Kamala Harris X Reader - Blog Posts

BLOODLUST

The office was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the city outside. I sat behind my desk, surrounded by walls that held secrets darker than the night sky. My heartbeats were steady, unwavering—much unlike those of a mortal. I am Kamala Harris, Vice President of the United States, but tonight, I felt more like a creature of the night, an ancient being tethered to desires I had long buried.

When Y/n stepped through the door, everything changed. The air shifted, electric with the promise of something forbidden. I watched them as they approached, my gaze lingering on the gentle curve of their neck, the pulse beneath their skin—a tempting reminder of life itself. It was intoxicating, the way their blood sang to me, calling out in an unending serenade, stirring an insatiable hunger deep within that I fought to keep contained.

“Kamala, I thought we could go over the briefings for tomorrow,” they said, holding a stack of papers, their voice smooth and warm—a stark contrast to the chill that often surrounded me. But I hardly heard their words; all I could think about was how close they were, how their presence enveloped me like the darkness outside.

“Let’s put that aside for a moment,” I replied, my voice low and deliberate, cloaking the urgency that bubbled just beneath the surface. I leaned back in my chair, feeling like a predator watching its prey, my instincts teetering on the edge of control. The moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating Y/n’s features and casting an ethereal glow around them, making my resolve waver.

Desire coursed through my veins, more potent than any political ambition I had ever known. It was as if the centuries I had lived had led me to this very moment—the pull between us undeniable, magnetic. Could I dare cross that line? The thought sent shivers down my spine, awakening a part of me that longed for connection, for companionship beneath the vast cosmos.

I stood from my chair, closing the distance between us, the scent of Y/n’s blood wrapping around me like a silken ribbon. “You’re more than just my assistant,” I confessed, every word heavy with meaning. “There’s something about you I can’t resist.”

Their eyes widened, surprise mingling with an awakening awareness—a spark that ignited the tension in the room. “Kamala…” they began, but I didn’t give them a chance to finish. The moment hung thick, filled with a potent mixture of fear and longing, and I knew I had to have them, to claim what was mine.

With a sudden, primal urge, I reached out, brushing my fingers against their wrist, feeling the warmth radiating from their skin. Everything in me screamed to take, to indulge in the primal desire that surged within—Y/n’s blood would not only satiate my thirst but bind us in ways that transcended time.

“Y/n,” I murmured, leaning closer, my breath fanning across their neck, intoxicating and overwhelming. “I want you to understand what this means. You are my mate… and once you feel it, there’s no turning back.”

The world outside faded, leaving only the two of us suspended in this moment, caught between light and darkness—a powerful connection waiting to be unleashed under the watchful gaze of the moon.

Let It Burn

In the heart of Washington, D.C., the air was thick with tension as Kamala Harris sat in her office, surrounded by the memories of a life once filled with laughter and love. The walls, adorned with accolades and reminders of her achievements, seemed to close in on her as she awaited Y/n’s arrival. Today would change everything.

Y/n entered the office, the subtle clatter of heels echoing in the quiet space. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, Kamala saw the familiar warmth that had first drawn her to Y/n. But today, that warmth felt distant, replaced by an air of resolve that made Kamala’s stomach twist.

“Y/n, I—” Kamala began, but Y/n held up a hand, cutting her off gently.

“Kamala, we need to talk.” The strength in Y/n’s voice silenced the room, bringing the weight of impending heartbreak into stark focus.

As they settled into the plush chairs opposite each other, Y/n took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us...about our family.” There was a tremor in Y/n's voice, one that didn’t go unnoticed by Kamala. “The kids...they need stability, and they need both of us, not just parts of us.”

Kamala’s heart sank, knowing this conversation had been looming for some time. Juggling her role as vice president and being a partner and mother had become increasingly challenging. “I know things have been tough,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m doing this for our future.”

Y/n shook their head, a sadness etched across their features. “Is that really what you think? That your job comes before us? Before them?” They reached into their bag, pulling out a manila envelope. “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.”

With trembling hands, Y/n slid the envelope across the table towards Kamala. The gravity of the moment struck Kamala like a physical blow. She opened it slowly, her eyes scanning the pages. Divorce papers. The words blurred as tears threatened to spill. “Y/n, please… let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing left to discuss. I can’t raise our kids alone while you’re consumed by your career,” Y/n said, their voice heavy with emotion. “They want to live with me. They need more than what you can give right now.”

Kamala felt her chest tighten, the reality of the situation crashing down on her. “You know how much I love them. I’m doing this for our future!” she pleaded, desperation creeping into her tone.

“But at what cost, Kamala?” Y/n’s voice cracked, the pain evident in their eyes. “You’re here, but you’re not really here. The kids feel it, and so do I. I need to prioritize them, and I can’t do that if you’re always chasing a dream that takes you further away from us.”

The silence that hung between them was thick and suffocating. Kamala wanted to argue, to fight for her marriage, but deep down, she knew Y/n was right. The late nights, the missed family dinners, and the increasing distance had created a rift that felt impossible to bridge.

“Please don’t do this,” Kamala finally whispered, her voice breaking.

Y/n looked at her, a mixture of sorrow and determination in their gaze. “I have to, Kamala. For the kids. For my own sanity.” They paused, taking a deep breath, trying to remain steady amidst the turmoil. “I hope one day you can understand.”

As Y/n gathered their things, preparing to leave the office—and the life they had built together—Kamala felt the weight of her choices pressing down upon her. In the pursuit of her ambitions, she had lost sight of what truly mattered. As the door clicked shut behind Y/n, leaving her alone in the silence of the office, Kamala Hart bordered on the edge of her career and her heart, caught in the painful realization of what she had sacrificed.

In the coming weeks, the impact of the divorce would echo through her life, a reminder that no amount of success could fill the void left by the love and family she had taken for granted. And as she sat in solitude, staring at the framed photographs that once brought her joy, she understood that this was just the beginning of a long journey of healing and reflection, one that would test her in ways she never anticipated.

She Keeps Calling

October London - She Keeps Calling

Oh

Baby, yeah

She keeps calling me and I go

Although she takes from me, I follow

She gave me a key to her door

Now she got me coming back for more, more

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the bustling streets of Washington, D.C. Amidst the hum of city life, Kamala Harris found herself lost in thought, her mind echoing with the laughter and warmth of Y/n, the person who had captured her heart. It was a typical day for the vice president, filled with meetings and speeches, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the moments they shared—those fleeting glances, the subtle touches that ignited something deep within her.

Kamala leaned against her desk, the soft music of October London’s “She Keeps Calling” playing softly in the background. The lyrics resonated with her; each word felt like a secret he had whispered just for her, a confession of longing and desire. She closed her eyes, letting the melody wash over her as she recalled the first time Y/n had walked into her life.

Oh

She keeps callin' me, yeah

I tried, but I can't leave, yeah

You got me roped in, sippin' your potion, yeah, yeah

Oh, I swore to myself that this time I'd give you up, yeah

But all I know is you're, oh

It was an unexpected meeting—a charity event where their paths crossed briefly. Kamala was drawn to Y/n’s infectious energy, the way they lit up every room they entered, captivating everyone with their charm. It didn’t take long for her to realize that beneath Y/n’s playful exterior lay a depth of intellect and compassion that matched her own.

As the days turned into weeks, their connection deepened. They would send messages back and forth, sharing late-night conversations that felt electric. Kamala found herself looking forward to their chats, her heart racing whenever she saw Y/n’s name pop up on her phone. Yet, each time she heard the familiar sound of a text notification, a part of her worried about what it meant.

She keeps calling me and I go

Although she takes from me, I follow

She gave me a key to her door

Now she got me coming back for more, more

She keeps calling me and I go

Although she takes from me, I follow

She gave me a key to her door

Now she got me coming back for more, more

“She keeps calling,” Kamala thought, the line from the song ringing true. There was a magnetic pull between them, one that was impossible to ignore. Each interaction left her wanting more, craving the way Y/n made her feel—alive, seen, adored.

One evening, after a long day spent in meetings, Kamala decided to invite Y/n over to unwind. Her nerves fluttered as she prepared her home, wanting everything to be perfect. She set up a cozy living area, candles flickering softly, a light jazz playlist accompanying the ambiance. When Y/n arrived, they brought with them an energy that filled the room, instantly lifting Kamala’s spirits.

Oh, it seems I've gotten deep, yeah (gotten deep, yeah)

And the odds are up against me, yeah (oh, yeah)

Been there and done that, don't know why I come back, yeah

Oh-oh, don't know why I stick around for you

I don't know why, but I do, oh-oh

They settled onto the couch, sharing stories and laughter, the comfort of their friendship enveloping them like a warm blanket. As the night wore on, Kamala felt a shift in the air, a tension that hung between them like unspoken words. She looked into Y/n’s eyes, seeing the spark of connection mirrored back at her.

“Y/n,” Kamala started, her heart pounding. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Before she could continue, Y/n smiled—a knowing smile that sent butterflies spiraling in Kamala’s stomach. “You don’t have to say anything, you know. I feel it too.”

Relief washed over Kamala, mixed with exhilaration. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Y/n replied, their gaze unwavering. “It’s like… no matter how busy our lives get, you’re always on my mind. I can’t help but be drawn to you. It’s as if you call out to me, and I just can’t resist.”

Kamala felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. “I thought it was just me. You keep calling to me too, and I’m so hooked on you, Y/n. You make everything brighter.”

As they spoke, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, their hearts racing in sync. The lyrics of the song echoed in Kamala’s mind again, highlighting the undeniable truth of their feelings.

With an impulsive move, Kamala took Y/n’s hand, intertwining their fingers, and felt the electricity surge between them. They share a moment of silence, soaking in the realization that they were on the cusp of something new—something powerful.

“I don’t want to be just friends anymore,” Kamala admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with joy as they squeezed her hand gently. “Me neither. Let’s see where this takes us.”

And in that moment, Kamala knew she was ready to embrace whatever came next, fully aware that Y/n was the one she wanted by her side. They shared a shy smile, a promise of something beautiful blooming between them—one that would surely thrive amidst the chaos of their lives, echoing the sentiment of the song that had brought them both to this very moment.

As the night went on, Kamala and Y/n fell deeper into conversation, the boundaries of friendship fading as they explored the uncharted territories of their hearts. Time slipped away, and for Kamala Harris, the woman who held a tremendous position of power, it felt wonderfully liberating to simply be vulnerable with.

She keeps calling me and I go

Although she takes from me, I follow

She gave me a key to her door

Now she got me coming back for more, more

She keeps calling me and I go

Although she takes from me, I follow

She gave me a key to her door

Now she got me coming back for more, more, more

Smut Headcanon

Past and Present Kamala

When it comes to you and Kamala you guys sex lives are great. Especially since Kamala is the dominant one in the relationship.

She’s love your body ever since her college days in HBCU. The first time y’all had sex she was obsessed… and still is obsessed almost 20 To 30 years later.

The way she loves how you cum on her tongue and how the way you scream and moan her name. Omg is crazy for facesitting as well.

She loves that you take care of her as well. But she mostly pleases you. Basically more of a giver and not a receiver.

She gets off when you gets off. When you try to give back she stops you because she basically cums off your moans and knowing its going to put you to sleep.

Oh and speaking of dominant Kamala does not like it when you become bratty. You have rules to follow and if you break them you will punish.

She have all kinds of different sex toys. From whips to butt plugs to dildos and much more. Oh you hate orgasm denial very much. That’s a big part of how much you hate that she does that to you.

You are her good girl and you better act like it. Or else you will be spanked. Good girls cums while bad girls don’t. But don’t worry you do get your get back at her though.

She gives you a look that tells you don’t act up.

Fucks you hard with the biggest strap-on that she knows you can barely take. The belly bulge and the cum ring around the based of the fake cock. She loves it.

Kamala loves you very much soft or hard dom she will always take care of baby. Don’t get it twisted though, she will fuck up your pussy and asshole. Leaving you gaping for her and her alone.

Writing an smut Headcanon

Hey guys I am writing a smut headcanon for Kamala. Also please send me some requests. I know I’ve been lazy with posting imagines but at the same time I’ve been busy with work and just be too damn tired to do anything. But yeah I may post the headcanon later tonight or tomorrow morning. I think you guys will love it though. Just if anyone wants me to write something for Kamala just send it to my requests page that is linked on my master list.

Protecting The Musician

Request: Yes @chanbien

The atmosphere backstage was electric as I prepared for my performance. I had been working tirelessly on this set, and sharing the stage with someone as inspiring as Kamala Harris felt like a dream come true. My heart raced with anticipation, and I could hardly wait to showcase my music to an audience that included her.

As I stood by the side of the stage, tuning my guitar, I overheard a commotion in the audience. My stomach twisted when I recognized the loud, brash voice that cut through the excitement—Donald Trump. He had just taken the stage for a brief appearance, and it was clear he was up to his usual antics.

“Why are we even listening to her?” I heard him scoff, his tone dripping with disdain. “What has she ever done that’s so special?”

Anger flared within me at his disrespect for Kamala. This was a woman who had fought tirelessly for justice, equality, and the rights of others, and yet here he was, belittling her without a second thought. I could see Kamala standing tall and composed on the other end of the stage, radiating strength despite the jab.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that this moment was bigger than us. It wasn’t just about a performance; it was about standing up for what was right. I could feel a surge of determination coursing through me. I was going to dedicate my set to her—to the resilience of anyone who faced disrespect and opposition.

When it was finally my turn to step into the spotlight, I walked out with my head held high. The audience was a mix of cheers and jeers, but I focused on Kamala, who was watching intently, her eyes encouraging. I strummed the first chord and let the music flow through me, pouring all my passion into every note.

As I sang, I could see Kamala smile, her presence invigorating me. I wrote the song with her spirit in mind—about resilience, empowerment, and standing up against those who try to bring us down. With each verse, I let my message resonate, hoping it would reach not only her but everyone in the room.

When I finished, the applause erupted, drowning out any negativity left lingering in the air. Kamala stood and clapped enthusiastically, her smile wide as she approached the front of the stage. My heart swelled with pride as she leaned down to speak to me.

“You were fantastic,” she said, her voice warm and genuine. “Thank you for reminding us why we stand strong together.”

In that moment, I knew that no amount of disrespect from anyone could change the power of our voices. We were here to uplift one another, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The indomitable strength that women like her embody. I poured my heart into the lyrics, each verse a tribute to those who had fought battles both seen and unseen.

The audience began to sway with the rhythm, some clapping along while others were caught up in the emotion of the moment. The notes danced in the air, filling the space between us with a sense of solidarity that transcended politics. In that fleeting instant, it felt as though we were all connected—each one of us standing up for a better future, inspired by a remarkable woman who dared to dream big.

As I reached the final chorus, I glanced back at Kamala, and our eyes locked. Her gaze was fierce, filled with pride and determination. I could see the impact of what I was doing; it wasn’t just a performance anymore. It was a declaration. A statement that no matter how loud the dissenters got, we’d keep singing and fighting for what we believe in.

When the last note hung in the air, the audience erupted into applause. I took a moment to let it wash over me, feeling the gratitude and support flowing from the crowd. But more importantly, I wanted to acknowledge Kamala. I gestured toward her, signaling my respect for her unwavering spirit and tenacity.

It was then that I saw something incredible happen. Kamala stood up and clapped, a broad smile on her face. It felt like a culmination of everything she represented—a celebration of resilience and the power of voice. In that moment, I realized that we were all part of something bigger than ourselves, a movement for change and hope.

After the show, I had the chance to meet Kamala backstage. With excitement bubbling inside me, I approached her, still riding the high of the performance. “Thank you for being such an inspiration,” I said, my voice tinged with awe. “Your strength means so much to artists like me.”

She smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling with kindness. “You have an incredible gift, Y/n. Never underestimate the power of your voice. Keep shining!”

Those words resonated within me as we spoke, solidifying my commitment to use my music as a platform for advocacy.

In a world where voices can often be drowned out, I vowed to be unyielding, to let my music speak for those who needed to be heard, and to carry forward the legacy of inspiring leaders like Kamala Harris.

As I left the venue that night, my heart swelled with purpose. I knew this was just the beginning, and I was ready to embrace whatever came next.

Respect My Wife

Request: No

In the bustling corridors of the White House, where the echoes of history mingled with the pressing issues of the present, Vice President Kamala Harris stood with a fierce determination in her eyes. It was a day like any other, filled with meetings and briefings, but her mind was elsewhere—focused on Y/N, her beloved wife, who had recently found herself the target of unwarranted criticism from none other than Donald Trump.

Y/N had always been a beacon of strength, a voice of reason, and a source of unwavering support for Kamala. But in the wake of Trump's latest tirade, which had twisted Y/N's words and intentions, Kamala felt a protective instinct surge within her. She was not just the Vice President; she was a partner, and she would not stand idly by while the man who once occupied the highest office in the land hurled baseless accusations.

As the news broke, Kamala's phone buzzed with alerts, the headlines flashing across the screen. Trump’s comments dripped with condescension, belittling Y/N's contributions and character. It was a low blow, a tactic designed to undermine not just Y/N but the values they both stood for. With every word she read, Kamala's resolve hardened.

Gathering her staff, Kamala conveyed her thoughts with clarity and passion. "We cannot let this stand. Y/N deserves respect and support, not the petty attacks of a man who has proven time and again that he thrives on division and disrespect." Her voice resonated in the room, igniting a fire in the hearts of those around her.

Later that day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the White House, Kamala found Y/N in their private quarters. Y/N looked up, a mixture of weariness and determination painted across their face. Kamala approached, her expression softening as she took Y/N's hands in hers. "I saw what he said," Y/N admitted, their voice steady but tinged with hurt. "It’s just noise, Kamala. I can handle it."

But Kamala shook her head, her brow furrowing with concern. "It's not just noise when it comes from someone like him. You’ve worked too hard, and you deserve better. I won't let him diminish what you’ve accomplished or who you are." There was a fierce light in her eyes, a protective fire that spoke volumes about her love and commitment.

In that moment, Y/N felt a swell of gratitude. Kamala’s strength had always been a source of inspiration, but this was different. It was a reminder that they were in this together, facing the storms of public scrutiny side by side.

“Let him throw his shade,” Kamala continued, her voice steady. “He’s just mad that he doesn’t have what we have. Love, integrity, and a vision for a better future.”

Y/N smiled, a warmth spreading through them as Kamala leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to their forehead. “We’ll rise above this. Together.”

As the night deepened, Kamala knew that the political landscape could be tumultuous, but with Y/N by her side, she felt invincible. They would confront whatever challenges lay ahead, hand in hand, heart to heart, undeterred by the words of those who sought to tear them apart. Together, they would shine brighter than any shadow cast by the past.