Fey. I can’t leave him behind. He’s my husband.”

She doesn’t remind you of the threat she’s made. Of the promise she will now fulfil.

“I love you!” She snarls, pressing her forehead against your own. “We…Both of us. Rhys and I…we love you so much it hurts.” You stare up at her with wide eyes, stunned. Your head shakes subtly, trying to deny her. “We do, sweet girl,” she agonises, “you’re everything to us. The sun, the moon, all the stars. They’re nothing to you. Our Court, our people, our realm. We would pick you over them a hundred— forever.”

“No…” you whimper, hands going slack at your sides.

“We’ll take care of you. You’ll never be without a meal. Never sleep alone at night. Never worry you won’t survive a season ever again. We can be your stability. Just let us have you.”

“Fey…”

She pulls you to her mouth, swallowing down your pained whimpers as she drinks you down. Her hand twines around your waist, pulling your middle against hers. Your hands settle just above her chest, weakly pushing away from her.

She comes back harder, making you lean back in her arms, allowing her to splay you out on your own marital bed. When she pulls away, you’re panting, heart pounding. Through teary eyes you peer up at her, “you can’t do this, Fey…” you whimper, voice cracking, “you’re supposed to be my friend… You’re not supposed to…use me, like this.”

“We’re not going to use you, sweet girl,” she breathes over your lips, “we’re going to love you.” You shake your head frantically, attempting to pull away from her treacherous mouth, “but I don’t want that!”

“You will… You just need to understand. See how much better we can treat you. You’ll be bathing in pleasure before you know it. You’ll never want to leave our bed.”

You move to protest but a scent catches your attention, deep and musky. The High Lady’s eyes glaze, pausing as she speaks to her mate. You take the precious seconds to prepare yourself for the inevitable. They’re going to take you. On your marriage bed. You bite the inside of your lip, trying to prevent the tears.

Her eyes regain their life, sadness in their depths. “I’m sorry it had to happen this way.” Her lips brush against yours, a shudder slithering down your spine that she misinterprets. Her nose brushes you own in what’s supposed to be an affectionate gesture.

The High Lord raises from his chair. He’s seen enough. Now it’s time to partake.

You stiffen as he prowls closer, eyes widening as you stare up at the female. “You’re not…” you trail off, looking at her, stunned. “You’re going to let him rape me?”

Her eyes soften slightly. “We love you, sweet girl. It’s not rape.”

“My husband loves me, and yet he—!” Your eyes snap wide, hands slapping over your mouth as you freeze, terror icing your veins as they both still. “I didn’t— that—… I’m sorry…”

“He did what?” Fury sluices through the room as it blazes in her cold eyes. Their lips pull back from their teeth, rage burning in the air. You shake your head desperately, trying to swallow back the words you’ve already spat out. Talons slice from her fingernails as her canines sharpen, pupils slitting with pure outrage.

“I’m going to slaughter him,” she realises, breathing the violent words onto your lips. You flinch. “No…” you whimper, “Fey, you don’t understand…! He was drunk! He didn’t know what he was doing!” You cry. The High Lady moves to pull away from you but your arms grip over her shoulders, legs clasping around her waist. She just pulls you with her as she stands. Feyre barely even registers your weight as she steps away from the bed.

Your thighs squeeze her hips as you try not to fall, burying your face into her hair. “It was only once…he didn’t mean to. I know he didn’t. I don’t think he even remembers it.” Her body stiffens as you cry into her shoulder. Like you’ve done so many times before. And it feels familiar. A warm breath of summer air in the depths of a Winter Court snowstorm.

But your confession plays over and over again in her mind, a curse on repeat. “Rhys,” she murmurs, summoning her mate. They exchange glances, coming to an agreement. Strong arms sneak around your waist, holding your back to his chest as Feyre steps from your arms. Panic tears through you as you struggle against his iron grip. “No!” You rasp, voice breaking, “you mustn’t! You can’t kill him!”

She plants a kiss to your forehead, brushing away free strands of hair. “I’ll be back. Rhys’ll look after you,” she murmurs against your mouth and you cry. “I don’t want him! I don’t want either of you! I want my husband!”

“Don’t say that,” the male speaks from behind you, making you jump in his arms, “you want us to be gentle, don’t you?” The High Lady snarls, shooting him a threatening look. You can practically feel the smirk on his hellish mouth.

“If you hurt her…” Feyre snarls, and for a second, you think you see part of the old her shining through. Then the High Lord presses a placating kiss to your cheek, soothing his mate. “Now, do you want to deal with him, or should I?” He spits, and you know who they’re talking about. You attempt to crawl out of his arms but his head dips again, littering kisses to the slope of your neck.

You whine as you try to scrabble away, out of his dominating hold, desperately trying to escape the invasive press of something hard at your lower back. His hips roll against yours and a startled whimper that sounds a bit too much like a moan flies from your lips. Both of them still. You can feel their penetrating gazes piercing into you, willing you to repeat the sound for them. They’ve gotten a taste, now they want more.

The High Lady steps forward, cupping your jaw as she affectionately lays kisses to your cheeks and nose, as if kissing invisible dots. “Rhys’ going to take care of you while I’m gone. Okay, sweet girl?” You look at her pleadingly. “Please…” your heart pumps as you feel him twitch at the whimper. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone with him.”

Feyre kisses the bridge of your nose comfortingly. “He won’t be mean to you, sweetness. Just try to get along and everything will be fine. He won’t hurt you.” Tears spill down your cheeks as you try to grab for her. It’s a no-brainer to pick her over the High Lord who’s been ruling for centuries. You have no doubt he has near depthless experience in breaking those he views as heretics, bending them to his will.

Despite everything, Feyre still holds an modicum of safety to her person. Rhysand seems to view morality as a loose guideline if it gets in the way of what he wants. And right now, he wants you.

She puts a kiss to your lips and - praying to the mother for forgiveness - you kiss her back, desperately trying to sway her mind so she’ll stay. She moans, but pulls away, leaving your mouth cold. “I’ll be back to join before you know it. But for now,” her eyes turn ice blue, jaw tightening, “I’m going to deal with that man.”

And like that, she vanishes, leaving you alone with the monster at your back. He noses at your throat scenting you, picking up on something he likes. “That was mean, little lynx,” he mutters begrudgingly beside your ear. You shudder, and he forcefully guides you back to the bed. Rhysand pushes you forward, making you tumble down onto the mattress, bent over.

Frantically, your hands scramble for purchase, attempting to wriggle away from him but his large hands grip your hips. “Rhys…” you whimper into the sheets, too afraid to look at him. A deep groan resonates in his chest, grabbing you tight as he lifts you onto the bed, forcefully enough that your arms give out, sticking your ass in the air. You move to lift your upper half from the bed, but something prevents you—a dark power that laces around your muscle and bone, threading narrowly through cartilage.

You’re stuck, face pressing into the sheets, hind perking up.

Hairs raise all across your body as his fingers trail up your calves, catching on the material of your dress as he eases it up over the backs of your thighs. You struggled when he pushes it over your ass, revealing the thin slip of material that clings desperately to your hips.

“Rhysand…” you weep into the mattress. You don’t even know what you’re trying. If Fey hadn’t budged, there’s no way you could convince him. He shushes you—surprisingly gently. Horridly so. He shifts behind you on the bed, and you feel the invasive press of something between you—

“Rhys!” You scream. His hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, pulling you back against his face as he inhales. “Rhys! Stop that!” You cry, hips wiggling as you attempt to squirm away from him. His grip only tightens, and a soundless scream tears from your throat as he hooks his fae fingers beneath your underwear, pulling it away. Then he’s pressing straight back in, nose flush against your slick hole, mouth prone to attack your clit. It flicks out, gently, testing you out.

You feel the serpentine grin on his hellish mouth, before his lips part over you, groaning as his silver-tipped tongue gilds your glossy cunt.

Shame and mortification thrill inside of you at how quickly he has you unravelling on him. Tears wet the sheets, hot and salty. He moans at your taste, finally raising from between your legs, only to mount you like a whore.

A new wave of terror splits down your throat as you feel him against your ass. One powerful arm loops around your middle, the other snaking beneath your jaw so he can brush his words over your mouth. “That wasn’t so bad, was it, little lynx?” He lifts you so you’re on your hands and knees, back curving in an attempt to relieve the press of his skin anywhere from your body.

The High Lord’s grip tightens on your jaw, and you’re worried he’ll fracture the bone. “That damned husband of yours ever treated this cunt so good?” You don’t even try to move, fearful he’ll snap something. You wince as his grip strengthens, and panic floods your body. You attempt to squirm free of his grip, but your ass ends up pushing back into his hips, a growl sounding in his chest at the action.

“That desperate to have her treated well, huh?”

You swallow, jerking away from him. He releases you suddenly, chuckling to himself as you fall forward into the bed. Immediately, you’re rolling onto your back, scrambling up the bed to get away from him. The High Lord prowls after you, cornering you when your back presses against the wall, slotting himself between your thighs. He’s so much larger than your human form, deadly power writhing in the dark halo of shadow that surrounds him.

“Come on,” he chides, cupping your jaw as you squeeze your eyes shut, blocking him out any way you can. He makes a noise of displeasure, before his soft, cruel mouth lands over your own. A whimper slides from your throat as he nips at your lips, tongue flicking out carefully. You try not to thing about what that flavour is. “Open up for me.”

With a shake of your head, the tears fall and you feel the hot, wet trace of his tongue dancing over your cheek, lapping up the salty paths. When he reaches the damp underside of your lashes, you flinch away, peering up at him. “There you go,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the cleft of your cheek. “Stop struggling, and this will all be so much more enjoyable for you.”

Your lower lip trembles, but you say nothing. You’ve used up all your pleading words, all your exploring supplications. There’s no way to appeal to them, they’ve set their minds of you. Maybe you should just give up, as they say. Just let them have you. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad…

You hiss as you suck in a breath, realising what he was doing. Before he could fully grasp your mind, you spat at him, aiming just below his violet eye. It widened, staring at you in vague shock. He lifted one hand to his cheek, thumb swiping at the saliva as he wiped it away. The trembling swallowed your whole body as his eyes turned back to you, filled with cold violence. No more warmth. No more gentleness.

Good.

You could go down swinging.

A snarl thundered throughout the room as shadows engulfed the bed, obscuring your vision. You screamed when his mouth opened over your throat, viciously biting at the junction of your neck and shoulder. His teeth scrape over your clavicle, menacingly. His hands wrap beneath your ass, tugging you toward him as you’re manoeuvred into his lap, still rendered blind.

Through the darkness, you try to shove at him, at least pierce him with your nails. Maybe if you could find his eyes, you could dig into them. The menacing click of talons could be heard through the shadows, and you nearly froze with petrifaction as the glittering claws sliced, slowly, down your spine. The material of your clothes peel away the further he splits them. A ripping sound comes from behind you and you know it’s the last of your dress being shredded as he pushes it from your body.

Your hands find his shoulders and you raise them to his jaw, nails biting down into his skin, one thumb catching beneath his upper lip—and you nearly slice yourself on his canines. He snarls, and then you’re lifted from his lap, only to be pushed back down.

You scream bloody murder as his cock glides into you easily. You writhe and thrash against him, but every movement causes him to shift inside of you, making your inner muscles flex. He forces you down into the mattress, large hands tipped with glittering talons pinning you painfully. “You were rather cruel to my mate earlier, weren’t you, little lynx?” Rhysand drawls, tone dripping with malevolent vengeance. “Gloating how easily your human body can sustain life?” You whimper at the reminder. “I didn’t mean it,” you sniffle, eyes burning, “it wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

“Uh, uh, uh. You said what you said, little liar. You know it upsets her, how slim our chances are, as High Fae.” You hiss as he draws his hips back, rolling them against yours. “So how about I put a baby in you instead, huh?”

————

Every second away from you is another second of torture, but she calms herself by scratching the itch. Her talons are glittering with blood, his eyes plucked clean out, mouth petrified into an eternal scream, a wound in his ribs surrounded by shredded flesh where his heart had been pulled from the cage of bone. His fingers are tucked away in the pocket of her pants.

It made her feel a little better, that he’d never lay a hand on you again.

Still.

She’d been gone too long, enjoying herself too much in tearing the man apart with her fae strength, and had forgotten you’d been left with her mate. The High Lady hisses in frustration. She’d wanted to be there, take part in the first time either of them got to touch you… But she’d had to. She wouldn’t have been able to enjoy you, otherwise, knowing such pain still haunted you.

Feyre would get answers out of you later, about why you hadn’t told her when it had happened. The Mother knows she would have whisked you away faster than winnowing. How long has you been keeping that from her? She grinds her teeth, spitting at the corpse, before leaving him in the chair. For later.

With a fraction of a thought, she’s cleaned the grin from her skin, talons retracting into smoothly padded fingers, slim and delicate. Perfect for you. She winnows to the top of your house, stood just outside, where she pauses for a moment. From inside she can hear the distinctive, pleading whimper of your voice, coupled with soft groans from her mate. The corpse is forgotten, her hand snaking between her legs as she listens.

When she opens the door, fierce arousal smacks her in the face, overpowering from being locked up in this room for so long. The High Lady’s mouth waters as she takes the sight in. Rhysand is tucked beneath you, strong, finely muscled arms set lightly over your hips, brushing over your waist. You’re spread over him, sitting tightly in his lap, chest to chest, your legs splayed out behind him. You’re completely at his mercy, unable to lift or move, just cling to him as he rolls his hips in an erotic lullaby of groans.

“Come on,” he whispers beside your ear, “be my good girl, yeah?” Your hips shift, back curving, breasts dragging over his chest. “Take it,” he implores, quietly, the soft caress of a lover’s voice. You try to bury your face in his neck, hiding from the world, but he doesn’t let you. His hand fists in your hair, tugging you backward, chidingly. His grip changes to your jaw, lifting your eyes to his. “You were so eager before. What happened? Too much?” He taunts, mouth brushing over yours and she watches as a shiver spider walks down your spine. The High Lady takes a step forward and your eyes loll to hers, rimmed with wet lashes.

Shakily, you reach out a hand to her. “Feyre…” you wail, lower lip trembling. “Make him stop…” Rhys’ hips buck and you slump into him, hand dropping as he lets you collapse into the strong lines. His hand brushes affectionately over your hair, soothingly as he basks in the hot wetness of drool spilling from the corner of your mouth onto his skin.

The High Lady coos, moving closer, leaning over to look at you. Your eyes are a little puffy, lips nipped raw, gaze glazed while your chin glistens with… heat licks between her thighs. Rhysand’s been having a lot of fun with you. Your stomach is gleaming with cum, and when he lifts you from his cock, slamming you back down, she sees the creamy ring circling base of his cock. Release has long since stained the sheets beneath you and she wonders how much longer you’ll last with your human strength.

Your head tips back, baring your throat as you flutter around his cock, tears dripping from your sore eyes. How many times has he made you come? On his thigh? On his fingers? His mouth, his cock? You’re on the verge of oblivion, yearning desperately to be swept away from the torment.

“Rhys,” she scolds, softly, helping you to lie back as he draws his hips back, pulling out. He shoots her a wicked grin, “just warming her up for you.” She shoots him a glare before her eyes settle on you. More the thick and constant leak of cum seeping out of your hole. Just how full had he gotten you?

Detecting the direction of her eyes, Rhys smirks, “we thought an apology was in order for how she spoke to you.” His attention returns to your bruised body, making you shrink away, attempting to scuttle up the mattress, but you’re so sensitive. So tired, and worn out.

Feyre raises a brow in silent question. He grins, prowling forward until he’s caging you in. With each movement you make to get away from him, your inner muscles flex, pushing small waves of come from your hole. Rhys tuts, three fingers pushing into you, tucking the creamy liquid back inside of you. “Why don’t you let Feyre what we were doing, hm?” Your lower lip trembles, but you answer obediently, too scared of what he’ll do should you fight back. “Wanted…wanted to put a baby in me.” You whimper, feeling the drag of his fingers against your inner walls. His thumb rubs gently over your puffy clit, making you whine. She wants to be the one drawing those sounds from you.

It’s her turn to play with you. Rhys’ had you to himself this whole time, while she doesn’t even know what you taste like.

“Rhysand.” She barks, drawing his attention. He knows he’s in trouble, but he offers a sinful grin none the less. “I think you deserve a break, don’t you?” She growls possessively, noting how your eyes warm to her with twisted gratitude. His eyes spark with anticipation, waiting to see what she’ll do with you.

Reluctantly, he moves away from you, leaning against one of the broad bed posts. Feyre’s attention switches to you as she coos, crawling onto the bed, ignoring the creamy stains decorating the sheets. Even if she wants nothing more to lap at them. “Was he being mean to you, sweetness?” She murmurs, lifting you into a sitting position as you hiss. She can tell just from looking to your eyes that your mind is muddled, either from Rhysand fucking you dumb for the past hours or from being tampered with. Either way, she’s not too bothered, if it works in her favour.

You nod with weary eyes, looking up at her with lost hopefulness. “Want me to help you feel better, hm? He was so rough with you, wasn’t he?” You latched onto her at the first sign of sympathy, nodding desperately. She kisses your lash line, “it’s going to be okay now. I’m going to take care of you. You want that?” Your lower lip wobbles as you nod.

She plants a kiss to your nipped lips, before descending between your legs. At first you squirm, hating the idea of having more between your thighs, but she pushes them open firmly. You whimper as her hot breath caresses your slick heat, puffy clit already aching. But when her mouth attaches to you, it’s soft and wet. No teeth to be found, just the gentle tug of tips and the soothing lap of her tongue. Slowly, you stop trying to shut your legs on her, thighs even opening a little wider.

Feyre indulges you, moving so affectionately over your pussy, lapping up the release that’s steadily leaking from your hole, even as she feels Rhys huffing in the back of her mind. “Does that feel better, sweet thing?” She questions, settling a kiss just below your clit, her nose bumping the sensitive nub. “…yeah.” She laughs softly, pulling away from your cunt as she crawls back up over you.

“Did Rhys use your pretty mouth?” She asks, and heat flushes your salty cheeks. You shake your head, tears welling, brimming at the edges. She smiles gently, “I’ll take that first, between us, then.” More tears fall but you nod, obedient. Fearing what will happen should you disobey. She’s being so gentle with you, and you don’t think you can stand another round of Rhysand’s games.

The High Lady swings a leg over your head, hovering above your mouth. The smell of her pussy is overpowering, making you go dizzy. Oh so gently, her arms loop beneath the small of your back, pulling you upward until her back is straight. The tops of your thighs settle seamlessly over her shoulders, baring your heat to her as if you’ve been served on a tray.

“Oh, sweet, sweet girl,” she breathes, pushing her nose to your entrance and inhaling deeply, like the High Lord had done. She seats herself on your mouth, and you can instantly feel how wet she is. You whimper. Her hips roll in response. “Come on, sweetness,” she encourages, “or should I let Rhys join?” Your tongue darts out, licking along to her centre. She moans, happily, basking in the feeling. “Perfect little thing.”

Feyre returns her mouth to your cunt, and for a while, you think you can cope. You think the worst of it has passed. Rhys isn’t able to touch you any time soon. At least, not while Feyre’s keeping him where he is, though you wonder how long that’ll last.

Her mouth disconnects from your cunt, and you almost whine in protest. “I did some thinking,” she murmurs, drawing your attention. “Your husband…” You can tell she still angry even at the mention of him. She takes in a deep breath, before delivering a small lap over your clit, as if to remind her that you are hers now. He’ll never put his hands on you again.

Well…

“I thought you might like to be with him one more time…” Your stomach drops. She reaches into her pocket, pulling out your husbands fingers, cloaked in magic. Even Rhys’ breath catches, before it’s exhaled in a quiet moan. “So I took the liberty of bringing parts of him to you, since he’s now incapacitated.” Pain lances in your chest, and Rhys blankets your mind to keep it from shattering. Dulling the information.

Her hips wind over you, slightly demandingly. “I think I’m being very kind, sweet thing. Show your gratitude.” You’re more or less unaware of what’s about to happen, following her commands brainlessly. He’s keeping you just to the surface of consciousness. Enough to give you breath, but not enough to escape.

Your mouth reattaches to her sex, even if a small part of you screams against it.

She presses the tip of something against your entrance, and you whine, hips bucking upward. She laughs softly, “you don’t even know what I’m doing to you, do you?” She pushes it all the way in, and Rhys’ hand fists around his cock. An open mouthed moan is released onto her pussy at the feeling of the slight, phallic object.

“Oh well done, sweet thing. Taking all of it, aren’t you? So good.” Her mouth reattaches to your cunt, and you release a pleasured moan that you can no longer contain. How did things get so messy? They were your friends. You could trust them. Yet here you are, with Feyre mounted atop your face, Rhys having already had his turn with stimulating your body.

She moans against your clit, lips kissing up and down your heat as she drinks you in until your fluttering on her mouth. Her tongue was a joyous reprieve from the High Lord, pleasuring you enough to gently spin you over that high, but not enough to throw you off the edge to crash down.

You’re swimming in pleasure, so overstimulated, so worn out, that it takes them a while to notice you’ve passed out. When they do, they stop—albeit reluctantly.

Feyre settles beside you, tucking both of you beneath the covers as her arms encase you, leaving her mate to clean up the mess. When he does, he crawls in beside you, his arms pulling both his female’s close to him. His wings materialise, wrapping over the both of you, concealing their crime from the world as they keep you slotted between them. Quiet, peaceful breaths puff from your lips as your human body recovers from the events.

They litter kisses over your exposed skin while you sleep, one for every star they see you in.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!feysand x closeted!reader: Drunken Promises[***]

A/N: This follows on from Drunken Mistakes but can be read on it’s own :) (Drunken Confessions continues this story!)

Warnings: dubcon/noncon, pussy-eating, face sitting, smut, threesome fmf.

You crack your eyes open, then squeeze them shut.

The sunlight is pooling on the bed, crisp white sheets blinding to look at. Your eyes flutter with the weight of early morning fatigue, and you nestle further into the warmth of the duvet. As you turn onto your front, you brush against skin, and you stiffen, peaking open your eyes again.

Feyre lays beside you, features calm and peaceful. Radiant as always. It takes a moment for you to realise how odd it is to wake at her side, but things are usually a little out of place after a night out with her.

It’s only when she shifts in her sleep that you see she’s bare, the sunlight warming her chest as it spills across the smooth skin. Your eyes widen and you shift back a little, startled. And you bump into another body.

Oh gods.

You turn around and—

Rhysand.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

What the fuck happened?

You jolt when he sighs in his sleep, blue-black hair soft and ruffled from unconsciousness, so different to his usual neat and tidy persona. His arm slings over your waist, tucking you against him, slotting beneath his jaw.

He’s utterly bare—

And so are you—

Boiling Fucking Cauldron.

You start into action, scrambling away from him but his arms lock and you’re dragged back against his chest. A laugh rumbles across your back and you feel as he shifts, lowering his mouth to your neck as he places lazy kisses down your skin. You stiffen. He must think you’re Feyre.

Panic and humiliation burns across your skin.

Gods, what’s he going to do to you when he finds out you aren’t his mate—

“Rhys,” you hiss, trying not to wake the female up. His hands drop to your hips, rolling you over then pulling you back to him as he meets your gaze. Your eyes go wide as they peer up into soft violet, warm in the morning light. You brace for fury, for the utter rage of invading his space, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, his hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing against you affectionately as he presses his mouth to your forehead.

You still, not quite understanding his wildly inappropriate behaviour. You shift to press your wrists against his chest, careful to avoid touching him too intimately as you try to gently push away.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lynx?”

You flush beneath his intent gaze, how it dips to your mouth, running over your throat, peaking at your breasts.

You bring your arms closer to your body in attempts to hide yourself from him—you can feel that neither of you are wearing a single ounce of fabric, so Feyre probably…

You desperately try to remember what happened.

You swallow, “I was going to get up and get out of your way…” You manage to look him in his eyes, trying to shift so you can crawl out of their bed. He laughs at that, and you flinch in case it wakes Feyre. “We didn’t even tamper with your mind, and you’ve forgotten all of it, haven’t you?” His hand brushes hair from your face, pushing it to the side so he can look at you with those damn eyes of his. “You always do.”

Your brow furrows as you peer up at him, pushing a little harder at his chest as you attempt to wiggle away from him, get out of his possessive hold.

“But not this time,” he sighs, watching you with that hungry gaze. “You promised.”

And his hand is drops to the swell of your ass, squeezing appreciatively, making you gasp, flinching at the proprietary touch. The entitled arrogance at the presumption.

“Don’t move.”

Then his mouth opens over your own and you’re paralysed by shock as he plies your lips apart. His grip on you tightens, pulling you flush against his chest so he can feel the soft plushness of your breasts. A longing groan drags from the back of his throat, loud enough to snap you out of your gaze.

You shove at his chest, breaking the kiss, and your skin begins to buzz.

“Wh—”

His mouth descends on yours again, chasing after the warmth of your lips, the flavour of them that still coats your tongue. They made sure to use you thoroughly.

The buzzing turns into light zapping, a frenetic pulse inside of you as you continue shoving and pushing desperately. A whimper bleeds into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, humming with satisfaction as he takes what he wants with leisurely grace.

Your head begins to pound, hard enough you can’t concentrate on pushing away from him, body going lax and pliant beneath his powerful hands.

The ache fades almost immediately, leaving a dull tingle running along your seems as he pulls away to look at you. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself if you don’t listen to us,” he murmurs against your lips. His fingers move to trace between your breasts, over your sternum. “You can move.”

Your head dips down to peer at his hand, and you spot the dark ink that symbolises a bargain being struck. “Rhys—… What happened?” You ask, fear uncoiling in your stomach.

Bargains are serious things. You should never make one unless you have to, or you trust your life with the sharer. Even then, it’s discouraged.

He gives a dark laugh that slides down your spine. His hand lowers to the back of your thigh as he hooks it over his waist, allowing you to feel the invasive press of his cock against your front. “You promised yourself to us. Whenever we want, for whatever we need, you’re ours.”

Rhysand’s hips shift, pulling away so he can align himself with you.

You flinch when you feel his tip pressing against your slick entrance, still aroused from the night before. “Rhys!” You panic, shoving hard at his chest but he’s gripping you too tightly. “Rhys, stop it! You can’t—”

His hips push upward, guiding himself inside and you gasp in shock, tears welling at the edges of your eyes before he’s rolling you to be seated atop him. Your hands land flat against his abdomen and you tense as you feel him inside of you.

“Rhys,” you whimper, crying out desperately as he keeps you perched atop his hips, his grip like iron. “Please stop. You can’t—… I don’t want this!”

Beside him, Feyre stirs, and undiluted terror slices through your gut. She’ll get the wrong impression. She’ll think you’re trying to take Rhys away from her. She’ll think you’re forcing him.

“Fey…” you plead. “Fey, it’s not what it looks like. Please, I don’t want—”

Instantly she’s pushing up onto her knees, cupping your face in her soft hands as she cradles you. “Hey, hey,” she shushes, “what’s the matter? What’s wrong?” Her eyes narrow as she shoots a glare at Rhys, “why’s she crying? What did you do?” Her lips pull back from her teeth, “I swear to the mother Rhysand, if you did anything—”

“She’s fine,” he reassures, glaring at you for getting him in trouble with his mate. “She’s just enjoying the ride, aren’t you, little lynx?” Feyre turns to look at you for an answer, but when you go to shake your head, he subtly rolls his hips, his cock touching a spot inside your sensitive walls that has heat flushing your skin. You lips part in pleasure and the High Lady relaxes a little.

“Just feeling good, huh?” She soothes, stroking your cheek tenderly, “Rhysie making you feel good?” You attempt to shake your head but he rolls his hips again, your arms weakening with the force of the pleasure.

Feyre snaps her head toward Rhys, “I was talking to her.” He shrugs nonchalantly, repeating the action just to get a rise out of her. A startled moan slips from your mouth as tears fall.

“Fey…” you manage, reaching toward her shakily, “Feyre…”

Her gaze switches to you and Rhys bucks his hips sharply in return, your eyelids fluttering at how full you are. You’re sure you would be able to feel him should you lower your hand to your abdomen.

“What is it, birdie? Do you want me somewhere? Where do you want me?” She’s as attentive as always, and you cry harder.

“Make it stop—… Please, make him stop,” you weep, beseeching her with hot eyes. She thumbs beneath your lashes carefully, but shakes her head. “He’s your High Lord,” she tuts, the pad of her fingers swiping across your lower lip, “don’t be ungrateful now. You were so eager last night. What happened?”

She watches as the blood drains from your face. “What happened last night?” You wail, shakily raising a single hand to cup hers and you tremble. “He— He won’t tell me.”

“No? You don’t know about your promise to us?” She murmurs, fingers dropping to trace the skin between your breasts. “You’re ours now. Properly ours.” You shake your head in denial. You wouldn’t have done that, you wouldn’t have made such an obvious mistake as to promise something like that. Even to them.

“I think she needs reminding of some of the events, Feyre, darling.” Rhysand drawls, slamming you down on him suddenly, causing a startled moan to fly from your lips. More tears flood your eyes as you shake your head vehemently. “No! I don’t want to—” He’s pounding into you, pulling you down against him as he bucks up into the wet heat of your cunt.

“But you begged so beautifully, don’t you remember?” Rhys purrs, continuing his assault on your senses. “You were so filthy, pleading Feyre to let you taste her, pleading me to fuck my come into you over and over and over.” Each word is accented with a forceful buck of his hips and you nearly collapse.

“You did something to me,” you cry, throwing out the accusation. “I was drunk, I didn’t know what I was doing!” Feyre glares at Rhys angrily. “You’re making it worse for her,” she snaps. Then your High Lady returns her gaze to you and it softens, “why don’t we quiet him down, hm? Give him something to do with that snarky mouth of his?” She growls the last part at the High Lord as she swings a leg over him, setting herself down on his face.

You can make out the way his tongue eases into her, lapping over her clit with a familiarity you shouldn’t be seeing.

A soft sigh of contentment puffs from her lips as she rides his mouth, grinding her hips over him as she indulges in the early morning pleasure. “Is that better, birdie?” She asks, fingers entwining with your own, affectionate as always. “Make him stop,” you beg. “I want to go home. Please, Fey.” You squeeze her hand in silent hope she’ll help you.

She merely frowns. “You’ll be staying with us from now on. Why would we live together but leave you out of it? That would be mean, don’t you think?”

“No,” you pant, vision blurring, “I don’t want to live with you. I want—”

Feyre yelps as Rhys lifts her from his mouth, just enough for him to snarl at you. “Ride me.” And then the buzzing returns, zapping with frenzied excitement beneath your skin, burning and blazing until you can’t take it any more.

You gasp as you lift your hips from his and begin slamming down against him just to relieve the pain. Your breathing quickens, becoming harsh and desperate as the pleasure boils and bubbles, so near it’s perfect state of euphoria. Your fingers dig into Feyre’s and she moans as she watches you ride her mate, just as he commanded.

The High Lady curses beneath her breath at the pleasure already overwhelming her. Rhys’s silver-tipped tongue working her to that beautiful edge, lapping and flicking over her clit then fucking into her with relentless desperation. Your own lips are parted and Feyre needs to taste you, needs to have her mouth over yours. So she does.

You whimper when she kisses you, her fingers locating the sensitive apex of your thighs as she touches you gently, keeping in time with your rhythm. “You’re so good for us, aren’t you? Just needed a little encouragement and look at you. Already working so hard. Such a good girl.” You want to scream that you don’t want to be theirs, want to scream at her to let you go, but you can’t do anything aside from slam your hips down to meet Rhys’, helping drive his cock deep inside of you.

Her blue-grey eyes meet yours, and you want to cry. She should be helping you escape.

“Please…”

You’re trembling with the effort to continue through the pleasure, the invading pressure of him combined with Feyre’s soft touches to your clit has you cresting a height you aren’t prepared for.

“You want to come, huh? Want to come on his cock?” Her hand raises from between your thighs, in favour of settling over your ribs, pulling your upper body forward a little. “Come on, tell us what you want.”

“Please, Fey. I need it, need it so badly.”

She presses a hot kiss to your mouth, tongue lapping over your lips as she pushes inside, tasting you as she wanted before pulling away. ‘What do you think, Rhys?’ A wicked laugh sounds in your mind and you shiver, nipples peaking with sensitivity and anticipation. ‘I think I’ve been exceptionally benevolent to our girl, and she hasn’t uttered so much as a word of thanks for her treatment.’

Then he’s in your mind, and you can feel him kissing along your shoulder, pressing against your back, fucking up into you, feel his tongue lapping at your nipples as he bites and licks, suckling at your clit, kissing you senseless. The overpowering sense of him fills you up until you can no longer tell where he ends and you begin.

‘I’m thinking I want to see her cry, and plead, and beg for us to give her that pleasure. I’m thinking she needs to crawl for it, swear she’ll never be so disobedient ever again. I’m thinking that if she can be good today, we can let her rest tomorrow night.’

Through his own senses that are invading your mind, you feel how close Feyre is, practically feel her atop your own mouth, slick coating your tongue as you drink her down, bringing her endless pleasure.

‘Please,’ You cry, falling to your knees in that strange space they’ve created. ‘Please, I’ll be so good for you,’ you plead as you crawl toward where they’re coupling in your mind. ‘Please, please just let me come,’ you beg, crying out for that release that you know will knock you off your feel.

‘You’ll never try to escape? Follow every order without help of our bargain?’ He purrs, and you feel the caress of talons down your spine as he plays with you. You nod desperately, staring up at him from your hands and knees beseechingly. ‘That’s it. Now take what you want from us.’

You could pass out from relief but suddenly you’re slamming back into your body, and he’s pounding into you, Feyre’s mouth over your own as she plays with your breasts while Rhys thumbs at your clit and you just…shatter.

Your High Lord snarls as he feels you fluttering around him wildly, cunt clamping down as pleasure crests over you, soaring to the peaks of the world before dragging you to the depths of the ocean. The sheer intensity washes into the pair, riding your pleasure as they wrap around your senses, spilling across your conscious, into it.

You might have screamed when you came, but you’re too out of it to understand or process anything aside from the feel of their skin on yours and the calming order to cease your movements. The gentle, soft press of the pads of Feyre’s fingertips, and the slow drag of Rhys’ cock against you as their movements slow.

Pants fill the room as pleasure begins to fade.

“How’re you feeling, birdie?” Feyre breathes, thumb swiping over the knuckles of your hand as you gasp for air. You manage a weak nod, but nothing else, too exhausted from the activities.

Slowly, Feyre eases from Rhys’ mouth that’s gleaming with her release. His eyes lock on yours, taking in the heat from your skin, the plumpness of your lips, the bruises at your hips from where he was gripping you. You whimper when you feel him hardening again inside of you, and you move to climb off him but your thighs are trembling too much and you just slide back down, seated on his hips.

A low growl rumbles through his chest as he pushes up from his reclined position. “Feyre, darling,” he purrs, violet eyes remaining locked on yours with sinister malevolence, ravenous hunger writhing in their indigo depths. “I think you should take the next one from her.”

You stiffen, attempting to squirm backward as his lips twist into a feline grin. “No, wait, please,” you beg, breathless and exhausted. He arches a single, neatly groomed brow, “No? You don’t want Feyre between your legs?”

Tension knots in your stomach as you shake your head. You can’t take another one.

His grin turns vulpine.

In one swift movement, he’s flipped you on your back, spreading your legs apart, driving his cock deeper with the movement. “I suppose we’ll be switching then,” he growls. His High Lady catches his direction, crawling over to you in a sultry manner, mounting your mouth like it’s her throne.

Your eyes widen, but you know better than to resist. It’ll only make things worse, after all.

Feyre leans over, allowing her to lock onto your gaze, piercing into you as her back curves, her fingertips skating over your body, playing with your nipples as if she hadn’t been touching you moments before. As if you’re brand new. Something clean and perfect to play with. Something sweet and innocent to corrupt all over again.

“Open that mouth for me.” She taps her nail against your sternum twice, over the bargain’s mark. “Don’t make me use this.”

Your lower lips wobbles but you part your lips, allowing her to settle down, arousal practically dripping, coating your tongue.

Rhys draws his hips back and you squeeze your eyes shut, arms looping over Feyre’s hips.

You’ll need something to hold onto this time.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[throneofsapphics]

someone who loves you wouldn’t do this

Feysand x f!Reader

Summary: Angst-tober Day 12, “You can run, we’ll find you every time.” with Feysand 

Warnings: toxic relationships, mentions of kidnapping, murder, dark feysand, torture? sort of, dubcon, dark feysand, smut-ish, minors dni!

A/N: sooo I accidentally posted it this morning, but I've re-edited it now!

kink/angst-tober masterlist

“You can run, we’ll find you every time.” A shiver ran down your spine. Not necessarily the words themselves, but how he said it - as if it were something normal. His mild tone and the small quirk of lips told you he thought running away was just a hobby of yours, just a way to tease them. Like you didn’t crave your freedom with every inch of your being, like the siren call of the outside world wasn’t your entire focus, day in and out. 

There was nothing you could hide from him, any walls you built up were torn down without a second thought. You could only run because he let you. He desired the chase, the hunt, and eventually the capture. Once, you made it beyond the borders of Prythian, fleeing for the continent. When he discovered the village hiding you, he made you watch as they slaughtered every last adult who helped. From the sweet older female who gave you a job, to your landlord, and to the few friends you’d made over the months you settled there. 

The early fall winds whipped brutally against your cheeks as you sprinted, pushing your Fae body to the absolute limits. A small pack tugged at your shoulders uncomfortably, but there wasn’t time to fix that, not now. You finally broke the city wards with relief flushing your entire being. Made it. You were free, free from Velaris. But, you knew you weren’t out of danger yet. As long as you stayed in the Night Court it would be much easier for them to find you. So, you found yourself on the continent. 

The freedom lasted six months before she came. 

“Rhys fetched you last time, it was my turn.” She said, leaning against your doorway. You wished you could winnow, you could do something to escape, but Cauldron boil you, you were trapped. The only way out would be to overpower her and there’s no chance you could do that. “But - he insisted on coming this time. “He’s making an example of your friends,” she said with a bitter tone.

“Please,” your voice was hoarse, “please don’t.” and you fell to your knees, prepared to beg for their lives. 

“None of that,” she tutted. “It will only make it worse for them.” 

A broken cry left your lips as she curled her fingers in. 

Helpless against them and subject to their whims and moods. Maybe … maybe if you didn’t give them what they wanted, and stayed perfectly in place, they would tire of you and throw you out eventually. 

“Not happening,” that voice, as cold and cool as night, swept its way into your mind. “I promised you eternity and you already know I keep my promises.” His presence left as soon as it came, a claw stroking down the inside of your mind. 

At least you weren’t foolish enough to bargain away your life to them. Those first few years, filled with a haze of love and lust, of gratitude from the difficult life they tugged you out of, those were the best years of your life. Joy and hope for the future you began to build with them, before they slowly dismantled it. Brick by brick, they tore you back down to rubble and tried to build you up again in their image. 

You could only take satisfaction in how they were failing miserably at that. They had underestimated your stubbornness and your desire for independence. How could someone go from love to loathing in such a short period of time? You knew one truth, someone who loves you wouldn’t do this. It's an obsession, a facsimile of love, no matter what they told you or how much they professed. Even if you did love them back, in some sick and twisted way, it was inconsequential. 

When you got the chance to leave, it wouldn't be a planned or thought out occasion, you would have to act impulsively and take a chance if it ever came up. 

Feyre swept into the room, her dress fluttering behind her. She was beautiful, in every sense of the word, and you tore your eyes away from her as she approached you. She tilted your chin up and pressed a kiss to your forehead with a soft smile on her face. 

“How’s my favorite person?” She asked, sitting next to you and tugging you into her side. You urged your body to stay stiff, but inevitably you melted into her. 

“I’m hurt,” Rhys gasped, pressing a hand against his chest. They were in a small argument right now, and whenever that happened you tended to get tugged into the middle as a buffer. You hated it. 

“I didn’t ask you.” She snipped, and turned to you again. “How are you, love?” 

You despised how your pulse fluttered when she called you that. 

“Y/n’s having traitorous thoughts,” Rhys said with a cruel smirk. A half-hearted snarl left your lips, your eyes narrowed at the High Lord. 

“Really?” Feyre ran one hand down your arm, before settling on your hip and giving a bruising squeeze, her nails digging in the soft skin. “You know leaving again would be a stupid decision.” 

You didn’t reply. You’d made many ‘stupid’ decisions over the years, there’s no need to change now. 

“You’re smarter than that.” She said when you didn’t answer her. You yelped as she pinched your hip. “Aren’t you?” 

“No.” 

“At least you’re honest,” she sighed and you felt her magic reaching out, pushing and testing all of the new wards surrounding the house. 

“Not that I could get away with lying,” your fists clenched, tugging the fabric on your pants to keep yourself calm. 

“I suppose you couldn’t, not anymore.” 

Not anymore. Not since they dragged you back here. 

Rhys tossed you in a chair, and threads of his magic wrapped around your arms - binding your entire body to the chair and rendering you immobile. At his mercy. You knew what was coming next, and tried to wiggle out of them anyways. “This is going to hurt, darling.” 

“I thought you could make it painless,” you panted, your chest heaving, sobs lingering under your skin. 

“Oh I could,” he traced your cheekbone, one hand holding your jaw when you turned your head away from him. He crouched so he was at eye-level with you. His eyes were black as the night sky - no hint of violet or playfulness in them. Cold. “But I want you to remember this, Darling. Consider it a lesson.” 

“I - I will, I promise. Please.” You hated that you were reduced to begging already, but … this was a kind of pain beyond measure for you and knowing Rhys could choose exactly how much pain to inflict. It kicked in your sense of self preservation. 

He hummed, rubbing his hand over his jaw as if he was contemplating it. “No. I quite like your screams.” 

Tears leaked from your eyes, streaming down your face. As he began, your screams filled the entire room. Layer by layer, your mind was torn apart - not even a shred of a wall or barrier left behind. He left memories of your old life behind, but you didn’t think he was doing it from the kindness of his heart. In a sick way, he wanted you to remember how bad it was.

A small tap on your cheek brought you back to the present. You blinked heavily, finding Feyre looking at you - head tilted, blue-gray eyes searing into you. Teeth tugged into your bottom lip, and her eyes tracked them, pupils blowing. Betraying you, your body reacted to her slightest movement, the caress of her hand on her neck. Feyre noticed it, with no small amount of satisfaction, and grasped your hips, tugging you so you straddled her lap. 

Soft. Her touches were so damned soft, running up and down your sides, thumbs ghosting over your breasts. 

“You don’t need to pretend,” she murmured.

“Pretend what?” you snapped, ignoring the sharp look she pinned you with. 

“That you don’t like this.” 

“I don’t.” You protested, trying to wiggle away. Feyre’s hands tightened on your hips and Rhys snorted behind you.

“Liar,” he purred, his voice echoing through your mind. 

Rhys sent an image; 

You were sprawled on your bed, Feyre’s head between your legs, Rhys propped behind you, his hand on your chin - directing your attention to the mirror across from the bed, “Watch Feyre make you come, darling.” You squirmed, hips keening into Feyre, her tongue flicking against your clit, screaming as you -

“Stop,” you tried to shout at him, but the scene played out - you were helpless to stop it. The pleasure ran through your body, feeling it almost as if it was happening to you now. 

Before you could shout again, you reeled back into the present - Feyre smirking at you, her hand caressing your side now. Rhys’s edged chuckle came from behind you, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. 

[throneofsapphics]

haunt me like the wind that blows (part 3)

Feysand x f!Reader

(part one) (part two)

Summary: it wasn’t really a nightmare, it felt more like a gift. Even with the pain, her subconscious was the only place she could taste freedom.

Warnings: dark feysand, toxic relationships, dubcon, kidnapping, nightmares, non-consensual bondage, references to suicide attempt, a bit of smut, gaslighting probably, minors dni!

Word Count: ~2.7k

A/N: this is going to be the last part! please mind the warnings

Seconds after she breached the wards of Velaris, a familiar hand clenched around her wrist - tight enough pain lanced through her hand, and she wondered if he’d break her wrist. 

“Feyre said you could be trusted,” he purred, “but I knew better.” 

The wind, the beautiful and cruel wind whipped around her face, the ends of her hair rising. She could taste it - the freedom on the horizon. Then - gone. She was alone. She stumbled back, eyes wide as she glanced around her. Had she imagined it? Bruises circled her wrist and it still ached as she clutched it to her chest. 

“No, that was real.” Rhys crooned. 

“Leave me-” 

“Alone, yes I know.” His voice took on a cruel tone. “Let’s see if you survive the night, monsters worse than me are out there.” 

Gods. Gods. She was so screwed. She wouldn’t put it past him to unleash something. Something to haunt her, to scare her into coming back. “Anything is better than with you.” Y/n taunted, unable to control herself. A snarl echoed through her mind, but she took off into the night. Maybe this was just a game, but she’d be a fool not to take the chance. But where to go? She didn’t doubt that word spread of her in Vallahan, of the rogue mate to the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. 

Branches whipped against her arms and legs, small cuts scraping against her but she didn’t care. All pain was drowned out as she sprinted, as fast and far as she could. Temporary freedom was better than nothing. She would take anything she could get at this point.

“You really think you’ll manage without us, don’t you?” Feyre’s voice echoed in her mind - and she didn’t know if it was real or not. Reality seemed to warp around her - the trees shifting in unnatural rhythms, the ground shifting underneath her - rolling like waves of the sea as she struggled to balance. Any trees she tried to grip for balance shifted out of her way. Y/n fell down a hill, tumbling and barely covering her head as she fell -

“Y/n,” a voice shouted, overtaking everything else. Hands braced her shoulders, shaking her awake. This voice was real. She knew that. “Wake up love.” She groaned, rolling away and tugged at her wrists. Chains - still sleeping with the chains on. Her eyes blinked open, spotting Feyre leaning over her, Rhys’s hand stroking down her arm. 

“You had a nightmare,” she brushed her finger over her hand. Y/n glanced down at her bare arms - no cuts or scrapes, no evidence of her wilderness ‘adventure.’ Did they plant this one inside of her, to give her some kind of sick hope? Neither of them replied, or gave any indication they were listening to her thoughts and she let out a slow breath. 

“I wouldn’t have them if you took these off,” she mumbled. At least they’d lined the interior with something soft, after Feyre protested about the bruises on her wrists.  

Her eyes glazed over, and y/n knew she was speaking to Rhys. Feyre had always been a bit … softer, maybe she would argue on her behalf. A few minutes passed as she chewed on her bottom lip. Rhys let out an exasperated sigh behind her, but the chains unlocked and she forced herself not to yelp out of excitement. 

“On a trial.” Rhys warned, flipping her around to face him. His eyes had darkened, a clear warning that if she tried anything, worse consequences would face her. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes.” She spoke softly. Maybe it made her weak, but sleeping in those damned chains had worn her down and she would have begged on her knees to be free of them. Captive. She thought she was trapped before, but it was nothing compared to this. Eyes she couldn’t see followed her everywhere, and anytime she spotted something remotely sharp - it disappeared. If she ate with a butter knife, Rhys or Feyre watched her the entire time. Even the cups and glasses had been charmed not to break. 

A clash clattered across the floor as tea spilt on the kitchen tiles. Rhys winnowed into the room within seconds. His eyes shifted between the cup on the floor, and her face. 

“I dropped it, I promise.” She nearly wailed at the dark look on his face. She felt him rifling through her mind, and gave a nod after deciding she was being truthful. A snap of his fingers cleaned the liquid up, the mug disappearing. 

“You need to be careful my love,” he said in a soft voice, gathering her in his arms. “We don’t want you getting hurt.” Or hurting yourself, went unsaid. He made her sit, brewing her another cup and almost made her feel loved. It was all a game, everything was a game to earn her trust and wear her back down. At least she told herself that. 

The memory faded, and she hadn’t realized she was facing Feyre again, her back pressed firmly against Rhys’s chest, his hands wrapped around her waist as Feyre rubbed out her wrists. Like she would every morning. Always checking to see if she could feel everything, if anything was injured - like it wasn’t them inflicting any injuries. 

“Aren’t you going to thank us?” the High Lady teased her. 

“Thank you.” She said quickly, not wanting to risk anything. 

“Such good manners when you get what you want.” Rhys’s sleepy voice came from behind her. She loved that voice, when he was soft and gentle - first thing in the morning or in the middle of the night. Loved. Y/n threw that word out of her mind. No love for them, nothing redeemable about them. 

“Sleep.” Feyre ordered both of them, “I’ll take the nightmares away,” her hand kissed the inside of her wrist. But - it wasn’t really a nightmare, it felt more like a gift. Even with the pain, her subconscious was the only place she could taste freedom. How sad everything had become, how painful of a trap she fell in. She thought of everything she lost, of everything gone to her. Gone with the wind, swept away at every moment. 

-

When she woke, alone, the sun was already shining, and she rose, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in months - but something pulled at her. Chains. Gods was that a dream too? But, they were longer this time, long enough she could reach the side table. A note placed on it. 

We had to leave early, we’ll come back as soon as we can. 

Tears spilled, dripping down on the paper and smudging the ink. The best dream she’d had in months, and it was soured. But, her favorite book and a still-warm mug of tea sat on the side table, within reach. She could indulge in this small kindness, just this once. 

They returned at the same time, looking pleased to see the book propped on her knees, one hand holding her page open as the other held her mug. 

“I told you she’d be happy.” Feyre elbowed Rhys. Maybe happy was an overstatement. The male rolled his eyes. 

“I still like her in chains.” Feyre hummed an agreement. Speaking of her like an object. That’s all she was to them. 

“You’re our mate.” Feyre frowned at her. “If you’re not going to be grateful …” 

A few minutes later, she was spitting out apologies and thank you’s as Feyre’s hand landed on her ass, her body draped over her knees. She would pause, letting Rhys run his hands over her already bruised ass. His hand slipped between her legs, and she fought back tears of embarrassment as he felt how wet she was. 

How sick was she that this turned her on? At being punished for her thoughts. 

“How else would we correct them?” Rhys’s voice entered her mind. “It’s alright to feel this way,” he spread her arousal over the small abrasions on her ass, and she winced as it stung. “The bruises will remind you.” 

The chains unlocked, but the freedom was temporary as her hips were dragged back, and she was shoved to her knees in front of Feyre, her legs spreading, dress hiked up around her hips with nothing underneath. “Take your reward now.” She cooed, one hand on the back of her hair, guiding her towards her core. She wanted to fight and protest, but the temptation and taste of her was too much. The desire to please her mate was so ingrained in her that sometimes she couldn’t resist it, and this was a way to alleviate it - a less harmful way, she justified to herself. 

-

Three months passed before she could wake alone and unchained. A treasure, and she prized herself on earning back that trust. But, she shoved that thought deep down - in a place nobody could reach. The thought was filled with a sense of vindication, and the last thing she needed was them catching wind of that feeling.

She moved silently, sneaking through the halls how she’d learned, and heard voices coming from one of the small dining rooms. 

“That could work.” Feyre said. “It would keep her here.” 

Keep her? How? Hadn’t they already done everything to keep her? 

“I have to go,” Rhys said and a chair shoved back she quickly took a few quiet strides back, before reapproaching with louder footsteps - the ones they’d become accustomed to hearing. 

Rhys exited just as she approached, a smile curving on his face as he spotted her and wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her into his chest. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, “Good morning.” 

“Good morning.” She repeated, forcing some inflection into her voice. Not overly so, but enough for it to come off as natural. 

“You enjoyed your gift?” 

“Thank you.” The smile actually did reach her eyes. 

“You’ve been so good.” He ran a thumb over her cheek, brushing across her lips. 

“You’re going to be late. Rhys.” Feyre said from the doorway, shooting her a smile. “Want to go to the markets today?” 

She nodded eagerly, picking up any crumbs they would string out for her, and tried not to despise herself for it. Feyre had a pleased expression on her face at her excitement, and Rhys reluctantly released her. 

“I’m the High Lord. I’m never late.” He muttered, but winked at her as he winnowed away. 

Feyre’s grip on her was tight as they walked through the city streets, arm in arm. Not giving her an inch unless she allowed it, but she would take it. No familiar faces, either. Some she recognized as old neighbors, ones who used to work with her in town, but their eyes glazed right over her as if she didn’t exist.

Her mouth opened once, as if to try and call out to them, but she couldn’t find her voice. As she met Feyre’s eyes, there was a warning glare there. Don’t talk to anyone. Feyre didn’t have to speak the words for her to understand the message. She swallowed and gave her a nod. Immediately, her expression lightened and she reached over to squeeze her arm, stopping for the next person to greet her. 

Popular, Feyre was incredibly popular with her people, they loved her. If only they could see how she is behind closed doors, the wicked cruelness and quickly shifting moods. What her love really looks like. 

“And who is this?” An older female smiled, her face lined with wrinkles - hair just starting to silver. As soon as she’d acknowledged her, the woman’s eyes changed as if she didn’t register her at all. Feyre was making sure nobody recognized her - that she was forgotten. 

No talk of “who was that on the High Lady’s arm?” or “Did you see y/n, she’s been gone so long!” would go around Velaris that night. Nobody would remember her. Nobody except who Rhys and Feyre allowed. 

- Two years and three days to the date after she was first returned, y/n got another chance. Gods did she take it. She ran and ran and ran. Breaching the words of Velaris, just as a hand clamped around her wrist - bruisingly tight as it ached. 

“Feyre said you could be trusted,” he purred, “but I knew better.” The same words from that nightmare, but this time he didn’t let go. Fear might have rung from every sense of her being, but she brought up as much determination as she could as she turned to face him and took a step closer. His brow furrowed in confusion, but she spat. The drops glistened on his cheek, surprise evident in his eyes. A satisfied smile crossed her features, but his gaze turned feral quickly and it was gone as soon as it came. 

He leaned towards her, his breath grazing her ear. “Run.” He dropped her wrist, and she did. 

Wind whipped her cheeks, branches scraped at her skin, but the floor and trees didn’t move this time. Of course, it was useless and futile, of course it would end as quickly as it began - but she’d take the chance to feel the wind against her hair, to feel the strain of her legs as she got a mockery of freedom. 

Rhys let her run, maybe gave her a ten minute head start before she began to feel his presence nearby. She would catch a glimpse of him, and cut a sharp angle to another direction, weaving in and out of trees to try and lose him. She didn’t know how long it lasted - but her lungs burned and legs threatened to give out under her. Keep going, keep going, she chanted to herself, wanting to draw this out as long as possible. 

She screamed as a weight slammed behind her, shoving her down to the forest ground. Her face pressed into the dirt and a hand yanked the back of her hair - arching her neck as his other hand circled her throat. 

“You believed it, didn’t you?” He murmured. “That I would be that stupid to give you that chance.” His hand tightened around her neck. “I don’t make the same mistakes twice.” 

A whimper left her throat. “Fuck you.” She said weakly, and her cut some of her air off, keeping any words from coming out of her mouth. 

“You’re already in trouble. Don’t make it worse.” If she’s already in trouble - she threw an arm back, a weak punch landing against his shoulder. He laughed at her, finally releasing his grip on her hair and neck as she flopped back into the ground, and scrambled to turn, backing on her knees as the rough bramble scraped the bottom of her thighs. 

He shook his head, looking at her almost fondly. A shield quickly deflected the rocks and sticks she tried to throw. But, she couldn’t stand - her legs fell out under her as she tried, already worn out from all of the running. He must’ve entertained her for at least an hour or two. 

“Three.” He corrected. “I was impressed with you.” A game, this was all a gods-damned game to him. The curve of his lips told her she was right. “A game for me,” he taunted, “but it’s so sweet when you think it’s real.” 

She threw out a string of creative curses at him, but he rolled his eyes and she watched his patience slowly wane. Still, she kept cursing as he heaved her to stand, keeping a firm grip on her as he winnowed back to the river house. 

He let her go and she fell onto the tile, wincing as her knee hit the ground. Feyre stood with her arms crossed. “You let her hurt herself.” She frowned at Rhys. 

“I let her have some fun.” Rhys hedged, but even he wilted slightly under Feyre’s disappointed stare. At least she wasn’t alone in that. In everything else, she’d be alone. For the rest of eternity. 

“Don’t be so sour,” Feyre tutted, reaching out a hand for her. “You have us, that’s all you need.”

[throneofsapphics]

could i request one where it’s feysand x reader, reader is put on a sexban after she tries to make them feel jealous at a high lord party where she shamelessly flirted with helion. She begs them to not ban her and they’re strong at first but in the end they yield👀👀

banned  

poly!Feysand x f!Reader 

Summary: They put you on a sex ban. And didn’t give you a timeframe or how long it would be like this, only “until you’ve learnt your lesson.” They had you watch - made you watch, as they fucked every night, pretending you weren’t there.

Warnings: drinking, jealousy, smut, nsfw, thigh riding, d/s, mentions of bondage/gagging, not proofread, minors dni!!

A/N: thank you for the request! I need to go bathe in holy water 

You didn’t go in with the intention to flirt with him, instead the opportunity fell right into place. 

Helion slid up next to where you stood against the wall, balancing your glass of wine between your fingers, watching the red liquid swirl around the glass. You both knew each other rather well, as friends - and just friends. Something you both were clear about. But … Rhys and Feyre had barely glanced at you all night, as far as you noticed, and it was grating on your nerves. The one thing you especially hate is being ignored. 

“You look bored.” He commented. 

“Those two are occupied,” you narrowed your eyes at the pair, speaking to Tarquin across the room. An idea sparked, and you turned to Helion. “Would you like to help me piss off their Highnesses?” 

“Don’t they hate when you call them that?” He looked amused. 

“Indeed,” you finally took a sip of your drink. 

“Very well,” Helion smirked in their direction, before leading you into a dance. One where you both jokingly flirted with each other, laughing the entire time. 

“Mind if I cut in?” A smooth, dark voice came from beside you. 

Helion casted a sly glance your way before handing you off to Rhys. His hand gripped your waist, fingers digging into the soft skin. “You will regret that,” his lips grazed across your ear, sending a chill down your spin. 

“I have nothing to regret.” You murmured as the song ended, wiggling out of his grip and sending a smile over your shoulder, first locking eyes with him, and then Feyre, before trailing off to find out where your drink went. 

You didn’t end up finding out, instead you wound up back in Velaris within minutes. 

-

“Trying to make us jealous, really?” Rhys lounged in the chair across from yours, but Feyre sat next to you, one hand firmly gripping your thigh. 

“I didn’t try,” you emphasized, “it worked.” As soon as the words left your lips, you knew you would regret them. The wine had dulled your filter and your common sense. Your eyes widened, seeing the dark expressions on both of their faces, “I wasn’t really -”

“Ioo late,” Rhys interrupted, now standing in front of you. One finger pressed under your chin, tilting your head up. You focused on the armchair he’d vacated. “Look at me. His tone had your eyes drifting to meet his automatically. 

Dark, barely a hint of violet in them. “You think it’s funny, don’t you?” You tried to shake your head, but he gripped your chin - locking you in place. “Words.” He warned you, his voice seeming to rumble through the room. 

“No,” you pleaded. 

“No, what?” Feyre purred. 

“I don’t think it’s funny.” 

Rhys released his grip on your chin. “Feyre darling, what should we do about her?” 

You knew better than to interject. 

“She needs to learn a lesson.” 

-

They put you on a sex ban. And didn’t give you a timeframe or how long it would be like this, only “until you’ve learnt your lesson.” They had you watch - made you watch, as they fucked every night, pretending you weren’t there. 

“If you even think about touching yourself again, I’ll know.” Rhys warned you, the first night when he caught you slipping a finger between your legs. After that, you were tied and gagged in a way it was impossible for you to find any relief. 

“Are you going to do that again?” He asked you after four days. 

“No, I won’t” you promised, your voice desperate, “I’m sorry.” You’d been apologizing every day, but they were relentless. 

He trailed a finger down the column of your throat, and you felt heat pooling in your core - just from that touch. “I think another week will let the message set in.” 

You nearly sobbed. A week. You looked to Feyre, hoping to find some mercy. “You’ve earned it,” she slipped into your mind, her voice smooth, soft, but unyielding. 

They knew that more than anything, you absolutely hated being ignored. 

-

A tear dripped down your cheek. Rhys’s gaze softened, he hated seeing you upset like this - at the point you would cry. But … he and Feyre had agreed you crossed a big line, and your attitude only made it worse. Still, with the look on your face he couldn’t help give a bit. 

“Or less,” he murmured, brushing away the stray tear, “depending on how good you are.” 

By the desperation in your eyes he knew you’d be on your best behavior. 

-

Two days later, thank the Gods, they finally give in. 

“Come here,” Rhys patted one hand on his thigh. You did, hesitantly, and he tugged you on his lap so you straddled one of his legs. 

“You’ve been patient, haven’t you?” His hand grazed over your bare thigh, where your dress had ridden up. 

“Yes,” you breathed - barely above a whisper. A snap of his fingers and your underwear disappeared. You hissed as the cold air hit. He hummed, before slipping one hand between your legs, the other gripping your hip tightly. You couldn’t stop yourself and keened as two fingers slid up your folds, catching the arousal already gathering. He held them towards the light, as if he was examining them, before pressing his fingers against your lips. You sucked them eagerly, licking both of them clean. His eyes gleamed, hazing over with lust as he watched you. After, he grabbed your hips, easily lifting you and turning you around - right to face Feyre. 

Your High Lady was watching you, studying every inch. Your face, flush with arousal, your breaths slowly coming heavier, the lust glazing your eyes. 

You whimpered as your bare cunt hit the fabric of his pants. Without warning, he began moving your hips, grinding you back and forth against his thigh. You were lost in the pleasure, your eyes closed and your body starting to move on its own. 

“That’s good Darling,” he purred into your mind, “take your pleasure.” 

“You’ve earned it, you’ve been so good for us love.” Feyre’s voice sounded, and you tumbled over the edge, moaning and screaming their names, ridding out one of the longest orgasms of your life. After being denied for nearly a week, it felt heavenly. 

As you slowly came down, Rhys pulled you back against his chest and you felt how painfully hard he was against your ass. 

At some point, Feyre had crossed the room, now at your side, running long, teasing strokes up your inner thigh. “We’re nowhere near done with you,” she cooed, before tugging you into a kiss. 

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter: 8 - Insecurities - Part 2

Part 2...oof. This was a doozy to write! But if ya’ll are still reading, we know this series is D.R.A.M.A.~! 

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please let me know~!

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 17,000+

Summary: Unspoken expectations aside, when you hit ground zero of your most pernicious insecurities, can Javi stay in your grace while battling the horrors that threaten to splinter him apart?

Warnings: Javier Peña being devilishly sexy, graphic depictions of sex, adult situations, gratuitous smut, jealousy, angst, and a little toxic behavior, some hurt/comfort, vulnerable emotional states, mentions of trauma, PTSD, and violence. Detailed descriptions of salacious unprotected sex 🤭 Slight Dom/Sub play, Soft!Javi, and PowerBottomQueen!Reader is back. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

Chapter 1: Nicknames | Chapter 2: Tempest | Chapter 3: Solterita | Chapter 4: Cagey | Chapter 5: Want - Part 1| Chapter 6: Want - Part 2 | Chapter 7: Insecurities - Part 1 |  Read at AO3

Taglist: @redsilentwolf28​ @just-here-for-the-moment​ @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​ @mandosmistress​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @omgreally​ @knittingqueen13​ @mamacitapascal​ @chronic-nosebleed​ @hnt-escape​ @eri16​ @gracie7209​ @casssiopeia​

Chapter 8: Insecurities - Part 2

Hindsight is 20/20, as the saying goes, and you find yourself feeling enlightened after your little tiff in the car. After all, while you both weren't shy, you clearly had trouble being frank and open about your feelings – about the things that bother you or stick with you until they snowball into insecurities you can't see around. Well, you were reluctant to disclose your feelings, anyway. Always have been, and no matter how much you love Javi, that's not going to change, so you hope he sticks with you and understands where you stand now after you practically browbeat him with it.

You think about it during the idle, stray lulls of your day. How you'd completely forgotten about how surly and celoso Javier had been, and you realize you've lightly fibbed, recalling Luke had sort of asked you out – in a somewhat roundabout way. Frowning, you think about whether you should amend it to Javier.

The furious way he'd snapped in the car is imprinted in your mind's eye, but not for the reason it should be. You daydream about it, how his dark eyes flashed with lightning, how his usually cool and cocky veneer had flinted away with the vehemence of his jealousy, jaw on edge as he reigned his anger back and scowled. His shoulders had been so broad from his chest puffing out with wound up impulse, and the way the tendon in his neck had defined as he'd sworn gruffly only added to the primordial allure of seeing him irate.

It was an unholy turn on. You'd gotten so exhilarated at how the energy charged off of him, feeding your own fury and the intoxicating attraction towards him being all alpha macho stud. You should be embarrassed at yourself, but you can't muster it. Javier Peña just does things to you, and not all of them have any commonsense explanation or logic, but you don't give a damn. However, you're not a reckless person, so the idea of encouraging his flaring temper is one you have to quell immediately. After all, it's like you told him: You have to be cordial and friendly. It's the nature of inter-departmental relations, and you don't have the luxury of being a flippant smartass like your lover does.

With a grunt, you shake your head and go back to concentrating on your work.

Javier is doing some ruminating of his own while Steve's on the phone with his wife. Sometimes, he envied his partner. Not at all for being married…but for having someone he could freely be devoted to without concern of it being used against him. He wishes he could waste glorious time flirting with you on the phone while Steve had to sit there and roll his eyes, or hell – that he could bring you over to his partner's place for a couple's dinner. Would you ever relent and be open to it? What would it take for you to let your guard completely down and take it public?

He'd told you his intentions, but part of him knew you took it with a grain of salt. After all, you'd basically just bellowed your reason for resisting defining things in the car this morning, and for the life of him, he wasn't sure whether he'd have to fucking go to the middle of the lobby downstairs and declare he would never flirt with another woman ever again in order for you to believe him. If it'd help, hell, he'd do it. He didn't give a shit what people thought of him anyway, but he can picture your hypothetically horrified, furious reaction, and while it shouldn't turn him on so much, he's objective enough to know you would not abide any kind of brash flaunting of your relationship. Especially once it got around to everyone, including the lunk-headed jackasses in Mil Group—

"—Javi, Connie's asking if you wanna come to dinner at our place tonight," Steve's grumble pulls Javier back from his brooding.

"Nah, no thanks. Already have plans," he answers smoothly, adding quickly and loud enough for the receiver to pick it up, "Thanks anyway, Connie."

"Hmph," Steve grunts and goes back to listening to his wife. "Hm? Yeah, I'm sure it's the mystery woman he's seeing—"

Javier blows a raspberry and sarcastically shakes his head. "Don't get your wife mixed up in your ridiculous conspiracies, man," he deadpans and reaches for his cigarettes. "Mystery woman? I don't have that kind of time."

"Uh-huh," Steve laconically drawls and quirks a derisive brow.

Javier lights his cigarette and scoffs, going back to his dossier building.

At the end of the day, you're already regretting agreeing to the non-happy-hour-thing, especially when Ellis tells you finally where you're going.

"What?! C'mon, what the hell—"

"It was Lou's idea! He has a buddy who runs the range, so he's letting us crack a couple of beers and shoot some paper targets," Ellis answers and literally steers you by your shoulders to the passenger seat of his car. "C'mon, Annie Oakley—"

"Ugh…did you tell them?" you grumble after you've climbed into the passenger seat and Ellis has hopped into the driver's side.

"Nope! Lou was joshing the fellas on having shitty target practice hours, so he figured it'd be fun to have us all get some shootin' out and make it a bonding thing. After all, with all the kidnapping craziness, you might need to start carrying a piece, for protection—" Ellis remarks as he drives you both out of the compound and down to the CNP Academy in the city.

"I'm not a wealthy to-do Colombian socialite, goofball," you snicker and sigh, resigned. "I'm not staying late, so if you do, I'll take a cab—"

"Hell no. I'll leave with you. Anita doesn't want me out late these days anyway," he chortles and frowns, and you can't help laugh. "Yeah…I'm whipped. You should find yourself a fella to whip too, girlie."

"Oh sure, I'm right on top of that, Rose," you deride, using his surname to punctuate your sardonic tone and smirking.

Once you've both met up with the others, you stroll into the indoor shooting range where Lou is smoking a cigar with the head CIA asset at a makeshift table they've set up. "Well now, nice to see you, little lady!" the colonel greets boisterously, and you grin and shake his hand, giving it the practiced, confident squeeze your father had taught you. "You know, I'm glad you came. It's always valuable to have a civilian asset who can shoot in a pinch, if needed," he jokes and banters lightly with you and the others while Luke and Nador set up the targets at the booths lined across from the table you're all at.

Before long, you're donning a pair of requisition-grade earmuffs while you watch Ellis take pointers from Samson before he raises his glock pistol and aims. When he fires, the bullet clips the middle edge of the paper target, to your buddy's chagrin. "Oh, that's a shit shot…"

"That's cuz you blinked at the last minute," Luke jokes and pats his shoulder as he glances over at you and gestures for you to come up to the stall and give it a try.

Ruefully, you do, feeling all the men watch you lope over on your spool heels to the stall next to Ellis and wait for Samson to come around with another pistol. When he hands it to you, you let him show you where the safety is, how to switch it off, then, he unloads the clip to show you it's fully loaded, and snaps it back in before placing the gun with the barrel facing the range beyond.

After he's set the paper target and hit the button to propel it out into the firing range, you position yourself in front of the stall and pick up the gun. Ellis leans over the stall to watch you, so you roll your eyes and admonishingly gesture with a tilt of your head for him to get back. Once he does, you focus. When you point the gun in a steady double grip to aim at the target, you concentrate on zeroing in on a specific mark on the target when you suddenly feel Luke put his fingertips at the back of your shoulder and the edge of his hand graze along the underside of your arm as he adjusts your aim.

You inhale a covertly tense breath and glance sidelong at him, training your features into a stoic regard as his hazel eyes connect with yours. "Widen your stance a bit more," he instructs, and the gravel of his tone is warm and encouraging, as he adds, "Not sure how easy it is to do in heels—"

With an exacting shrug of your shoulder blades, you flick your hair over your shoulders and punt his hand at your arm with the side of your elbow as you seamlessly lift your grip and fire a series of shots at the target. The barrel smokes from the rapid-fire trigger pulls and you glare ahead at the paper outline of a man, and when everyone balks and stares over at the target, they see you shot into the circle of what would be a sternum on a suspect, and that the last bullet went into the spot between the eyes, had it been a real person.

"Holy shit," you hear one of the guys gape, impressed.

With the flick of your wrist, you engage the safety, eject the magazine, and for good measure, cock the barrel to eject the last bullet that was chambered before you place the pistol down on the stall's counter and turn to raise a scathing brow at Luke.

"Excuse me," you crisply muse and breeze by him towards the table you left your purse at.

"Goddamn," Lou cheers before he whistles and claps at you. "Do all the women in the C.O. office know how to shoot like that?! Cuz if they do, I'm recruitin'. The rest of you can go listen to wiretaps!"

You smile, but shoot Ellis a glance over your shoulder that orders, 'I want to leave. Now.'

After some good-natured ribbing and easy praise, you say your goodbyes and don't give Luke a second look. Ellis, for his part, plays perfect buffer and you're both able to head to his car with minimal tension. Once he's driven a ways away, though, he can't bear the pregnant silence, so he blurts, "You looked real mad, kid."

"I was," you state curtly.

"I don't think he meant anything by it," Ellis pouts, and you cross your arms, annoyed. "I'm sure he'll apologize for being so presumptuous—"

"I don't care. Clearly I've encouraged him to think he could be so forward, so I've corrected that," you snap and press your lips together. "I'm sorry for cutting it short—"

"Nah. It's getting late. We should head home with all the shit that's going on anyways," he replies affably, easing your tension.

As soon as you're up the steps and through the apartment door, you toss your things onto the side table and stomp into the bathroom to take a shower, simmering with insolent annoyance. By the time 10pm rolls around, you're feeling less angry, especially once you dug around in your drawers for a very risqué garment you just remembered buying on a lark the last time Anita and you went to the mall. You consider saving it for tomorrow night, but decide it's the perfect ensemble for how you're feeling tonight.

When Javier knocks at your door a few minutes later, he's glancing around while he waits for you to answer. He remembers how he'd had to stand at the backstairs and wait for that asshole Samson to leave your door before he could stalk over and surprise you. That hot jealous sting sticks in his craw, but he shoves it away when he hears you undo the lock and open the door.

Javier turns and practically misses leaning his hand into the doorframe — his usual smug pose, and just ends up doing a wide-eyed double take before openly leering at you.

"Well?" you muse and raise a sultry brow. "Are you gonna come in?"

He cups his hand over his mouth and finally jolts at the realization that you're really standing there in a red-lace teddy and nothing else at your door, hair and lips full and luscious as you stare provocatively at him, so he swivels his startled stare around to make sure no one can see you before he rushes in and slams the door shut.

"Jesus fucking Christ, querida—" Javier begins to exclaim when he stops himself after you've given him a smoldering look and traced your tongue between your lips as you push him up against the door and snake your hands beyond his jacket to the back of his pants.

Without ceremony, you yank his service weapon and badge free to store them onto the side table against the wall before you reach your arms around him again and find the item you're looking for.

"Do you know what I've been thinking about all day?" you purr as you yank his handcuffs free from the leather clasp that fastens them into the back of his belt. When Javier just stares incandescently down at you, you brush up against him and whisper against his chin, "You, in handcuffs, for being a fucking atrevido with me this morning."

Javier has never been more turned on in his life. He went from relaxed to instantly hard in an instant, and his brain is trying to rationalize what's happening while his cock is just intently straining at your every move. It's only when you raise a challenging brow at him and press your breasts into his midriff that he snaps out of the enthralled haze to answer thickly, "I-I don't know if the punishment f-fits the crime—"

"Really? Being a puto mujeriego and yelling at me doesn't call for me to put these on and doing whatever the hell I want to you?" you pose in an alluring murmur, eyes gleaming up at him as you rattle the handcuffs while he shivers and groans appealingly. With an exacting smirk, you get on your tippy toes and ghost your lips against his parted ones and purr, "I think it does."

Javi's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows and wars with the dark, deviant urge that's twisting gleefully in his gut – pulse racing as he lets you pull him by the front of his belt away from the door to instead be lead down to your bedroom. He's so aroused by this that he doesn't trust his voice not to crack if he gripes any defying remark. And really, he doesn't want to defy you right now. He is lit up with desire and intrigue, simmering with excitement as you pull him to the foot of the bed and keep your hand gripped around the buckle of his belt.

"Take your clothes off," you order, tilting your head up at an angle so you can brush your nose along his chest. "Now."

Javier exhales a charged breath and is shrugging his jacket off in an instant before he can muster the outrage or umbrage at being ordered to do anything. Once his fingers hastily work the buttons of his shirt open, you let your hand at his belt drop to graze his tented crotch before taking a step back and leaning your weight onto a hip, seating your free hand there imperiously while you idly toy the handcuffs in your other hand. Javi's stripping stutters in speed from how distracted he gets by how insanely sexy you look, so you have to hum at him to keep going.

You graze your teeth along your bottom lip as you watch more and more golden skin emerge, and it takes all your vindictively devious control to not falter and just pounce on him when he tosses the last barrier away to stand in his naked glory before you. His cock is thick with arousal and straining to be touched, throbbing and looking utterly delectable. Javi's eyes are dark with lust, filled with fog while his broad, muscled body is coiled in erotic anticipation.

"Get on the bed."

Javi licks his lips and broadens his shoulders in a telltale show of defiance. "Rules first," he croaks hoarsely, and takes a cleansing breath, gathering his confidence. "You cannot leave me handcuffed," he rumbles in a graveled husk.

You raise a brow and let the handcuffs hang around the curve of your hooked fingers. "Do you let anyone set the terms of their punishment, agente?" you muse and feign like he's quite gullible to think he can negotiate as you prance closer and trail your fingertips along his arm as you circle him. "Let them tell you how things are gonna go?" you purr and drag your nails lightly down his back, causing him to gasp and his muscles to flex. "If that's so, then I'm not really interested—" you begin when Javier whirls and gruffly huffs down at you, eyes burning with daring. He's right on the edge of losing control and just ravishing you with surly dominance, so you lean into him and murmur, "Haz lo que te pido, amado."

The power of saying, 'Do as I ask you, beloved,' is beyond anything you could've imagined, but are delighted by when he shudders and goes to lie on your bed, aroused and breathing fast as he's titillated with anticipation and illicit longing.

He's never trusted anyone enough to let them handcuff him, but he finds that he trusts you implicitly, which feels so forbidden. You crawl over him and take your time kissing up his body, trailing the tip of your tongue along sinew and muscle while he groans in approval and keeps his hands on the pillow above his head. When he feels the cold metal of the handcuff start to bracelet his wrist, he exhales and realizes he'd closed his eyes in anxious excitement, so he opens them now to watch you.

He sees your loving look, how you're focused on putting the handcuffs on, mindful to keep them loose so as to not cut off his circulation. The clicking of the metal settling into a fixed grip and the chain linking the cuffs clanking has Javier trembling, and you can feel it, so you straddle him and affectionately curl your warm, lacy body against his overheated skin. You kiss him, finally, and are so tender, taking your time with the worship of his mouth as you slip your fingers into his hair and soothingly caress his scalp while you twirl your tongue against his.

Parting from the hungry kiss, you trail your mouth along his jaw and undulate your body over his, rubbing his pulsing cock against the swell of your ass as you suckle on that soft, sweet spot on his neck and earn a hoarse groan from Javier. Then, you suddenly rear up and grip your palms around the base of his forearms and press down, forcing his handcuffed hands into the plush pillow more and giving you purchase enough to press your cleavage against his face.

Javier moans and buries his face into your breasts, breathing in your scent and getting harder after you hum and murmur, "Do you know how turned on and hot you got me?"

"Mmph, t-tell me," he exhales gruffly after you ease back and stare seductively down at him.

"Enough to consider marching into your office and banishing your poor partner so I can have my fucking way with you," you charge, tightening your grip on his forearms when his arms jerk and he writhes under you. You can see he's picturing it, and from how his cock twitches against your ass, you know he's thought something similarly filthy. "Dime una cosa," you purr and finally undulate your hips so you can nestle Javi to grind flush against your wet, soft pussy. "¿Eres mío?"

Javier moans at the combination of your asking if he's yours and the sensation of you sinking onto his cock. His hands clench into fists from the sinful desperation of wanting to grab you and being unable to, so he groans and arches in frustration under you and hitches, "Y-Yes. Yes."

Pleased, you do a slow gyration of your pelvis and literally squeeze Javi's cock in your silken, rippling vice by clenching your floor muscles and rutting down on him. His eyes roll back into his head and he makes the neediest sound you've ever heard him make – hands on his forearms feeling how his tendons flex convulsively under the impulsive twitches of his hands trying to yank apart. His reaction has your clit throbbing and your core contracting hard around him, which earns a wordless exaltation from him. Your nipples are studding into the lace of your practically see-through teddy as you lean down and lick his lips.

"Tell me how bad you want me to ride your cock, Javier," you insist in a drawl against his mouth, breathing in his panting gasps as you clutch your walls around him.

"B-Bad—so bad, please, q-querida—" he stutters in a roughened baritone that rakes delight across your senses.

You answer by snatching your hands up to clasp his and yank so his arms have to bend at the elbow, and you lift from his lap only enough for his cock to heavily drag so close to slipping out of your heavenly heat before you slam yourself back onto it and cry out when you hit something exquisite inside yourself. Javi rumbles and bucks up to meet your hips as you repeat the brusque pivoting of your hips to drive yourself hard onto his pulsing cock. His fingers lace with yours as your pace only picks up, lips parted as you whimper from the sinfully divine effort of riding Javier at your own indulgence – albeit with rapturous undulations that have you able to control the vigor and intensity of the sensations with the sinewy and deftness of your supple muscles.

Your thighs flex from the effort of lifting and clenching lusciously around Javier, abs tense and lithe from your clutching and contracting of your core. Javi is writhing and desperate to meet your pace, but can't leverage more than bucking his hips up into you from how you have his hands and arms propped over his head, pulling his shoulders taut and leaving him at your mercy. Not that he's looking to end this ravenous game, especially when you surprise him by holding his hands down by pinning them with your palm pressing the chain linking the cuffs into the pillow while you reach your other hand behind yourself and cup his balls. The light, teasing pressure of your fingers around his aching spheres coupled with your molten sheath gripping wantonly around his cock has Javi braying a choked moan and tossing his head back as he stammers your name and has to bite his lip from babbling more filthy, unintelligent praise.

When you fist the chain and hunch into him as you finally buckle under the mounting pleasure sizzling through your muscles, you have to stifle a cry as you climax, not wanting to miss his reaction. Javier rewards you by shivering and straining inside you before you feel his cock swell and throb. His expression flushes and his moan is tight and wrecked when he comes, chest going broad and body reflexively tensing as his hips stutter under you to fuck over into bliss while you sink down to bury him as deep as he can go so he can fill your shuddering core.

The force of it has you alight and complete, and you can't help make a fierce little sound of content glee as you feel him pump you full of cum. With how tight your muscles are flexed, you can feel your womb quiver at the warm onslaught, and the way Javier looks up at you when you bow and moan your delight? It's an enthralling prize you'll covet forever.

His brows are arched ecstatically, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead while his usually etched features are supine with sated lust, eyes soft and dark with glossy bliss and mouth slack from his panting breathing. He looks gorgeous, and you only hope he likes what he sees too.

Javier is staring through hazed, pining eyes at you, completely fucked out and drunk on the high of having you dominate a mind-blowing orgasm out of him. He whines when he goes to reach and caress his hands through your hair and remembers he's cuffed. Your hand around the chain eases away so you can cuddle into him, and Javi mumbles appealing sounds. You sigh and kiss him at the spot under his jaw, nuzzling him and getting lost in his scent and warm skin.

"Tan bello," you find yourself sighing as you lean up to caress his cheek and stare alluringly into his molten gaze. When Javi smiles, that boyish dimple is on full display – teasing you – and you can't help mutter, "I think I could enjoy keeping you like this indefinitely—"

"Not in these fuckin' handcuffs, bravita," he grumbles, but his smile doesn't wane, especially when you huff and sit up so you can caress your palms possessively across his pecs. "C'mon," he lifts his cuffed wrists and shakes them, obvious gesture for you to free him.

You sigh dramatically and lightly drag your nails down his chest, earning a delighted hiss from him. "I don't know," you lilt. "They really suit you, guapito," you tease and watch him flush when you caress your thumbs over his nipples and cause them to harden. "And you seemed to really like being in them—"

"Keep it up, and I'll put you in 'em," he growls ruggedly and showily raises his arms to outstretch his wrists at you.

You pout, and surprise him by grabbing the chain linking the cuffs and tugging so he has to sit up, and you loop under them so you can be flush against his chest as you kiss him. Javier idly cups the back of your head as best he can and deepens the kiss before he suddenly pulls back when he feels you adjust in his lap. He hisses at the sensation of your heat receding from around him and being replaced with the comingled warmth of your desires spending out of your tight sheath. With the distraction of his riveted attention being on the sinful sight, you shrug seamlessly back, slipping out of the loop of his arms, and on shaky knees, pivot to straddle his lap facing the foot of the bed. You glance over your shoulder at him as you hike up the teddy and show him your dewed and dripping cunt from behind before bowing and presenting yourself to him.

Javier is floored with savage delight and suppresses a shiver when you hum appealingly and murmur, "Fuck me as hard as you can, and I'll let you out of those cuffs."

He's never been up for a challenge more in his life.

Even with the handcuffs, Javi is able to dominate you with aplomb in this position, and you both revel in it, enjoying being alphas that can share control. You are especially impressed when he pivots you onto your elbows and keeps you balanced to angle your pelvis up for him with just his handcuffed hands clasped at either side of your arched trapezius muscles, thumbs pressing in and anchoring you as he pounds your pulsing, silken pussy from behind. You whimper breathily and let Javier fuck you into hypersensitive bliss, feeling a shameless wreck as you climax and he presses his palms down into the middle of your lower back and ruts through your quaking sheath as every plunge forces his previous spend to leak out of you just to be replaced with hot cum he pumps into you after moaning your name and thrusting home before bottoming out in you.

You mewl rapaciously and crumble under your pleasure as Javier keeps undulating his hips and dragging his cock to rub flush against every inch of rippling heat inside you. Spent, Javi pulls your hips up and back to follow his own as he rears to sit and yanks you to do the same, but in his lap – with his cock still inside you. You're quaking and twitching in his arms after he looped his cuffed wrists over your head to bind you against his chest.

He listens to you catch your breath and gets lost in your sweet scent as he rests his head against yours.

After a fleeting eternity, you are yourself again and able to scrape your senses to retrieve his keys from his jacket pocket and release him from the handcuffs. You're about to put them aside on the nightstand when he snatches them from your grip and pulls you by your arm against him, making a big show as if he's contemplating clamping them on you before shrugging and tossing them away to land on your dresser with a clang. You snicker and internally exhale in relief, unsure you'd be able to withstand another romp while your hands were incapacitated.

Once you've both showered and are back on your refreshed sheets, lounging naked together, Javi languidly stretches out and lies on his side to admire you. "…Put it back on?" he husks tentatively.

You blow a raspberry. "That thing is a mess—"

"It's not. I like it, especially now," he rumbles, fingertips tracing your temple and following the contour of your cheekbone. "Please?"

You can't deny him when he asks like that. With faux annoyance, you retrieve the illicitly stained teddy and put it back on, wrinkling your nose at the damp spots before getting back into bed. He grunts in approval and pulls you to lie on top of him, letting his hands caress down your sides and knead your ass over the red lace.

"How was that thing?" he asks as he trails his nose against your jaw while you comb your fingers through his hair.

You give a dispassionate sneer. "I probably won't be bugged to go to another one of 'em for a while," is what you answer glibly before snickering at him grunting curiously as he starts to fondle your breast over the stretchy lace.

"Hm, care to elaborate?" he attempts, but is content with watching how your nipple studs against the lace from his teasing touch.

"Not really," you muse and finally slap his hand down. "So, tomorrow night. You picking me up here after work?" you change the subject smoothly and slink off of him so you and recline sidelong into the pillows and smile at him.

"Yeah. Around 8 work?" he remarks and lounges with his hands folded behind his head, sated and pleased when you cuddle close and nod in assent. "…You still up for the entire thing?" he poses in a soft tone, and you find yourself deciphering his meaning. "I promise to sneak you into my place where my nosy neighbors won't see—"

"Ah," you snicker and sit up to drape your arm around his broad chest and lean close to kiss his jaw. "Yes, I'm letting you dictate the terms, chavón," you purr and kiss his lips. "I'm looking forward to it."

He hums, appeased, and brushes a kiss to your cheek. "Good. It's a date," he drawls and smirks as he adjusts so he can loop an arm around you and hold you close.

You smile, all wistful as you reach over him to shut the light off and curl up against him.

The morning routine is blissful, and once you both kiss and part ways, you're content with counting down the hours until you can race home and get really dolled up. You have the dress you'll wear already in mind, and are debating what shoes to pair it with when lunch time rolls around and you go meet with Marisol and some of the other girls. When you come back to your desk, Ellis is nursing his 3rd cup of coffee of the day and shooting you coy glances. Rolling your eyes, you huff and swivel in your chair to face him.

"Out with it," you mutter, crossing your arms.

"Well, I'm trying to gauge whether you'll shoot the messenger," he quips, and when you raise a judgmental brow, he sighs. "I think Samson's gonna approach you today—"

"No."

"Wait, so he might come by at the end of the day—"

"No."

"—He's a nice guy and definitely doesn't want to end up on bad terms with you—"

"NO."

At the firmness of that, Ellis pouts. "You can only control you, kid, so I'm just forewarning you incase you feel compelled to verbally assassinate him. Best you don't and just tell him no hard feelings and remain civil."

You grumble and swivel back around, knowing he's right. "It's done after this though. No more matchmaking or cajoling. And he better not be talking about me—"

"The fellas were raggin' on him, but they have nothing disparaging to say about you. They think you're a badass, frankly," Ellis remarks and sips his coffee.

You stew on that, wondering if they're liable to talk about you to DEA, if Javi gets earfuls about you from them. He'd alluded to it, but never specified anything. While you wonder, Javier and Steve are walking into Mil Group for a surveillance briefing. The bullpen outside of Lou's office and adjacent to the conference room is relatively empty of personnel. Along the wall that would be used to pin up suspect boards was instead taken up with tacked paper targets, each riddled with varying bullet holes.

There's one with a blue ribbon attached to it, so when they go into the conference room, Steve can't help deride, "Your boys need gold star stickers for target practice?"

"Real funny," Lou deadpans and gestures with his coffee mug to the wall with the targets. "That's to motivate them to be less of a shit shot. After all, the best shot wasn't any one of 'em, so figured it'd be a good kick in the ass."

Javi chuckles and glances over at the target with the blue ribbon, seeing it has four bullet shots in the center and one in the middle of the head. "Who was the crack shot?" he drawls as he leans against the table and fans out his dossier.

"That ferocious little minx from C.O. Put all of 'em to shame with her shooting," the colonel muses and takes a long drink from his mug, watching as Javier's brows quirk and Steve grins with wily amusement. "I just might need to recruit her—"

"Maybe we will. Shit, if she's that good a shot," Steve jokes and swats Javi's arm in a sardonic show of camaraderie.

"Something tells me she wouldn't put up with either of you and your shit, boys," Lou jibes in a snarky drawl.

Javi spends most of the meeting picturing you in that red lace teddy, and in his fantasy he's put you in those 'fuck me' heels and has you aiming the barrel of a gun like some Bond girl, except you're his girl – his little solterita who seemingly everyone drools over. His pride in knowing he's the only one with the privileges bestowed to him by you has him hot and yearning the rest of the day.

You, on the other hand, are not looking forward to the end of the day now that Ellis has warned you about Samson wanting to make amends of some kind. You're tempted to just leave half hour early so you can beat rush hour and enjoy the ritual of getting ready for your date with Javi, but you also know this needs to happen. Truthfully, you feel like you have to do a bit of penance for having unintentionally fibbed to Javi, and maybe at least this way you'll cull any more advances, permanently.

That's the plan when you walk out of your department with Ellis and head off to your weekend. He's goofily fidgeting, as if he is the one that has to let Luke down gently, and by the time you both are exiting the lobby, you think he's going to volunteer to do it for you, but as soon as you're out the main doors and heading for the sprawling stairs down to the carport, Luke is waiting, and Ellis literally coughs uncomfortably and grimaces, "Do you want me to hang around? I'll be your alibi…but I'm not burying the body."

You jab a pressure point under his armpit and he winces. "Just go home, Rose," you snicker, needling him with his surname, to his chagrin. "I'll see you Monday."

Once Ellis gallops down the stairs and shoots Luke a hasty farewell, you march over and decide to get this over with. He looks tense, like he's been deliberating over this since last night, and you annoyance wanes a bit. "Hey…" he greets, tenor rumble halting. "I wanted to apologize—"

"Luke, it's fine," you cut in, brushing your hair behind your ear when a breeze tousles your tresses languidly from behind your shoulders. "I don't want to belabor anything. We're colleagues and I just want to keep things civil and professional, so if I've been untoward in my behavior, I'm sorry. You're a great guy, and I shouldn't have encouraged anything—"

"You didn't. That was me reading into things what I wanted," he states earnestly, adding with genuine affection, "Yes, I like you, but I'm a grown ass man. I am more than happy to keep things platonic. I just don't ever want to make you uncomfortable or cross your boundaries again."

Feeling like a complete jerk now, your shoulders sag and you adjust your purse strap as you sigh and muse, "I'm sorry I showed you up in front of the guys."

He laughs, a warm, gravelly sound as he puts his hands in his pockets and makes an 'aw, shucks' gesture with his shoulders. "You totally buried the lead! Where'd you learn to shoot like that?!" he asks, and you feel a bit better, glad to not have some brooding awkwardness between you two.

"My father," you answer, but don't elaborate. Instead, you remark, "We're going to get Mil Group's tech requisitions soon, so we'll have to come up with a schedule for you fellas to get trained up. In the meantime, do practice your shooting. I'd hate to hear Lou talk about recruiting newbies."

"Hah, you know he pinned up the targets? On Monday, you gotta come by and see," he chuckles.

You both chit chat a bit more, smoothening all terseness aside before you say your goodbyes and 'Have a nice weekend,' well wishes.

It's a short while later that you get home and go to rush to get ready for your date. You feel lighter after talking to Luke, and are free to look forward to having Javier Peña take you out to a night on the town – his side of town, on his terms. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit anxious at the prospect of being seen by possible coworkers out and about with the notorious-yet-debonair DEA agent, but you're more excited than anything.

By the time you look at the clock, you realize you have to rush to pick out your shoes before finishing with your makeup, which isn't your forte. Once you've put the lipstick down to reach for your favorite perfume and spritz lightly, Javier is knocking on your door.

He's just finished chewing one of his mints when you open the door. Whirling, he feels a sense of déjà vu – only instead of being dumbstruck by a lacy femme fatale standing in the threshold this time, he's floored to see you in a flirty-yet-classy off-the-shoulder blush-toned dress and strappy kitten heels. Your hair is half up in a delicate twist, fastened with rose-shaped hair clasp. The tresses that flow loose accentuate the soft lines of your sloping shoulders and neck, and when you adjust your purse strap onto your shoulder and look up at him, Javi has to struggle to not whisk you inside and worship you like the impulse beckons.

"You look gorgeous," he blurts, and you melt a little at the honeyed pitch of his tone.

Taking the chance to appraise him with an affectionate once over, you catalogue how ridiculously handsome he is in virtually everything he wears. It should be a crime. And now? Wearing a dark blue polo shirt and fitted black slacks, with a black leather belt and matching pair of loafers – with his hair combed with a brush? It's downright sinful. And his scent – it's mouthwatering, and all you want to do is press your face into his throat and do very filthy things to him.

"You combed your hair," you tease and pull him close by his belt buckle so you can lean up and kiss him on the lips. "Estás bien guapo, chulito," you purr and he grunts with dry affection at that. "Mmm, you smell good," you murmur and trail your nose along his jaw, which causes heat to coil in his gut and a tempted hum to warm up his chest.

"Keep it up, and I can't be held responsible for what I do," he grouses provocatively as he caresses a hand down the curve of your body to cheekily knead your ass. "You have everything?"

Smirking, you slink away and grab the overnight tote from the couch and hold it up, as if it's the Holy Grail, or at least from how Javier's brows are quirking in triumph, the irrevocable proof that you're all-in for his plans. He takes the tote so you can lock up and store your keys in your purse before taking his hand and letting him lead you down the steps and out to his jeep. It's a cool night, sky clear of clouds and the moon is full, so he's able to admire you from the corner of his eye and enjoy how lovely you look in the lowlight of the car as you joke and smile over at him while he drives.

"—How nosy are your neighbors? Like, look out the peephole at every sound of activity nosy?" you ask, raising your brows when he snorts at the thought.

"Steve and Connie are upstairs, so no worries there. You might hear him galloping around up there," he offers and shrugs. "The neighbor down the hall from me is some analyst that's always traveling," he pauses and deviously glances over at you as he purrs, "You don't have to do the walk of shame I do—"

"Oh please. Aside from giving las retiradas a nice treat to feast on from their garden patios, they are not going to blow up your spot like anyone on your block most definitely would," you snicker and grin when he grunts and squeezes your knee cheekily at that.

"…Well I guess it's a good thing you have suitors go to your place," he rumbles in a veiled tone, one you know is really him fishing to find out how many other men you've invited over.

If he'd asked at any other time, you probably would've been peeved, but considering you're trying to play on his terms, you figure it wouldn't hurt to divulge a bit. "Nope. You're the only one I've let come over," you muse pleasantly, and when he glances at you, seeming a bit surprised, you add, "How do you think I got so good at sneaking out without waking you?"

That makes him picture things he doesn't want to – namely you sneaking out of a man's bed with the stealth you employed with Javi after your first hookup, so he clears his throat and hums.

You purse your lips in amusement and lean over to plant a peck on his cheek. "No te pongas celoso," you tease.

"I can't help get jealous," he answers in a sulky tone, and you snicker. "But I suppose you have all night to make it up to me," he purrs and skates his palm from your knee to brush along your thigh.

You tingle at that, and smile, deciding you'll do just that.

He takes you to a very nice restaurant in the old town of the capital, and escorts you with your hand tucked into his forearm as you traverse the cobblestones. Your table is cozy and secluded, and the small votive candle at the center creates a soft glow that casts you both in a literal romantic light. You see his soulful eyes shine while you both talk over your meals and sip your drinks. The food is delicious, and so is your lover when he's licking his lips and smiling at you.

You affectionately nudge your foot along his ankle when the waiter comes by and suggests dessert, unspoken indication that you want him for dessert. Javier bites the inside of his lower lip and politely declines, and once the bill comes and he pays it, he's escorting you out and cupping his large, warm hand to your lower back as he nuzzles your temple and husks, "Such an atrevida."

"No idea what you're referring to," you playfully lilt and take his arm before giving him a flirty peck on the lips, batting your curled and full lashes at him. "Thanks for dinner."

"Hmph," he grunts wryly and encircles your waist as you fall into step and let him lead the way.

Before long, he's parking across from an avenue in a bustling nightlife hub of the city, and you're impressed by the hum and thrum of the music coming from the dance club he's escorting you to. It's a sprawling hall with a bar on one end, and bar-height tables flanking the large dance floor in front of the DJ booth in the corner and the live band's stage against the wall on the opposite end.

Easily finding a table, you set your purse on it and lean up to talk in his ear so you're not shouting over the music. "You better know how to dance merengue, chico," you tease and smile when he smirks and squeezes your waist.

"I'm more of a salsa guy, but I'll give it a try," he answers before gesturing to the bar. You nod and stay at the table while he goes to find an empty spot he can lean over and get a bartender to take his order.

You take the chance to people watch and bop to the music, noticing how most of the crowd is made up of groups, not really couples, but everyone seems merry. The lights above the dance floor strobe in warm and soft colored-lights while the cumbia song plays. It seems like there's a mix of people from across all social echelons, and everyone is out to have a good time, so you don't really notice anyone looking over at you. If anything, this ambiance is cool, feeling like a pleasant little bubble of music and good times, so you relax and let the beat settle into you.

Javier is back with your drinks, and once you both have downed enough of them, you are grabbing him and pulling him to dance, and he lets you but takes the lead, and you love it. His hand at your waist is warm, and how his fingertips press into you through your dress has you tingly and pliant. When the slower tempo song comes on, he pulls you close, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you both sway and get lost in the calm delight of being together in such a simple way.

He presses his nose to your hair and inhales, feeling soothed and warmed by your scent, hand trailing from yours to caress your back when you tip your face up and kiss his jaw. He nuzzles you before lowering to capture your lips, and the kiss is doting and chaste. It's like no one else is around, the moment is yours and you only share it with Javi.

When a merengue song finally comes on, you grin and pull him close, adjusting his hand placement and telling him, "It's all in the hips. Try and keep up, querido."

Javier scoffs, but soon realizes you're not kidding when everyone around you dances with a vigor he's not used to. He's relegated to letting you lead, which you can't help be wily and grin over while he tries to keep up. The only thing he's good at is spinning you and tugging you back against him before looping you back into step, but his footwork needs help and as soon as the song ends, he's winded, and you giggle as he leads you back to your table and frowns. "Jesus Christ," he grumbles and finishes his whiskey. "Is that a sped up version?" he asks and wipes the back of his palm across his brow.

"Oh honey, that is slow merengue compared to how we dance it back home," you drawl and caress your fingertips along his brow. "If you don't walk off the dance floor sweating buckets, then you didn't dance it right," you joke. "This is more traditional – the beat, anyway. There's a mambo callejero version of merengue that really gets the blood pumping," you remark before pressing flirtatiously close to him and purring, "I'll teach you."

Javi smirks, liking the sound of a 'street-style mambo,' when he knows mambo can get very sexy – almost borderline sexual, so he purrs, "We do plenty of horizontal mambo as it is."

You snicker and swat his chest. "Fresco," is your playful murmur as you let him encircle your waist so he can pull you close before kissing you. You loop your arms around his shoulders and deepen the kiss before he gropes his hands down to cup your ass. You gasp and break the kiss, "Javier—"

"Hmph, quit teasing me then," he grouses and gives you a quick peck before signaling he's going back to the bar.

You roll your eyes but are smirking, and when he strides off, you turn to take the chance to finish your drink before brushing your fingers through your hair and making sure there aren't any frazzled strands flaring wildly. While you're doing so and watching people dance, Javier is just finishing putting in his order when he glances across the bar and sees a familiar face.

A very familiar, smug and seductive face of a woman who's whispering over to her friends before using her chin to gesture in his direction, smiling and waving at him. Javier flints his stare away and internally swears, hoping she doesn't take it as an invitation to come over. He glances back at you and you're smiling as a woman from a group at a nearby table is complementing your hair clasp and asking where you got it.

Just as he starts to wonder if he should suggest checking out another dance hall, what he was dreading comes to fruition.

"Well, fancy seeing you here, Javi," she comes onto him in Spanish, charmed and flirty as she sidles up close and sips her martini.

"Vanessa," he greets flatly and glances at her, swiveling his gaze covertly to the end of the bar where her friends are, and he recognizes some of them as girls from the high-end brothel they picked up Barry Seal months before.

When he doesn't say anything else, she haughtily purrs, "What? Can't make time for an old friend?" Javier gives her a sidelong stare and avoids looking in your direction, but she pivots the cant of her hips so she can showily shoot a glance over to where you're table is and zeros in on you just as you're placing your empty glass down and leaning your elbow on the table to face the bar. She deliberately locks eyes with you, as she inquires goadingly, "And her? She's your escort? She looks bonita, I suppose—"

"Goodnight, Vanessa," Javier curtly grits out and glares warningly at her when he realizes she's looking at you. He glances back and sees you stoically watching, and the acrimonious anxiety wells in his chest.

Vanessa scoffs and makes a show of patting his forearm as she muses, "I'll see you around then, papito," then struts off back to the gaggle at the end of the bar.

He clenches his jaw, terse when he pays for the drinks and takes them back to the table. The whole time you were watching the exchange, your jealousy was on a slow burn, the rational, reasonable side of you trying not to jump to conclusions or let your façade falter, but the natural questions were rambling over in your mind: Who is she? Do they know each other? Is she trying to pick him up? However, you defy your simmering jealousy to instead focus in on his demeanor to clue you in. When he comes back and places the drinks down, you expect him to say something to justify what you just saw, and when he doesn't and instead cups your cheek and brushes a kiss to your lips, you tangle with ambivalence.

You don't want to let it feed your insecurities, so you snuff it and take the drink, sipping it before you lean close and say in his ear, "Next time, I'll get the drinks, because if I see another descarada put a hand on you, I'm liable to catch a case."

Javier is shocked at the blasé smoothness of your threat and feels a scalding sense of pride, which he knows is wrong, but when you give him a cool, pointed look before brushing your lips against his, he can't help grope you close and murmur, "You're lucky I got friends in CNP, so I might be able to pull strings—"

"Ah-hah, ni joder," you snap, and shove him back, imperious look becoming flinty as you drain your drink before gesturing with a tilt of your head to the dance floor.

He hears you loud and clear.

Taking your hand, he leads you back to the dance floor and does everything he can to make it clear that he is there with you. His hands are caressing all over you, his lips nuzzling kisses into your neck as you pull him close and sway to the soft-tempo song. You let him herd you close, pressing your pelvis flush against him so you're undulating sensually to the romantic and sultry lambada song that comes on, and you ride his thigh as you sway your hips to the beat and let him pivot you about before spinning you and tucking you back against him. You arch into him and lusciously lull your head against his shoulder as he encircles your waist and keeps you both swaying languidly to the beat until the song ends and you reluctantly pull away.

His hand guides you back to press against him so he can capture your lips in a hungry kiss that curls your toes and overheats you. The alcohol is starting to hit you, warming your bloodstream and making you loose and provocative, so when he leads you back to your table, you're giving him an alluring look as you excuse yourself to the ladies room, taking your purse and giving him a devious little squeeze to his ass before you go. He laughs and bites his lip, watching you saunter off and fantasizing about how he's going to peel that dress off of you the minute he gets you to his place.

While he drinks his whiskey and keeps thinking raunchy things, you're waiting in the queue for an available stall. A few minutes later and you're pleasantly waltzing over to the sink to wash your hands. No one lined up behind you, so you're alone in the bathroom until the door opens and the loud music invades the tiled space as a group of women come in laughing and chatting in Spanish.

"—You sure? He didn't look happy to see her—"

"Ah, but he's like that—"

"Exactly, you know how he is. Always plays hard to get, but when you're one-on-one, he's a bárbaro and insatiable."

"Well, sure, but Javi hasn't come by since – what, when was that last time, Vanessa?"

You glance up in the mirror at their reflection as they queue up at the stalls while the woman – Vanessa – struts over to the long counter and parks herself at a sink basin a few spots over. She preens in the mirror before purposely glancing your way as she adjusts her bodycon dress. Unbothered – since, after all, you're no virgin to vindictive behavior, you reach in your purse and fish out your lipstick, taking your time with reapplying it to your plush lips as the woman you saw talking to Javier at the bar makes a show of fluffing her hair. She's taller and thinner than you, and endowed – but whether that's natural or bought for, you don't care, because you're tempted to straighten her ass out and wreck that smug face of hers.

"When was Barry there? A couple of months ago? That's the last time, but several times before that," Vanessa muses and sighs. "He liked going to his place though—"

Goadingly, her friend chimes, "We know. Hell, a few of us have taken a turn on that big leather couch of his. Javi does like to bend you over and take you wherever though—"

Once you've pressed your lips together and evened out the color of your lipstick, you cap it and drop it into your purse, turning and having to walk by Vanessa to get to the door.

"Chiquita, be sure to enjoy your turn. Javi doesn't keep the same escort for long."

You pause, adjusting your purse strap on your shoulder and turning to confidently look at her like she's a puddle of dogshit before smiling. "Well, by the looks of the lot of you, I can see why he's moved on," you verbally napalm, getting a thrill at how her face pinches up with indignity. "Talk to me like that again, and they'll be scraping what's left of your lips off the mirror, puta pendeja."

Her friends stiffen but say nothing, and Vanessa can't hold your blazing gaze as you bore into her, silently daring her to say something else. When she doesn't, you strut off and exit the bathroom, and are boiling with rage as you slash a path through the dance floor and up to the table where Javi is finishing his whiskey. When he glances over, his smiling eyes widen at the contumely fierce look on your features.

"I'm leaving."

Your ground out hiss is barely audible over the music, and Javier is so confused by the shift that he grabs your waist to stop you. "Baby—" He pauses when you smack his hand away and storm off, furious strides carrying you through the crowded hall and towards the entrance. Shocked, Javi glares about and catches sight of Vanessa and her friends coming out of the ladies room. The violent fury that wells in him is blinding. She obviously had been looking to stir trouble up, and had he known she'd been watching you both from the minute you walked in? Javier would've U-turned you the hell out of there and gone somewhere else. By the look she shoots him across the way, he immediately knows what they did, and before he's registered it, he's chasing after you, shimmying through the crowded hall to try and catch up to you.

Heat is suffocating your chest from the knot of emotions roiling there, and you can feel your adrenalin pumping your furious temper and throbbing at your temples as you make it out into the cool night air and stalk down the sidewalk towards the avenue, eyes darting about in search for a cab.

You hear your name shouted behind you, and you ignore it as you pick up pace and stride as quickly as you can in your kitten heels across the street towards the corner where you think you see a cab parked. Javier gains on you easily and is cutting you off before you've made it to the corner. "Goddammit, would you wait—?!" he's shouting as he grabs your arm and pulls you over to the side of the street where his jeep is parked.

Irate now, you wring your arm out of his grip and grapple with your fury. "No me toques," you hiss and realize you're making a scene, so you rein yourself in and state in a cold tone. "I'm going home—"

"No, you're not! You're gonna come with me and you're gonna talk to me," he buffets the back of his hand into his palm, a pointed gesture to emphasize 'talk' and stands his ground when you refuse to budge. "I'm not letting you get a fucking cab. If you wanna scream at me here in the middle of the street, have at it—"

You scoff in a snit and storm past him towards his jeep, and he turns and stalks to follow you, shoulders squared and arms flexing from how hard he's clenching his fists. Once you're in the passenger seat, you slam the car door and furiously seethe while he lights a cigarette and paces the driver's side for a few seconds before steeling himself and opening the door. Once he's sitting in the driver's seat, he is glaring ahead, trying to swallow his resentment, telling himself you have the right to be angry, but a selfish part of him doesn't want to fall on his sword tonight.

Puffing his chest out, he inhales a long drag before exhaling the smoke and lowering his window to flick the cigarette out. Once he's rolled it back up, he finally looks over at you, and you're staring out the window, head turned away from him and shoulders bunched up from how furiously crossed your arms are over your chest. Just when he deliberates about reaching over and squeezing your shoulder to coax you to look at him, you let out a charged breath.

"I can't do this."

Javi bristles – anger and hurt coiling in his chest and making him feel like he's going to splinter apart. "Querida—"

"I can't do this. I feel fucking insane – like a fucking fool, and no matter how badly I want it to not matter, it does, and I can't abide it," you rush out, unwavering tone cracking as you turn and stare into his eyes and see the hurt there. They're crinkled with upset at the corners – brows drawn while he suppresses the frown that wants to twist his lips. You ache, and you're shaking with the cacophony of emotions. "That puta malparida was obviously trying to get back at you, but it doesn't change the fact I can't go anywhere without running into some woman you've been with—"

"They don't matter!" Javier barks now, upset and simmering with fury. "Whatever the fuck she said – why does it matter?! You know what I've done – have thrown it in my face plenty of times, so why the fuck does it matter when I just want to be with you?" he rails, eyes flashing with lightning as he jabs, "Why do you perpetually have to punish me for shit I did before I fucking met you?!"

"Because you've continued to do it and then tell me it doesn't fucking matter!" you bellow, boiling over now as you gesticulate in the direction of the dance club. "That skank Vanessa said you saw her a couple months ago, which means you were fucking her while you and I were together—"

"I didn't fuck her the last time I saw her or at all in a while!" he snaps and leans close, seething, "I only fucked up once, and you're not going to let me live it down. If you don't trust me and you don't want to be with me, just fucking say so—"

"That's what I'm saying, Javier!" you shout, anger winding your shoulders back as you glare at him while you scathe, "You've been angling to lay some fucking claim to me so you can what – boast about it?! Meanwhile I have to walk around with the snickering and burlas – looking like a fucking fool—"

"I don't give a fuck what people say or think! Why the fuck do you care—?!" he begins to snap.

"Why don't you care?!" you exclaim and smack your hand down on the glove compartment. "Puñeta, why don't you have the same level of self-respect and pride you do for fucking around than for your goddamned reputation?! You think I should walk around having people talk shit about me being just the latest dumb slut you're messing around with—?!"

"First off, I'd fucking deck any motherfucker who'd talk about you like that," he cuts in, pissed off beyond belief now. "Second, if I spent as much time worrying about that kind of shit as you do, I wouldn't be able to do a goddamned thing. I'm here to get a job done, and how I have to get it done most times is not something I have the luxury of being a fucking choir boy about. I will not give a fuck about anyone else's judgment," he rumbles crisply and holds your gaze. "If I'm not good enough for you—"

"¡Carajo! Why the fuck do you say something so stupid and infuriating?!" you sneer and glower at him before scoffing in frustration and snapping, "Oh my god, I am so sick of fighting in this puto car with you! I'm done. Take me home—"

"No, we're going to my place, and if you wanna spend the whole night berating me—"

"If you think I'm going there now after I had to hear how every ramera in the city has been fucked by you on your big leather couch, you are out of your fucking mind and I will get the fuck out of this puto car right now and walk home—"

"Fuck! Fine!" he bellows and slams his hands into the steering wheel with enough force to roil a shudder through the paneling. Shoving the key into the ignition, he revs the engine and peels out onto the street, and you yelp, aghast.

"Jesus Christ, Javier!" you exclaim and gape at him. "Slow down and put your seatbelt on—"

"If you don't stop yelling at me, I'm going to lose my fucking cool—" he grounds out tightly and you scoff and jerk in your seat to yank at his seatbelt and lasso it around his torso haughtily before snapping it into the buckle. The look in your eyes diffuses some of his rage, so he grunts and tugs his arm around the belt while you huff and put your own seatbelt on.

You both go swiftly silent, tension crackling like the atmosphere in the middle of a turbulent storm. He drives and keeps his glare fixed ahead, simmering and winding up with frustration while you boil with fury and clench your jaw to keep from saying anything else and grip the handrail in the door's panel, white knuckling from how hard your hand is wrapped around it. You are trembling from how livid you are, and keep replaying how he's putting this on you and your insecurities when it should be commonsense reasonableness to not want to hear prostitutes talk about your boyfriend in a fucking club.

When he stops at a light, Javier finally glances over at you, and sees how you are mad – so mad that you are vibrating from keeping yourself restrained from lashing out. He snickers, and it comes out as a morose grunt more than anything.

"Just say it. Go ahead and say it all before you combust, malcriada," he deadpans, antagonizing and glib. Your body coils, eyes narrowing rancorously and plush lips pressing together with vehemence. You are not going to take the bait. So, when you turn to glare out the passenger window, Javier sets his jaw and flippantly croons, "Oh, that's right. You're done."

Your shoulders straighten, and the line of your spine defines through the fabric of your dress, and he can feel the drop in pressure from your temper about to hit critical mass. But the light turns green, so he starts to drive when police sirens and a fleet of cop cars careen down the main avenue and cut across him. You both jolt at him slamming the brakes and watch the cars go, bemused. Javier automatically stretched his arm out to bracket you from snapping forward, and your hand flew out to grab his thigh. Both were just instinctual – hardwired inside you both, and neither of you acknowledge it after you've caught your breaths. Once he's sure he has the right of way again, he drives the main route towards your side of town, and you both go silent again, the shock seeming to cool your tempers substantially.

After he's pulled up to the curb in front of your complex, he parks and turns the ignition off as you're snapping your seatbelt off. You go to open your door and just rush out, but he grabs your forearm in a firm grip and stops you.

With a cleansing exhale, he resolves to just say it, deciding he has nothing to lose.

"I love you."

You stiffen and absorb that, but your heart has no time to wrestle free of your anger before your mind has you blurting, "That's not enough."

You feel his fingers twitch, but can't bring yourself to look at him, so you pull your arm from his grip and exit the car, slamming the door behind you and striding away with as much dignity as you can while you feel your eyes begin to burn with the welling of tears.

Javier is stunned and watches you go, completely numb and realizing this was not a tiff. He dimly registers going on autopilot and driving back to his side of town. After he's driven into his parking space below his apartment building, he sits there and replays every single way he fucked up tonight. He should've taken you somewhere else the moment he saw Vanessa – should've been honest with himself about his chances at convincing you he was worthy of your grace.

He should've realized how much it hurts you to be confronted with his callousness.

Angry, Javi storms out of his jeep and slams the door, but before he stalks off, he notices your tote in the backseat. Swearing, he opens the door, reaches in and yanks it over, scowling when he realizes he's going to have to return it to you somehow.

He can't help be curious. Unzipping it, he opens the tote and rifles through to see what you'd packed.

Inside there are several changes of clothes – not just one ensemble, like he'd expected. Next, he finds a little pouch with some travel toiletries, a hairbrush, a scrunchie, and when his fingers brush silk, he pulls out the nighty with the slit at the thigh. Heavily, Javier leans his forehead against the back of the driver's headrest as he swears. Raising the delicate garment to his nose, it smells crisp and laundered, but he can decipher the delicate edge of your scent on it, and he closes his eyes. "Fuck me," he mutters to himself before begrudgingly returning the nighty to the tote and zipping it back up.

He stows it in the trunk, away from possible prying eyes, and heads up to his apartment. He's tempted to call you, but after what you'd said, he doesn't know what he could possibly tell you that would repair things. It was like you both had gone too far – had passed the point of no return, and realized it had you going in separate directions. Unbidden, his masochistic recall snaps him back to the last fight you had in the car, when he'd railed about you going on a lunch date with Samson. Something that he'd absorbed but hadn't catalogued closely blares in his mind now.

You'd told him you didn't want to define things because you never knew where you stand – that he has women everywhere and he could change on a dime. Compounded with another recollection of you telling him that you often wonder if he'll find someone else – someone who isn't as much work or require the amount of effort you do? Javi realizes how what happened tonight hit ground zero of your insecurities, and he feels absolutely furious with himself.

If he knew you'd rushed into your apartment and immediately tossed your things down so you could sit on the cold tiled floor and dissolve into fitful tears, Javier would've cursed himself and done any kind of penance for hurting you so.

But you're not mad at him now. You're furious with yourself for pushing him away – for sabotaging your feelings over the resolute, unwavering need to be in control and untouchable. You keep seeing how hurt he looked when you snapped at him in the car, and the maddening feeling of being so in love with him that you can't let yourself be weak makes you sick with roiling self-loathing. You've ruined things – all because you're so insecure about being seen as a fool – about being just another notch on his bedpost, when really, if you really admit it, you didn't care, because you loved him and wanted – deep down – to be on a pedestal as Javier Peña's one and only beloved. To go from his solterita to the woman he loved outright.

Your heart hurts, and you only muster the strength to pick yourself off the floor, shower, and lay in your bed in the dark when you think about how you can possibly fix the damage. He didn't deserve to be berated, or for you to take out all your insecurities on him.

But then, the reproachful voice tells you: It was only a matter of time before you became too much effort to put up with…

You decide you don't deserve him. All he's done is try to win your affections, to prove himself to you – that he was worthy of your love, and you told him it wasn't enough.

Grabbing the pillow and using it to muffle your shout of frustration, you smother your tears with it before succumbing to your racking sobs and crying yourself to sleep.

You're so depressed that you spend the weekend cooped up in your apartment, in the dark. You only admonish yourself and force yourself into productivity on Sunday when you can no longer ignore the ridiculous pile of laundry. By the end of the day, you've laundered and folded everything, and mechanically set out the ironing board to work on the linen that requires steaming and pressing.

When you fish out Javier's dress shirt from the basket, you feel a pang tug at your heart. You iron it, and grumble at yourself.

"…Such a bitch…yelling at him…fucking stupid…why are you even mad…he doesn't owe you anything…"

By the time Monday rolls around, you are lethargic with your moroseness, and debate whether you could get away with calling out, but then you remember the meetings you have, and can't justify saddling Ellis with all the work. You heave yourself through your morning routine and arrive earlier than usual, and as you hone your stoic façade for a day you're not at all prepared for, you make it up to your department and walk to your desk. Ellis hasn't gotten in yet, to your surprise, seeing as he's the morning person between the two of you.

It isn't the only surprise waiting for you.

When you approach your desk, you see your travel tote left on your desk chair, mostly tucked out of sight. Your heart wrenches in your chest and drops into your stomach. You wilt, and feel your gaze tremble, the prickle of tears burning at the corners of your eyes as you snatch it up and shove it under your desk before whirling around and peering backwards, as if you'll catch a glimpse of Javi absconding away.

Your face is burning with shame, and you find yourself stalking to the ladies room down the hall and going into a stall, where you sit and sob for a few minutes before you pull yourself together. Once you've collected your wits and feel that eerie calm that comes over you after you've cried your guts out, you grab some paper towels from the receptacle and dab at your eyes, huffing at the blotchy redness and trying to rein in your emotions.

After a few minutes, you return to your desk and find Ellis at his, looking flustered. "Hey, have a nice weekend?" you attempt and quickly sit at your desk so you can turn away and not have him notice your red-rimmed eyes.

"It was, then I had to spend an ungodly amount of time in traffic thanks to a detour," he grumbles and pivots his chair to offer you a wry huff. "Yours?"

You swallow the lump in your throat and manage a lazy shrug. "Just did laundry…" you lamely muse and fire up your laptop, wanting to focus your gaze on something else rather than the internal turmoil of replaying Javi's distraught look over and over.

"Did you hear about the latest kidnapping?"

"Hm? No, I didn't watch TV. Who this time?" you distractedly ask, typing away.

"Diana Turbay," he answers as he rifles through some documents, and you gasp and whirl around. "Seems they ambushed her and her news team on Friday night. Killed everyone – including her security, and snatched her up."

Your mind flashes to the police caravan that cut you and Javi off, and the color drains from your face. It shakes you up, and you are once again reminded of the real shit Javier has to deal with, and having you spazzing out on him is the last thing he would need to put up with – especially when he could easily spend his time with the gaggle of women who clearly would be at his every beck and call if given the chance.

You're positively miserable the rest of the day. It's a struggle to keep your aloof veneer up, and when you walk out of your last meeting, you are anxious to go home and just wallow in your sadness. Passing the hall outside of Mil Group, you remember Luke mentioning the paper targets, and decide that you'll have to bring a peace offering to the fellas at some point. As you head down to your department to grab your things, you pass someone who's running to the break room. After the siege, you get that ominous feeling, and follow. The room is filled with stragglers who haven't loped off for the day, and they're watching a news interview. It's Diana Turbay giving the terms of the negotiations for Escobar to work with the government, and you are dumbfounded by the boldness of it.

Ellis comes in and gapes. "What she saying?" he whispers to you.

"She's imploring Gaviria to negotiate with Escobar," you explain. "That he'll release a hostage as a show of good faith."

"Holy shit, the balls on that guy," he exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief.

You are on autopilot now, the horrors playing out on the news bulletin numbing you to your personal drama. By the time you get home, you dispassionately toss your tote to the dresser and strip out of your work clothes. You crawl into bed and feel like a shell, empty and unfeeling.

The phone never rings, and you are mad at yourself for wishing it would. You have no right to expect Javi to call you after how you behaved. Sitting up, you force yourself to march down the hallway and pick up the phone.

You're going to call Javier and apologize to him.

That, and nothing else. Just say you're sorry, and then…go to bed.

You dial his apartment's phone number. It rings for several chimes, but no answer comes. Frowning, you remember he'd said he was going to be on assignment in Medellín this week, and you swear and hang up, realizing you'll have to call his satellite phone. However, you stand there and deliberate. He's working, after all, and it would be so presumptuous and asinine of you to call him and bother him with your stupid trifles. With a dejected sigh, you turn and go to your room, crawling under the covers and curling into a ball.

Javier spends most of the week tagging along with Search Bloc on tactical traffic stops, only to come up empty. It's easy to mask his surly, broody mood as frustration with the job, so he's spared any of Steve's prodding and is instead replaced with a reluctant concern for his partner getting twisted up himself. The sicarios had ditched the SUV's and went to ground, so just when he was losing patience and becoming increasingly worried about Steve's level of unhinged zeal, they get the call that Gaviria was allowing their aerial surveillance to go back online – in an official capacity. Keeping his mind on work is the only thing that centers him – that quells his need to call you and hear your voice. And now, with the green light to go after Escobar and nail him before the government can make good on any agreements with the bastard, he's got the temerity to keep on target.

He didn't expect to end his afternoon chasing Sureshot across an entire fucking comuna, or that he'd lose him after a fucking kid pointed a gun at him. When he retraces his steps and reunites with Steve, they hobble over to the house the sicarios had fired on them from. Seeing the baby, sitting in the middle of that carnage, was a soul-crushing moment. It winded him, shaking him to sit and war with the fury and despair so at home within him, only now it's caused by an external antagonist instead of his own personal demons.

Once they're back in Bogotá, he drives Steve back to their apartment block, pulling up to the curb and parking while his partner collects himself to walk up to his wife and hand her the orphaned little girl they'd brought back with them. She was proof of their abject failure, but her big, innocent eyes and reaching hands endeared her instantly to Steve, so at the very least she provided a whole new motivation for them both.

"You coming up?" Steve asks in a monotone once he's out of the car, little girl tucked in his arms and duffle slung over a shoulder.

Javi can't muster the effort to answer, so instead he shakes his head, and mercifully, Steve nods, understanding some implicit confidence being shared nonverbally with him and wanders up to the entryway steps. Once he's keyed into the building, Javier drives off, with no route in mind, but the horrors of the day won't leave him, and before he realizes it, he's parking and wandering across a courtyard and up steps.

You start when the knocks echo down the hall and into your bedroom. You're dazed, having been asleep for a couple of hours, according to the readout of your alarm clock, so you cautiously pad down to the front door. When you open it a crack, you're shocked to see Javier, so you undo the chain lock and open the door fully.

"Javi—?" you murmur, but stop your forming question when you register how upset he looks, and you furrow your brows as you reach for him. "Hey—"

When you touch his cheek, he shudders and practically dissolves – expression shuttering in and eyes clenching shut, so you pull him in and close the door before he pulls you into a desperate hug. You're disarmed and stunned, senses jolting at the coiled, wound up grief vibrating through him. You let him embrace you, and you gently murmur, "Are you ok?" to him as you rub his back soothingly.

"Mi amor…I'm sorry," he grouses in a low, cracking tone, and you feel wrought with concern and empathic despair, not understanding why he's so upset, let alone why he's apologizing.

You pull back and cup his face, staring openly into his sad, dark eyes and seeing the haunted look etching in his expression. With no effort, you take him to your room and sit him down before crawling next to him on the bed and pulling him into your arms. His shirt smells of musk, smoke and sweat, the hints of his cologne and masculine essence tartly warring for dominance in his scent. You caress your hand down the nape of his neck, and he crumbles when you encircle his shoulders and whisper, "It's ok…you're with me now."

He chokes on a reedy sound and embraces you so tight, burying his face in your neck and breathing through his overwhelmed, visceral reaction to the traumatic anxiety that's hitting him now, and you anchor him – pushing the volatility away and grounding him to the relief of being with you.

You hold him, kissing his sideburn and murmuring, "You want to lay with me?"

Javier nods, not trusting his voice, so you gently go to work easing him backwards into bed after you take his agent paraphernalia off and set it aside on the dresser before removing his boots. You expect him to just lie back in his clothes, but when you turn back from setting his boots aside, he's yanking his orange button shirt off his head and tossing it aside, so you help him unfasten his belt and ease out of his jeans and socks.

Once he's in his underwear, he pulls you close and starts hiking your oversized band t-shirt up, so you let him take it off and nuzzle you as he encircles your waist and holds you close. He revels in your warm skin, brushing kisses into your clavicle while you bury your fingers in his hair and soothingly comb through the dense tufts.

He lets you nudge him back onto the bed, but when you go to lie next to him, he pulls you down to rest on top of him. You adjust your arms so you can frame them around his shoulders as you gaze down at him. In the penumbra of your room, you both can still easily make out each other's features – see the light coming from the moon filtering through the window slats catch in your eyes. Javier looks so distraught, and it creates a knot of sadness in your chest.

You lean down and brush your lips against his, loving and soft as you caress his cheek.

Javier melts, breath stuttering in his chest as he wraps his arms around you possessively and kisses you with longing. You're both half-naked, with only your underwear separating you from each other's warmth and desperate desires, so when you feel him caress his hand along your backside, you sigh into his mouth and pull back, pressing your forehead to his and murmuring, "Make love to me, Javi."

He burns with something primal, sadness snapping away to instead allow his expression to etch with want. Javi rolls you onto your back and yanks your panties off, and you sit up to tug his underwear down his hips while he rushes to shuck them off and press his weight down on you, groaning when you pull him close and kiss his neck as he settles between you thighs and starts touching you.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth as he glides his thick fingers through your dampening folds, earning a jolt and needy sound from you. You grab his bicep and rut against him when he recedes his fingers from your dewy petals to replace them with the head of his cock beginning to breach your tight, dimpled entrance while his thumb trails down the soft curls of your mound before he presses over the hood of your clitoris and grinds the pad over it. Your expression lights up with pleasure as you moan and arch up against him, and Javi is so sick with yearning that he just watches you react to him thrusting through your rippling sheath, savoring your cries and how your legs clamp around his waist.

"Javi," you moan, hands gripping his shoulders and beseeching him to lean down so you can kiss him, but he suddenly bows his head and exhales a shaky breath. You feel him begin to tremble, and you realize whatever horrors he faced today are not going quiet, so with little effort, you rear up and manhandle him onto his back so you can straddle him. The surprise flashes across his expression, so you capitalize on it and sink down to the hilt on him, and he grips your thighs, moaning when your silken heaven squeezes around him. "Stay with me, Javi," you murmur incandescently to him as you press your palms to his chest and undulate your hips while clenching your floor muscles, squeezing him lusciously.

He moans your name, expression blossoming into carnal want and nothing else as you make love to him, burying pleasure in his gut like a tether that you expertly strum and pluck at with every pulse of your cunt over his throbbing cock. Javi gets caught up and lost in the desire, hands clutching at your waist as he fucks up into you when you quicken the pace of your bucking rhythm, core already coiling with desperate yearning as you watch his molten eyes fixate on you when you start coming close to climax.

Your breasts are quaking with the force of your bucking hips as you whimper prettily and bite your lip from the effort of driving yourself to slam Javi as deep as he can go in you, seeing stars burst in the backs of your eyes when you hit that devastatingly exquisite pleasure point inside yourself and begin to come.

Javier watches with devoted awe as you ride his cock until your sheath floods over and coats his throbbing length with your essence before you shake with the effort of riding him through your orgasm to coax his, moaning, "I love you, Javi. P-Please, forgive me—!"

Javier tenses and chokes on his charged exhale, overwhelmed by your petition and feeling seared to the bone by how you're making him feel. He fucks up into you with blistering need now, groaning your name over and over before slamming up into you and climaxing with a hoarse, guttural sound of completion, and you gasp as you feel him shoot his load deep, rooting his cock into you with bruising force as he pants and tosses his head back to swear, "Oh fuck!" before he feels you clench hard, humming scintillatingly from the feral sensation.

Completely spent, you hunch over him and sigh raggedly. Javier encircles you and pulls you flush against him, breasts pressing into his pectorals while he nuzzles you and exhales.

"…You didn't have to," he husks gruffly between panted breaths, hand burying in the back of your hair when you drunkenly tilt your mouth to suckle kisses into his neck.

"Oh my god, Javier. Just…listen to what I said. Please," you press before softening when you adjust to glance at him and see how conflicted he looks. "I had no right to berate you like I did. I—I was taking out my insecurities on you. You didn't deserve it. I had no right—"

"You didn't have to say it."

Shocked, Javi sees emotion crack your usually resolute façade, and when your eyes tremble, he feels bowled over, utterly overwhelmed.

"It's the truth. I love you," you confide on a shaky whisper, and when he sees you bite back the urge to cry, he can't take it anymore. He wraps his arms around you and kisses you, humming when you kiss him back with longing.

After kissing you breathless, Javi rolls you onto your back and makes love to you like a man besotted and devoted to you, yearning to make you feel a modicum of the passion he does as he drives you into an exquisite orgasm by murmuring how much he loves you – how he never wants you to hurt – how he'll always want only you.

By the time you're both drifting off in spent, sated exhaustion, you're uncaring that he might've seen the tears roll down your cheeks before you could swipe them away. Feeling him relaxed and calm in your arms, breathing soft against your neck and heartbeat synchronizing with yours, it gives you a sense of peace – free of regret. You want to give him peace, want to tug whatever horrors plaguing him away and snuff them out for him. It's what you think about when you finally doze off—

Only to have the docile tranquility shattered hours later, in the shuttering darkness when Javier is twitching and jerking in his sleep, grumbling inarticulate things when you sit up drowsily and realize you must've ended up spooning him. He's clutching his pillow, features twitching as he breathes hard, becoming suddenly fitful when his arm jerks away from where it was tucked at his waist to reach for something before he violently rears back.

You realize this is a nightmare that's ensnared him when you try to nudge him gently and murmur soothingly, only to cause him to recoil and jerk away as if he's being confronted.

"N-No! No te quiero matar—No!" he first begins to chatter before he vehemently grits the rest and shouts the latter as he jolts awake and desperately jerks up, panting shallowly, muscles bunched up and eyes wild with fear when you come to his aid, hands firmly shaking his shoulders until his wide gaze focuses in on you and he shakily exhales.

You susurrate, "It's ok. Javi, you're ok. You're with me…"

His expression crumbles at that and he buries his face into your shoulder before a reedy sob catches in his chest and he grips his arms around you desperately. Helplessly, you pull him close and hold him as he chokes back sobs, feeling his frame quake, wracked from the sheer will he's exerting to not completely splinter apart. The knot forms in the back of your throat, and you desperately shower him with kisses while you tighten your embrace around him and bury your upset to tend to his.

"Come back to me, mi amor," you murmur into his hair and feel him dissolve, becoming a heavy weight in your arms while he buries his face in your neck and just concentrates on collecting himself. You feel him take deep calming breaths, and his hands clutch around you possessively when you tightly utter, "Eres mío. No te voy a dejar solo."

Javier is flooded over, overcome and vibrating with emotions. You let him come back to himself while you continue to soothingly hold him and brush kisses into his temple, the top of his head – everywhere your lips can press your love into him like a brand into his scalding skin. He doesn't know what to do, what to say when he pulls away and sits at the side of the bed, turning his back to you so he can pull himself together, dragging his forearm across his face in obvious terse mortification.

You're patient though, and you rest a hand on his shoulder, letting him know it's nothing you're going to shy away from. After a tense silence, he finally regains his complete composure and huffs at himself before glancing meekly over his shoulder.

"…I almost shot a kid today."

Your brows shift upwards, but your lips press together as you tuck your chin against your chest and your hand squeezes his shoulder. "Almost, meaning you didn't."

He blinks at you, disarmed, so you sidle closer and firmly grip his chin so he can't turn away from your earnest, resolute gaze.

"We do not have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I'm going to tell you this once: You are not going to get to beat yourself up in front of me. I will not abide it, Javier," you declare, eyes blazing as you see his dark-brewed depths tremble. "I love you, and I will not allow you to not love yourself – or think you don't deserve it. You do."

He can't hold your gaze, so he snakes his arm around you and tugs you close so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

It's then that he tells you what happened.

His head rests on your shoulder as he confides in a guarded baritone, divulging everything while you listen and caress your hands along his back. You are buzzing with dismay, but you swallow it down, knowing if that's how you feel, he must feel thousands of times worse. The more he tells you, the more you feel him relax in your arms, and when you say nothing after he's finished, he squeezes his arms around you.

"I shouldn't have come over—" he begins, and you hush him, adjusting to snuggle into his lap and forcefully push him onto his back.

"Nada de eso," you grumble and kiss his chest. "Just...let me make you feel good."

He doesn't say anything else, allowing you to kiss and suckle on his skin until his need is worked into a tizzy and he gathers you up and pivots to take you down into the pillows, rocking into you and moaning as his spend leaks from his ramrod cock thrusting brusquely into your aching sheath, causing you to shiver and whimper.

This coupling session is base – all about the urge, and you're content when he easily plucks a hearty orgasm from you before he barrels his into you soon after, anxiety quelled by the serotonin of reaching bliss together. Javier kisses you with gusto, enjoying how you keep chasing his lips whenever he pulls back. Once you're melted into a pliant bundle of sated desire, he cuddles you, and you fall asleep to the beat of his heart, head on his chest and arm pinning you to sidle against him.

When your alarm goes off the following morning, it's a disorienting, jarring sound after such a fitful night of rest, so you don't immediately realize something is off until after you've drowsily reached over to cease the ringing and roll over.

You reach to drape your arm around Javi's waist, and come up empty. Bemused, you shake your head clear of the exhausted fog and look around while you strain your hearing. It's when you look at your dresser and see his things are gone that you realize it:

Javier's left.

Shocked, you sit up in bed and stare about, as if not wanting to believe it, but sure enough, his clothes are gone from the floor and you don't hear any movement in the apartment. Drawing your knees up and tucking them against your chest, your muscles protest from the ache and strain, feeling sore and prickly now that your outrage begins to simmer in your chest.

You laid yourself bare to Javier in every conceivable way, divulged your love and devotion, and he…left.

The hurt wells in you fiercely, and you sit in your bed and become hollowed out by the withering pain. You don't know how long it takes, but you become numb and detached while the weight of the callous realization presses down on you.

How can you recover from being singed apart by the man you love? Was Javi rejecting you? Or…was the self-fulfilling prophecy just coming to fruition?

______________________

Read Chapter 9: Passion

Spanish-English Glossary:

Celoso = Jealous man

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Puto mujeriego = Fucking womanizer

Haz lo que te pido, amado = Do as I ask of you, beloved

Dime una cosa = Tell me something

¿Eres mío? = Are you mine?

Tan bello = So beautiful

Bravita = Tough girl; feisty girl

Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Solterita = Single gal; bachelorette

Estás bien guapo, chulito = You're looking real handsome, cutie

Las retiradas = the lady retirees

No te pongas celoso = Don't get jealous

Chico = Guy

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy

Bonita = Pretty

Papito = Daddy (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Descarada = shameless woman

Ah-hah, ni joder = Uh-huh, [I'm] not even fucking around

Bárbaro = barbarian; wild man

Chiquita = Little girl

Puta pendeja = Dumbass slut/whore

No me toques = Don't touch me

Puta malparida = Slut bitch

Burlas = Taunts

Puñeta = Puerto Rican swear word, akin to saying "Shit" or "Fuck"

¡Carajo! = Goddammit/Hell

Ramera = Prostitute

Malcriada/malcriado = brat/spoiled

sicarios = hitmen

Mi amor = My love

No te quiero matar = I don't want to kill you

Eres mío. No te voy a dejar solo = You're mine. I'm not going to leave you alone

Nada de so = None of that

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