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gothcsz · 3 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XIII.

GIF by alexturner

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Literally just Jolene by the iconic Dolly Parton.

WORD COUNT: ~7.7k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: angst :p, OFC lowkey being a brat and javi not tolerating that shit, some horniness to satiate the masses, alcohol consumption, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: for the sake of the plot we're just gonna pretend that before he cheats exist at this point of time okay? okay! anywhooo we're so close to getting to the fucking fluff of this fic... our couple deserves some semblance of PEACE and HAPPINESS am i right? but that sweet, sweet angst must come first in order for the pay off to be gr8 <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Paloma begins her parade of amends with her boss at the library, profusely apologizing for being fickle which typically isn’t like her. She’s been so caught up in August and his wistful musings that it momentarily had her acting out of character.

Fortunately, Olsen accepts her apology almost as quickly as the words tumble from her lips. He reassures her that it’s okay and that what he really needs is for her to begin logging books into the new computer system they’re implementing.

So that’s exactly what she does. She situates herself behind the circulation desk and spends her entire shift typing away at the clunky keyboard, surrounded by carts stacked with books. She’s so engrossed in her task that she doesn’t even notice when Sloane walks in, a giant smile lighting up her face.

“Hey, doll.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet her friend’s and she feels a tinge of frustration at her presence. The last time they were together, she had tried to convince her to kill someone and then got pissed when Paloma didn’t go through with it.

“Hey,” she replies simply, her voice lacking its usual warmth and quickly returning her attention to the computer, muttering under her breath at how sluggishly it’s operating.

She hears a sigh, and then Sloane is leaning forward against the desk, tilting her head to the side and pouting. “Are you still mad at me?”

A snort escapes her, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Yes and no. If I’m bein’ honest with you, I’m feelin’ real conflicted.”

Sloane’s cadence is lighter as she asks, “What can I do to smooth things over?”

“Give me the space I told August I needed.”

Their gazes lock, and Sloane’s shoulders slump, the weight of her words settling in.

“Why on god’s green earth are you wearing a scarf in the middle of the summer?” Paloma can’t help but ask, eyeing the flimsy material around her neck.

“That’s actually why I stopped by. I was hopin’ you weren’t so mad at me so I could tell you ‘bout the amazin’ fuckin’ lay I got last night.”

At this, Paloma rolls her eyes and flips open the next book, meticulously scanning it for imperfections. Leave it to her so-called best friend to reach out just to brag about getting laid.

Not to check in on her or apologize for being a giant cunt back in Louisiana.

She decides to pacify her, hoping that feigning interest in her love life will get her out of the library without the awkwardness that would come if she just outright told her to leave.

“Really?” Her tone drips with forced enthusiasm. “Tell me all about it.”

Sloane launches into her story overdramatically, obviously messing with her, but she still nods along, her mind only half-engaged. She silently prays for the conversation to end soon, eager to return to the relative peace of her book-logging task.

“Alright, quit beatin’ around the bush. Who was it?”

The scarf is slipped off, revealing her marked-up neck, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Christ almighty, Slo, who did you sleep with? Dracula?” Various purple splotches litter the other girl’s skin, and she wonders how long it’s going to take for those suckers to heal.

Sloane giggles, smirking as she shows off her neck. “No. But that woulda been one hell of a story. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night.”

Time stops. The air stills, and her motions halt entirely. Sloane continues talking, but all Paloma can hear is the blood rushing in her ears and the rapid acceleration of her heartbeat at the news.

I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night.

She feels like she’s been punched in the gut, the wind knocked straight out of her. She tries her hardest not to let her body language reflect the heartbreak that surges through her.

Javier Peña. Of all people. Shock and something she can’t quite place thud in her chest viscously. Forcing herself to focus, she tries to catch the tail end of Sloane’s story, but her mind is a mess.

She shouldn’t care, but the problem is that she does. Despite things between her and Javi being a done deal. They’ve both made their intentions clear and it is better to pretend like the other doesn’t exist until he leaves town.

So why is she so hurt at the fact that her best friend had gotten a taste of the man she’s supposed to be over? Why does she feel that nasty green monster slithering its way through her body, into her chest, and up her throat?

“You what?” She interrupts, not even listening to what she said after.

Sloane’s voice trails off, her eyes widening slightly at Paloma’s sudden intensity. “I, uh, slept with Javi,” she repeats, feigning confusion.

The envy and betrayal coil tighter around her lungs, making it hard to breathe. She forces herself to look at her ‘best friend’ and she sees the hidden excitement in her eyes. It only deepens her ache.

“Why him?” Paloma asks, the words tinged with a vulnerability she can’t hide.

Sloane shrugs, once more pretending to be oblivious to the turmoil she’s purposefully caused. “It just happened, P. We were talkin’ after work, ‘n one thing led to another… I figured you wouldn’t mind, considerin’ you’re with August now and hate the officer’s guts. I was jus’ havin’ some fun. No harm in that.”

No harm in that. Nodding slowly, a tight smile forces its way on her lips, “Well, I hope it was worth it,” she says strained but steady. How badly does she want to verbally eviscerate her and drag her across the floor by the crown of her hair.

The keyboard keys feel foreign beneath her fingers as she attempts to return to the task at hand. She knows she’ll have to confront her feelings eventually, but for now, all she can do is focus on her work to try and keep the pieces of her shattered heart from showing.

“Look, Slo, I’m happy to hear you’ve been keepin’ busy,” wince, “but I’ve got a lot to go through here ‘n I would like to be left alone to get it done. If you don’t mind.”

There’s a beat of silence as Sloane studies her, and Paloma pretends not to feel the weight of her stare. If she keeps looking at her like this, she will burst into angry, frustrated tears.

“Right… right. I’ll leave ya to it, doll face.” She taps her fingers against the counter, then adds softly, “And… just so you know, I am sorry ‘bout losin’ my shit that night in Louisiana. Wasn’t very fair to you.”

What isn’t fair to me is for you to sleep with the guy I cried on your shoulder about for weeks.

“Thanks. I’ll see you,” she replies curtly, trying not to let her hands shake as she reaches for another book.

Slo finally leaves, and she waits for her to be fully out of the building before letting out a heavy sigh. The ache intensifies, weighing down on her poor heart. She stares at the screen, the words blurring as tears threaten to spill over but she forces herself to keep typing.

The quiet of the library is almost oppressive, amplifying the commotion inside her. She can still see the image of Sloane’s marked neck, a painful reminder of what transpired between them. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the pain just doesn’t subside.

She can’t afford to break down here. Not now. Not yet. She’ll deal with the aftermath later, when she’s alone.

After thirty agonizing minutes, she realizes that she simply can’t. All she can visualize is Javier and Sloane together in the most intimate way possible. His lips all over her, her hands on him. Was she a better kisser than her? Had Javier enjoyed being inside Sloane more than being inside her?

Standing abruptly, she smooths out her sundress and goes to track down Olsen, finding him tucked away in the science fiction section of the library.

“I’m sorry to do this,” she begins, already cringing at the request she’s about to make, “but I’m just not feelin’ good. I feel nauseous. Like I’m about to vomit.” It’s not technically a lie; with every blink, there’s an image of Sloane bent over for Javier, and it makes her emotionally sick.

Olsen sighs, giving her a look. “How far into the logging did you get?”

She answers, and he agrees to let her leave, telling her he hopes she feels better and to let him know whether she’d be able to come in for her next shift.

Grateful for his kindness but also feeling guilty about how unreliable she’s been, Paloma thanks him before gathering her things and leaving the building.

The warm summer weather contrasts sharply with the coldness that’s crept over her entirely. She walks slowly, each step feeling heavy, her mind racing with thoughts she wishes she could escape.

Finding a quiet spot in a nearby park, Paloma sits on a bench and takes a deep breath. She watches the leaves rustle in the gentle breeze, the world moving on obliviously around her.

She just needs a moment of goddamn peace.

It’s serene here. Children laugh and play in the distance, couples stroll hand in hand, and birds chirp merrily in the trees. But all Paloma can think about is the betrayal she feels, the jealousy that gnaws at her, and the deep hurt of knowing that the man she still harbors feelings for has slept with her best friend.

She really shouldn’t be so worked up over this. While she and August have never explicitly put a label on their relationship, they’re together. Hell, she’s fucked him more times than anyone else she’s been with.

Then why is it that she’s so pressed about Javier, a single man, hooking up with Sloane, a single woman?

It’s because of the tangled mess that is her connections to both of them. How she had been vulnerable with Sloane about her conflicting feelings towards him, and how Sloane had always been there to reassure her that he was nothing more than a piece of shit manwhore and that she deserved better.

So why go and sleep with him?! Paloma groans, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palm as she balls her fists out of anger.

She contemplates whether she wants to cry it out at home or by the abandoned railroad tracks. The answer is neither, because before she knows it, she’s at The Whiskey Fox ordering a shot of tequila.

“Stranger danger,” Tammy, eldest of the three sisters who own the bar, approaches her with a sardonic simper on her face.

Paloma just waves her off, her heartbreak evident as she takes the shot and immediately orders another, earning a surprised look from the older woman.

“Woah there, sugar. What’s goin’ on? You hardly ever drink, let alone do back-to-back shots.”

She just shrugs, staying silent as she proceeds to shoot the drink, not even grimacing as it burns down her throat, then reaching for a lime wedge to bite into. Tammy watches her with a mix of concern and curiosity, leaning against the bar, her maternal instincts kicking in. “Why don’t ya tell me what happened? Might help to get it off your chest.”

For a moment, Paloma considers it. Considers unloading it all onto this poor woman but she remains silent, twirling the empty shot glass between her fingers.

“Oh, c’mon now, Paloma. S’bad enough that you’ve ghosted us for the past month. Don’t give us the silent treatment too. What’d we do to you, darlin’?”

Rolling her shoulders, she keeps her gaze fixed on the empty shot glass in front of her. “Y’all didn’t do anythin’,” her voice is a little hoarse due to how dry her mouth feels, and there’s a pang of guilt in her stomach at hearing how her absence has affected the people she cares about. “I’ve just been dealin’ with a lot.”

She let her friends lead her down a fantastical path, and while it was exciting and thrilling at first, she’s realizing that it shifted her into a defiant headspace she wasn’t used to and didn’t like being in. When did everything get so complicated? What happened to just basking in the attention of two handsome men and enjoying a summer romance?

Now she’s caught in the middle of something so convoluted. Her mother’s mysterious past, the uncertainty of her own future, the heartbreak she continues to suffer at the hands of Javier Peña, and the gut-wrenching betrayal of her so-called best friend. She feels overwhelmed by the severity of it all, like she’s sinking in a never-ending pit.

Fuck, she needs another drink. She goes to order it, but Tammy blocks her. “Okay, so spill. The tequila is not goin’ t’ make it any better, baby, trust me. I’m speakin’ from experience.”

Paloma snorts, shaking her head, exasperation bubbling inside her. She just wants to numb herself with alcohol, to drown out the images of Javier and Sloane together. “Just guy problems, Tam. Now will you please let me drink my sorrows away? I’ll deal with the consequences and the hangover later.”

Tammy contemplates whether it’s a good idea to let her keep drinking, but ultimately she allows it. Everyone goes through this at least once. Everyone learns from experiences like this in their own way.

The older woman then nods understandingly and pours her the shot, this time setting the bottle down next to her. “Alright, but don’t overdo it. We don’t need you passin’ out on us.”

Paloma gives a weak smile and continues to drink, the tequila burning a path down her throat, momentarily granting her relief from the uncomfortableness she’s been wallowing in.

As the night wears on, the bar fills with the usual crowd, but she remains in her own bubble of despair, getting drunker by the minute. The lively chatter and clinking glasses become a distant hum.

She wants to be able to confide in someone about the root of her conflictions, but she knows that if she were to spill all the details, including the outrageous backstory of her mother, it would be met with jarring skepticism and criticism. Tammy would probably look at her like she was crazy and her father would probably have her secretly lobotomized for speaking such blasphemous ‘lies’ about his wife and her mother.

He wouldn’t actually, but she’s drunk and her mind is going to the extremes.

Tammy keeps an eye on her, occasionally checking in and she appreciates it, even if she can’t bring herself to say it out loud. She’s not sure how she’ll face tomorrow, but right now, she’s content to let the alcohol do its thing and forget, if only for a little while.

There’s a reason why people say not to drink on an empty stomach, and Paloma is feeling the effects smack her square in the jaw. Her vision is hazy, her movements sluggish. At least she’s not hurting as much as she had been when she came in.

It’s well into the night now; the dim lights of the bar cast shadows on the faces of the crowd around her. The bottle Tammy had set in front of her is almost gone, so she drinks the remaining tequila straight from it, not caring about appearances or what the town gossips might say if they were to see her now.

With her veins coursing with liquid courage, Paloma hops off the barstool, wobbling a bit due to her inebriated state, and makes her way to the stage. No matter how tough things get, she can always count on music to lift her spirits.

That’s another thing she’s been neglecting— her music, her passion. So much for complaining that she didn’t have any inspiration to write new songs. Now she’s drowning in it, struggling to stay afloat.

Tammy’s eyes follow her the entire way, concern etched on her face as she bites her lip, contemplating whether or not she should let her go up there and potentially make a fool of herself in her drunken state.

She reaches the stage, her heart pounding against her chest. Shuffling through the available songs on the karaoke machine, she stops when she finds the one that she’s looking for. She grabs the microphone with a shaky hand, the spotlight harsh on her face.

The bar quiets down, curious eyes watching her every move.

“Hey everyone,” she slurs slightly, giggling drunkenly. “S’been a while since I’ve been up here ‘n I apologize for my absence,” she hiccups, “but tonight, m’gonna sing a song to make myself feel better.”

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly to steady herself. The familiar chords start playing through the speakers then she begins to sing; her voice fueled by emotion and tequila.

♫

Tammy decides it’s wise for her to phone the sheriff’s department, specifically asking for Javier to come by.

He only has ten minutes left on his shift and doesn’t want to get caught up dealing with another drunken idiot, so he almost sends one of the deputies but then she mentions Paloma and how shitfaced she is.

Immediately, he’s reaching for his keys.

“I don’t want Romeo seein’ her like this. Kinda my fault, to be honest, but who am I to stop a young girl from drowning her man problems in tequila? Anyhow, any chance ya can take her home?”

Man problems? Had August done something to her? His nostrils flair at the thought of him hurting her.

As if he hadn’t hurt her tenth fold.

Javier arrives in record time, urgency evident as he busts through the doors of the bar. Despite his entrance, no one seems to pay him any attention; all eyes are fixed on her as she stands on stage, clearly intoxicated yet still captivating the room.

His jaw tenses as he beelines over to the bar where Tammy is already looking at him expectantly.

“How long has she been here?”

“‘Bout four hours now. At least she took it slow. S’probably why she’s like this,” Tammy nods her head towards the stage, handing him Paloma’s car keys, and Javier can’t help but glance over too.

Her voice echoes through the bar and the words flow from her lips as a cathartic release of all the pent-up feelings she’s been carrying. There’s a plethora of mixed reactions coming from the audience, but she isn’t really performing for them.

To her, she’s in her bedroom with her curling wand in hand, belting out to her favorite song.

Despite her initial nerves and the alcohol clouding her senses, she finds solace in the music. It’s her therapy, her way of expressing what words alone can’t capture.

By the time she finishes, there’s a mix of applause and quiet murmurs in the bar. She sways again, catching herself on the microphone stand with a tipsy grin. Javier’s heart clenches at the sight.

As she steps down from the stage, her eyes lock onto him leaning against the counter with Tammy. Dread grips her heart like a vise, her breath catching in her throat. The tequila swirling in her stomach threatens to come back up. Without hesitation, she changes direction abruptly, veering towards the restroom at the back of the bar.

The door slams shut behind her, and she leans heavily against it, the cold metal offering a momentary reprieve.

No, no, no. I can’t see him now. Not like this.

Paloma rushes to the sink, splashing water on her face in a desperate attempt to clear her mind. Deciding that she won’t face him, she makes her escape through the small window near the ceiling.

It’s the longest fifteen minutes of his life, each second feeling like an eternity. She hasn’t come out and Javier is unable to wait any longer. He strides purposefully across the room towards the restroom, twisting the door handle open with a sense of urgency, expecting to find Paloma inside.

But the stalls are empty, the restroom devoid of any sign of her presence except for the open window with a torn piece of her sundress caught on a protruding piece of plastic.

“Goddammit,” He curses under his breath, pissed yet not surprised that she had fled. He rushes out of the restroom, sparing a quick explanation to Tammy before bolting into the parking lot. The engine of his cruiser roars to life as he pulls out onto the road.

She, despite being piss drunk, managed to move swiftly through the shadows outside, her torn dress fluttering in the night breeze. She kept to the alleys and back streets at first, away from the main roads where he might expect her to flee.

She isn’t far from the bar when he finds her. Perhaps half a mile down a dark, deserted road flanked by endless crop fields. The night offers no solace, no streetlights to illuminate her path, only the distant glow of his cruiser drawing closer.

He could really lay into her, scream at how reckless and fucking dangerous it is for her to be walking around aimlessly at night. It’s not like there’s an active killer lurking about, targeting girls like her.

The blue and red lights slice through the darkness, casting an eerie glow around her stumbling figure as she trudges along the roadside.

“Get in the car,” Javier’s voice carries through the rolled down passenger window as he slowly drives beside her.

Paloma ignores him, determined to keep moving despite the plea. She doesn’t know where she’s headed, all she knows is that she doesn’t want to be around him. All she’ll see the second she looks into his eyes are images of him balls deep in her best friend.

The reminder has her clenching her jaw against the flood of disarray threatening to overwhelm her, straightening her posture in a futile attempt to regain her composure. The alcohol in her system blurs her vision and makes her head spin, but she continues to march obstinately along the empty road.

“I said get. In. The. Car.” Javier’s voice booms through the PA system now, sharp and authoritative, having her flinch at its suddenness. She rolls her eyes, refusing to acknowledge him, her gaze fixed ahead as if the darkness holds the answers to all her turmoil.

In response, she simply raises her middle finger, a gesture dripping with contempt. Javier’s patience for her insubordination is wearing really fucking thin.

“Last warning. If not, I will get out and put you in here my damn self,” His tone crackles with restrained anger, the lines of his face drawn tight with exasperation.

“Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

There it goes, his patience. He forcefully slams the mouthpiece of the speaker back into place before speeding up along the deserted road and haphazardly blocking the path ahead, his vehicle jolting to a stop with a gravelly skid.

He jumps out of his seat, the door swinging open as he rounds the car to approach her with determined hastiness, pissed that he has to deal with her immature ass right now.

Paloma’s instinctive flight response has her sprinting into the vast open field, her heart pounding in sync with her rapid footsteps. The tall grass brushes against her legs and she squints in an attempt to see ahead on this moonless night. All she’s focused on is getting as far away from him as possible.

Javier curses loudly and immediately chases after her through the uneven terrain. He thought he left this chasing shit back in Colombia.

Despite her intoxicated state, her desperation fuels her speed, making her a bit of a challenging target. But when she stumbles over her boots ever so slightly, he seizes the opportunity.

In a swift motion, his arm snakes around her waist, yanking her towards him before deftly hoisting her over his shoulder. Paloma squeals as he straight up manhandles her, her fists hammering against his back while she squirms in his grasp. “Put. Me. Down. You. Asshole,” she seethes between blows, each strike punctuated by a grunt from him as she hits sore spots on his lower back.

“You ran off like a fucking child,” he snaps back while stalking towards his car, irritated as all hell. The urge to land a harsh spank against the back of her thighs is there but he shows some restraint.

He glances around, relieved that the deserted stretch of road spares them from prying eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, or I will cuff you,” he warns sternly, setting her down cautiously but keeping a firm grip on her arm.

She pushes at his chest, stumbling backwards but she catches herself, sticking her hands out to keep him from steadying her. “Don’t. Leave me the hell alone, I’m tryin’ to get home.”

“And I’m trying to make that happen. Let me drive you, you’re fucked up.”

“I’m not, and if anyone is fucked up here it’s you, you fucking dickhead,” she retorts with a bite, her words laced with venom and alcohol-fueled bravado.

Javier exhales heavily, his patience wearing thin yet again as he struggles to reason with her. “Quit being ridiculous, Paloma.” He urges, frustration simmering beneath his somewhat controlled exterior.

“Ridiculous?!” She rolls her eyes dramatically, a gust of wind tousling her hair and she angrily tucks it behind her ears. “I wanna walk home. Away from you.” she slurs, her determination punctuated by a sudden hiccup and point of her finger.

A snarky reply of his own is on the tip of his tongue but she interrupts before he can spit it out.

“I am more than capable, ‘n I’ll prove it by walkin’ a straight line while sayin’ the alphabet backwards,” The challenge in her eyes is unmistakable as she takes a few steps back.

Javier can’t help but chuckle dryly, reluctant amusement coloring his expression. He leans casually against the cruiser, arms crossed as he watches her attempt the sobriety test she’s proposed.

“Z... y... x...” Paloma begins, her attempt at reciting the alphabet faltering from the start. Her footsteps are uneven, her balance wavering with each syllable. “W... v... u...”

He shakes his head in mild disbelief, his frustration momentarily overshadowed by the absurdity of the situation.

“A.” She punctuates the letter when she reaches the end of her recitation attempt. She looks up at him, now much closer, with an insolent glint in her eyes despite the undeniable signs of intoxication.

He just raises his brows in amusement.

“Told ya.” she challenges, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips. “Sober as a nun.”

Javier reaches for the breathalyzer on his belt, holding it up between them as he turns it on.

“You’re going to blow into this,” he begins with an authoritative tone, “and if it lights up green then you’re good to do whatever you want. If it’s red, you’re goin’ to quit fucking around and get your pretty ass in the car.”

Paloma snorts, “No way. This is just some perverted trick so you can see my lips wrap around it and pretend it’s your cock––”

His hand shoots out to cup her jaw, thick fingers digging into the soft skin of her cheeks, causing her lips to purse together.

“Nena, you’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on you.” He tuts at her and her eyes widen, pussy quivering, “It’s gonna get you in trouble.”

He brings her closer by her face, smelling the alcohol on her breath, and places the plastic tip against her puckered lips, “Blow it.”

His grip loosens enough for her to do as she’s told, and her lips encircle the hard plastic. This feels charged with an intimacy that weakens her knees, and she watches as Javier’s eyes drown with lust; their usual golden glint now gone.

The second it blinks red, he smirks and lets go of her face. As the tip is pulled out from between her lips, a thin trail of saliva comes with it which has him biting his tongue to suppress a groan. His cock stirs at the sight.

“In the car. Now.”

“No!” She pushes away from him, slapping the damn breathalyzer out of his hand and watching as it breaks against the asphalt, “I’d rather walk on glass barefoot than get in the car with you. M’goin’ back to the bar and callin’ my boyfriend to come pick me up!” The emphasis on boyfriend is said with the intent to piss Javier off but she doesn’t gloat in his reaction as she turns sharply and begins to walk away in the opposite direction.

“Puta madre…” It lands exactly as she intended for it to, the spark of jealousy in his chest having him leap forward, expertly pinning both of her wrists against her lower back with one hand while the other takes a hold of her shoulder, guiding her over to his car.

“You asshole!”

“Yeah, how many times are you gonna fuckin’ remind me, querida?”

She’s bent at the waist on the hood of his cruiser, the engine that’s still running leaving the surface warm as her chest gets pressed down onto it. Her ripped dress rises up revealing the curve of her ass to him.

Javier is fully hard as he reaches for his cuffs, clasping them over her wrists and she gasps when she feels the cool metal come in contact with her blazing skin. He presses his bulge against her ass and she whimpers at the pressure of him so close to her throbbing core.

Grabbing ahold of her shoulder again, he brings her up so that her back is flush against his chest, both of them heaving in unison.

“Told you that little mouth of yours would get you in fucking trouble.” He mutters into her ear, feeling the softness of her hair against his face as he takes in a deep breath of the coconut scent of her shampoo. His entire being is pulsating for her, craving to feel any part that he can.

Paloma is dizzy with arousal, hatred, and alcohol; feeling him all over except where she needs him most. Inside her weeping cunt that’s begging to get wrecked. She despises him for making her feel this way, especially after today’s revelations.

He opens the back door of the cruiser, the metallic click of the cuffs echoing in the quiet night as he pulls her into the backseat. Despite his intention to be firm yet gentle, his frustration seeps through, and he handles her a bit roughly, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud.

Paloma jolts upright, the abrupt sound snapping her out of the horny trance his restraint had put her in.

“Always have to get your way, don’t you? By any means necessary? Looks like some things never fuckin’ change.” Her words blend together, slightly slurred, as he starts driving towards her house, relieved that Romeo is working overnight and spared from witnessing this.

She was already on thin ice with him all things considered. She’s sure her father would have a cow if he saw her this drunk.

She leans forward, pressing against the partition cage separating them, her gaze locked with his in the rearview mirror. Tension crackles between them during this silent exchange. His jaw tightens when she continues her tirade.

“Is this the same arrogance that led you to Los Pepes?” The mention hits a nerve, causing him to momentarily lose his composure. She smirks, satisfied with the reaction she’s provoked. His stare darkens with intense anger, magnified by her smugness.

How the fuck did she know about that?

As if reading his mind, she continues. “I read the article from the Miami Herald. Got curious, decided to read more on the elusive yet admired Javier Peña.” Another flash of anger courses through him, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles turn white.

“You did some fucked up stuff, agent. Gettin’ involved with killers. How are you not in prison right now?” Her words cut deep, dredging up his past in a way that feels unfair, but she’s hurt and beyond giving a fuck at the moment.

Javier struggles to find the right words, torn between defending himself and acknowledging the truth in her accusations.

“Paloma…” His voice is low with restrained frustration. “You don’t understand––”

“Don’t give me that shit, Javi,” she cuts him off bitterly, her voice cracking with emotion. “I understand enough. I trusted you.”

Each word hits him like a bullet from a gun he loaded himself and fired by yet another woman that he’s hurt. He’s rendered speechless, so much bullshit accumulating to blow up in this very moment. He hadn’t even realized that they weren’t far from her house.

“You hurt people after usin’ ‘em yet somehow the consequences never seem to reach you. And when they do, it’s nothin’ more but a slap on the wrist.”

She contributes to this so-called unfair display of punishment. She can’t bring herself to penalize him with her indefinite absence for the way he shattered her heart.

Instead, she’s acting like an idiot, handcuffed in the back of his cruiser and so pissed that it’s turned her on. Not even ten minutes ago, she was on the verge of telling him to fuck her on the side of the road, teetering on the edge of desperation.

Now she’s full on chastising him.

Javier is trying real fucking hard not to blow up on her, it’s as if she’s had a look into his mind and pulled out all the spiteful words that he repeats to himself every single day. His silence remains, the urge to defend himself faltering.

She groans in exasperation when he doesn’t reply, her shoulders tense from having her arms pinned back by the cuffs, the rough edges digging into her wrists.

She’d never understand, not even if he laid it all out to her in the most vulnerable way possible. Hell, he still can’t sort through his shit without triggering an existential crisis.

Paloma continues with her angry ramblings as they arrive at her house. He once again roughly pulls her from the backseat, fumbling for the key to unlock her handcuffs, desperate to release himself from the fraught situation and rightfully fuck off. He can’t continue to deal with this shit tonight.

Leading her up to the porch, he finally frees her from the restraints. She whirls around to confront him head-on.

“What is your deal?! I need to know. Goin’ around makin’ a girl feel special… spendin’ all your time with her then rejectin’ her just to turn around and sleep with her best friend. That’s low, Javier.”

His eyes narrow. He should have known that Sloane was the catalyst to all this. It explains her seething jealousy, her emotional outburst at the bar, her current fury.

Despite reading him to filth, he’s undeniably attracted to her and her intense antics. He shouldn’t find this possessive side of her as hot as he does.

“Last I checked, corazón, I don’t belong to you or any other woman in this town.”

Paloma’s eye twitches involuntarily at his remark, the harsh truth of it cutting through the haze of the alcohol. They don’t belong to each other; there are no ties binding them beyond their shared history and tangled feelings. Yet in this moment, with her intoxicated by both tequila and his presence–– he does belong to her. Javier is hers.

He plucks a cigarette from his pocket, needing it desperately considering the rollercoaster of emotions he’s gone through in the last however long. He lets it dangle from his lips as he digs into his back pocket for a lighter.

“That new boyfriend of yours must not be fucking you right if you’re this wound up over who I decide to stick my dick in.”

His petty remark hovers in the air like a volatile spark waiting to ignite. Her chest heaves with indignation, whole body vibrating with the raw intensity of her feelings. She doesn’t hesitate, her hand moving swiftly to deliver a resounding slap across his cheek. The unlit cigarette drops from his lips, forgotten as it lands on the ground beside them. Javier remains still as he absorbs the sting of her palm against his skin.

They lock eyes in a tense standoff, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between them. Her breaths come in rapid bursts, her heart pounding in her chest. Without warning, she lunges forward, her lips crashing against his in a desperate, fervent kiss.

His initial surprise gives way to instinct as he responds to her, his lips moving against hers with a hunger born from their shared, toxic yearning. But as her mouth opens to deepen the kiss, the taste of tequila lingers on her tongue, a reminder of her intoxicated state. He pulls back gently.

“No, please don’t do this to me again…” She whimpers out softly, her eyes filling with tears as her hands cling to the fabric of his shirt.

“We can’t… not now, cariño you’re really drunk.” The instant switch in her tone and body language is enough to trigger his tenderness, his hands coming up to rest atop of her balled up fists against his chest.

The pure vexation and trepidation from before begins to simmer out, both of them having reached the peak of their respective moods and now suffering from the declining slope that follows.

His rejection this time around doesn’t sting as much as the last. There’s a bittersweet clarity in knowing that he’s choosing restraint over indulgence, respect over desire.

“I-If I wasn’t drunk… would you have fucked me?” She blurts out, bottom lip quivering slightly as she waits for his response, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what he might say.

He hesitates, a myriad of emotions flickering across his features. He leans forward instinctively, steadying her as she wobbles on unsteady legs.

“Let’s get you inside and in the shower. You need to sober up a little before getting into bed.” Javier ignores her question all together, removing her hands from his chest as he carefully maneuvers her towards the front door.

“I got it.” She tells him with her head hung low, reaching over to a nearby flower pot and digging out the spare house key.

She, in fact, does not got it when her attempts to unlock the door fail as she struggles to get the key in. Javier takes over gently, letting them both inside.

Getting her up the stairs proves to be more of a struggle than he anticipated. She clings to him, her grip tight and insistent, bombarding him with questions about his night with Sloane.

Am I as pretty as her?

Did she do it better than me?

Do you have feelings for her?

Again, he ignores her because it’s all ridiculous and she’s too drunk for him to thoroughly explain that he doesn’t see Sloane like that at all.

She was a mistake. A lapse in his judgment. A reminder of how he’s no good for Paloma.

They reach the bathroom and he gently lowers her onto the closed toilet seat. He turns on the shower, the sound of running water filling the room with a soothing rhythm. When he turns back, she is already beginning to undress, her movements slow and unsteady.

He averts his eyes quickly, a flush creeping up his neck at the proximity and intimacy of the moment. Clearing his throat, he steps out right as the last article of clothing is shed.

“Gonna get you some water. Please be careful in there.” He’s hesitant to move from his spot at the door in case she falls over.

She grumbles out a brief ‘okay’ and after a few more seconds of hovering, he quickly goes to the kitchen to get her some water and painkillers.

He’s back in her room now, turning the bedside lamp on to get everything ready for her to get some sleep.

Javi pauses for a moment. It’s the first time he’s ever been in this space and he feels like he’s intruding on her. He gets a sense of déjà vu, recalling the day he had been in Jessica Valadez’s room and the similarities between her and Paloma.

He rummages through her dresser until he finds a t-shirt and some shorts, walking down the hallway to the bathroom where she’s just shut off the shower.

“Got some clothes for you. Here.” He sticks his hand through the cracked door and not long after does she take them from him silently, shutting the door. Javier lets out a shaky sigh, leaning against the wall and giving himself a second to breathe.

She stares at her reflection with teary eyes, feeling a little lighter after her shower. If it were up to her, she would have stayed in there all night; comforted by the warm water hitting her skin.

With him on the other side of the door, she doesn’t know what to make of everything that’s transpired. Why does she always have to do this when she’s under the influence? She’s already starting to hate herself for it now, she knows the embarrassment will only be worse when she wakes up tomorrow with a killer hangover.

After getting dressed in the clothes he brought her (a sweet gesture that makes her want to wring his neck) and brushing her teeth, she emerges from the bathroom, her hair damp. She walks past him without a word, heading straight to her bedroom.

Javier hesitates, torn between leaving now and staying a bit longer to ensure she’s okay.

His feet carry him to her bedroom door before his mind catches up. “I’m headed out,” he announces awkwardly, his gaze fixed on her as she crawls into bed. “Drink some water and take those pills.”

Paloma nods faintly, doing as he instructed, her eyes avoiding him as she curls up under the blankets.

He wants to say more, to fix things somehow, but he knows he can’t. Not tonight, not like this.

“Can you come here, please?”

Her words carry a vulnerable tone that tugs at his heartstrings, having him walk over to her.

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you want me Javi?” Her voice trembles slightly, head sinking deeper into the pillow. Her sad, twinkling brown eyes plead with him, searching for answers that have eluded her for too long “What don’t I have that all the others do?”

He feels a pang in his chest, kneeling beside the bed and bringing himself to eye level with her. He can’t bear to see her like this, questioning her worth because of his shortcomings. He knows it’s not about what she lacks—it’s about his own fears and insecurities.

“Cariño, you have so fucking much,” he murmurs sincerely. His fingers reach out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She’s so beautiful. “You have this warmth, this passion... It scares me, Paloma. How strongly I feel about you.”

He searches her eyes, hoping she’ll understand, hoping she’ll see that it’s his own tensions holding him back, not any fault of hers. But he knows words alone won’t heal the wounds he’s inflicted. He wishes he could erase the pain he’s caused, the doubts he’s planted in her heart.

Her gaze holds his, a mixture of longing and hurt swirling in his mesmerizing brown eyes. She doesn’t verbally say anything, but her stare speaks volumes—pleading for an explanation.

“But why?”

“‘Cause shit has never worked out for me.”

“So you just gave up entirely?”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

“Yeah. Until I met you and realized how lonely it is giving up.” Paloma hiccups softly, her words tinged with vulnerability, nuzzling into his touch against her cheek. “Do you like being lonely, Javi?”

There’s a long pause.

“…No.” He’s never been this honest before.

She scoots closer to him, closing the gap between them. Her hand reaches up tentatively, fingers brushing against his. “Then don’t be. I’m right here.”

Javi looks down, pulling his hand back. “You need to sleep this off baby.”

Her brow furrows slightly, frustration clear in her expression. She wants him to stay, to talk, to unravel the complexities between them. But she knows he’s holding back, keeping his distance for reasons she can’t fully grasp.

“Don’t fuckin’ dismiss me—”

“I’m not dismissing you. We’ll talk about it another time when you’re sober. Right now you need to sleep.”

“Promise me.” Her voice is insistent now, “Promise me that you’ll actually talk and be honest when we speak again.”

He knows he owes her that much—honesty, vulnerability, a chance to mend the fractures he’s caused. He nods slowly.

“Si, te lo prometo. Pero ahorita, mi palomita, tienes que descansar (Yes, I promise you, but right now, my little dove, you need to rest).”

He reaches out again, this time his hand finding hers on the bedspread. Their fingers intertwine briefly, a silent reassurance passing between them. He squeezes gently before standing.

Her lips curl up into a small yet sweet smile, feeling newfound hope at the prospect of making amends with Javier and finally getting what she actually wants.

No fantastical tales of peace and power, no outlandish adventures and sneaking around, no deceit.

All she desires is to be wanted by him.

He lingers by the door again. “We’ll talk soon.”

Paloma nods, “Goodnight, Javi.” Her eyes follow him as he leaves the room. Alone now, she curls up under the blankets, drunken thoughts swirling in her head. She wants to believe in his promise, to hope that their next conversation will bring clarity and maybe even something more.

Now outside, Javier bends down to pick up his discarded cigarette, leaning against the car and lighting it. He runs a hand through his hair as he exhales the smoke heavily. He’s committed now, committed to confronting his own fears after half-assing it for so long. It won’t be easy, but for Paloma, he’s willing to try.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #javier peña smut #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfic #javier peña fic #narcos fanfiction #javier peña x ofc #narcos fic #javier pena smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña narcos

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joocomics · 8 months

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the thing is i'm also a gamer so i'm sure that both me and jiseok would get annoyed that we're paying attention to something else. it's gonna be a cycle of us being clingy and doing hand stuff to distract the other 🫢🫢🫢

i just know that he'll ask you to cockwarm him while you are playing the game. if he gets too annoyed and impatient, he'll become rough and you can't continue to play anymore. there goes my soul 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

- 🫧

man do i love writing cockwarming jiseok… if i’m correct this is my third time and i love it i can never shut up about it.. there goes my soul as well

that would be so fun actually cause let’s be real - jiseok will find the best ways to make everything sexual! he’s the type to set rules like if you win a game - he eats you out, if you lose a game - you blow him, if he reaches a certain level - you let him choose a kink for you to try out together, and etc., you have some rules around how much time you both spend playing too, but they don’t always go as planned. another known fact is that jiseok loves a good challenge which means - he annoys you like the bratty dom he is and those rules disappear

if you spend a little too much time to his liking on playing your game he starts getting on your nerves by throwing little sarcastic comments on how you’re slacking, then he moves onto distracting you by coming behind you to breathe in your ear, to squeeze the back of your neck and shoulders, to brush his plush lips where your skin is exposed. “come on, baby, you’ll have so much more fun with my cock.. don’t act like you don’t want it,” his deep cocky voice sends shivers down your spine, but despite wanting to feel him so freaking badly, you don’t give in easily and that’s exactly what makes his boner so unbearable

“fuck, at least let me stay inside you till it’s over, i’m so fuckin’ hard, baby…” you pull down your shorts, relishing this rare moment of your boyfriend begging to be pleased. he throws his head back, letting long groans towards the ceiling. he cusses through his perky amused smile from the fact you’ve been wet this entire time. he gives you ten more minutes which are not enough, but he doesn’t care - neither do you though. when you keep playing after the time has passed he grips your waist harder with one hand while his other one finds your clit only to stimulate it relentlessly; his teeth bite your shoulder every time you shift, clenching around him, causing his core to burn which frustrates him even further. “just let me fuck you, why are you making it hard for both of us, huh? such a brat..” his fingers wrap around your hair which completely steals your attention from the screen, and good thing he can’t see your satisfied smile cause he would’ve just toss you on the couch without you even having time to comprehend what’s happening. he tells you to choose - you either start bouncing, or he’s cumming by himself without giving you nothing till tomorrow </3

#i’m so in love with him jesus christ #💌: xhdream inbox #🫧 anon #xdinary heroes smut #xdinary heroes hard thoughts #xdinary heroes hard hours #xdh smut #kwak jiseok smut #jiseok hard thoughts #gaon smut #gaon hard thoughts #jiseok x reader #gaon x reader #xdinary heroes x reader

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leejihoonownsmyheart · 7 months

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OK THAT'S REAL cuz like.. can you imagine acting like a brat and just scaring them off ?? like what if that guy was gonna be my future mr....

oh my bad 😞😞 i'd love to live with you but im actually jerry (from tom and jerry) and living in the walls, and it's lowkey really spacious in here so i can't move.....i hope you understand

3 LITERS?? ARE YOU TRYING TO BANKRUPT ME 🤨🤨🤨

yeah, i think the guy that likes you? is he the guy that pouted at you when you said you were going to leave for a vacation or something

------------- ask separator --------------

why did i do that.

whatever ANYWAYS i also want to start writing fanfics. my issue? i am wildly, like, not creative and posting is scary 😞 so i think ill just keep sending you ideas because you're actually the best <3

HOW HAS UR WEEK BEEN GOING THO?? I HOPE YOU (and your week) HAVE BEEN WELL

-a no-valentine having shakey anon

NO LITERALLY i feel like there are not a whole ton of brat tamers walking around so we have to tred CAREFUL

No I completely get it actually… Tom is a great roommate and those are very spacious walls. I’m glad you have such a nice home!!

HELLO?! YOU OFFERED

OH AND THAT SITUATION IS GOING FINE…. I COMPLETELY IGNORED THE CONFESSION HE SENT TO ME RIGHT BEFORE HE LEFT FOR VACATION AND THEN HE CAME BACK AND I KINDA IGNORED HIM AND NOW I KINDA IGNORE HIM BUT WE PLAY DND TOGETHER NOW CAUSE ONE OF MY FRIENDS TREATS MY LOVE LIFE LIKE AN OTOME GAME SHE CHECKS ON EVERY NOW AND THEN (when she found out he liked me even though I made it clearly i didn’t like him she put him in a gc with someone else we work with who ISNT EVEN THAT CLOSE TO ME to coach him on what to say to me and then gaslighted me into thinking she hadn’t been trying to push me closer to him 🤠) but it's fine I've been pretty clear though

PLEASEPLEASEPKEASE START WRITING FICS You come up with such good ideas!! And the best part about fanfiction is that if you write it IT ALWAYS GOES EXACTLY HOW YOU WANT IT TO

You don’t even have to post :D just send it to meeeeee and I’ll read and love and enjoy it <3 just something to think about…. You’ll never know how good you are until you give it a shot y’know :)

ITS BEEN GOOD IVE BEEN SLEEPING IN LONGER THAN I WANT BUT NOT MISSING CLASS SO IT’S OKAY REALLY cried a bit today because of loneliness again though… idk why it was so random

HOW HAS YOUR WEEK BEEN TELLTELLTELL

#b: 🫨 anon #happy valentines dayyyy #It’s okay to not have a valentine today #login to love & deep space zayne and rafayel called me #and xavier said he’s taken me out to dinner #AND I GOT 100 DIAMONDS #or or #katherine li just dropped a new song #and so did lilypichu #and and the circe saga is out now 😃#SO MUCH TO EXPERIENCE #GO SEE MADAME WEB!#(i too have no valentine)

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battymuses · 1 year

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Mary Dahl Headcanons

I can’t get over how many of these lyrics fit (my take on) Mary Dahl.

youtube

“Don't do love, don't do friends I'm only after success” Mary was relatively unloved growing up. Her parents were focused on her acting success so they could feed off her earnings (and not be ashamed of her condition). When very young, she tried to earn their love through her success. As for friends, she didn’t really have any. Every interaction was surface level or outright horrible for her with others’ cruelty. She grew hardened over the years and became rude to those around her, believing no one would ever truly like her for who she was. This earned her the reputation as a brat, even in her adult years. Her only focus was the success of her career and enjoying what it could buy her. “Don't need money, don't need fame I just want to make a change “ Deep down, Mary knows she doesn’t want money or fame. She wants love and feels she could only get that if she makes an impossible change; growing up. “I know exactly what I want and who I want to be I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine” Mary wants to be a “normal” woman. Because she can’t, she went through her routines both as an actress and a recluse. “I'm now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy” Mary did try to take hold of her own destiny, but failed. “One track mind, one track heart If I fail, I'll fall apart” When Mary sets her heart on something, she’ll do anything for it. When it comes to failure, she crashes hard. “Maybe it is all a test 'Cause, I feel like I'm the worst So I always act like I'm the best” This ties into Mary’s old diva mentality. “If you are not very careful Your possessions will possess you” Mary is a hoarder, doing her best to hold onto anything that can give her some semblance of happiness. “TV taught me how to feel Now real life has no appeal” If this isn’t Mary Dahl, I don’t know what is. She was so unhappy in her life, she felt the only way to go forward was to recreate a television show in which her character was loved. “I'm gonna live, I'm gonna fly I'm gonna fail, I'm gonna die” Basically Mary’s ups and downs and her mental health issues, including depression. (I just love this song and Mary.)

#Mary Dahl #BMuse Mary Dahl #Baby Doll #Batman #batman the animated series

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

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Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagines #mha x reader #mha imagines #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut #tw dubcon

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chiwhorei · 4 years

Text

green scrunchies

pairing: dom!k. ukai x sub!fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, spanking, smoking, daddy kink, dom/ sub dynamics, brat taming, subspace, dirty talk, degradation, age gap(reader is 22ish and ukai is 26ish) spitting, fingering, oral (fem receiving), edging, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, a little dumification, public nudity (kinda), unprotected sex, tattoos (there’s a tattoo in a really unholy place), this is just filth okay

a/n: i have been sitting on the bulk of this piece for a fucking month and am honestly so surprised i finished it. this was inspired by a picture i saw of a really naughty tattoo and my mind want crazy and vomited on to a google doc.

hymn: nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex

“but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations.”

Ukai Keishin is a gentle man. The team of highschoolers he coaches, his friends, hell, even his mother would beg to differ. But they were not privy to the Keishin you know. The man that serenades you with Elvis Presley while cleaning up after closing the store, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a clumsy slow dance as his gravelly voice croons into your ear.

He’s entrancing. Hypnotizing you, almost two years ago now, in the most tender pursuit possible, so softly you were unaware of falling deeply in love with him until you had already tipped completely over. Turning to an ink pen and scraps of receipt paper to flesh out the feelings he worried would not sound perfect when they hit your ears. To this day, you’re not entirely sure if he meant to leave the pages to his extemporaneous romance novel for you to find on purpose, but you have your suspicions.

You were in your second year of college when you met Keishin, only 20 years old at the time and clueless to any world outside of studying frantically from one exam to the next. Chasing after a degree you could pursue your dreams with and getting tattoos that would piss your parents off, you crashed into him, literally.

While walking to class with practiced steps and flipping through a small stack of notecards, you frantically try to accomplish last minute cramming and making it to class promptly at the same time. With one final attempt to understand the scribbles in front of you, you take a sharp turn into a brick wall. A flurry of white papers thrown into the air and falling back down like snow.

It happened in a minute, a minute that held sixty of the longest seconds to ever pass; from the moment you smack your nose into his cemented chest to the moment he saves your head from kissing the ground below. “You need to watch where you’re going, kid.” He says with a cigarette pressed between his teeth. It all happened in that single minute, your soul escaping and crawling into his jacket pocket without even realizing. It’s been there ever since, for safekeeping, of course.

He’s perfect in every way. But just as he is soft and loving, Ukai is not one to take shit. Especially when his sweet, shy baby girl is being a raging brat. It’s like any normal fall afternoon, slightly chilly and crisp on your walk from class. The air is biting at your skin, but the temperature is not what sends a piercing shiver down your spine. You know that as soon as you get home, Ukai Keishin is going to ruin you.

“What are you doing here, princess?” Your presence is made known with a soft ding from the bell above the door, but Ukai doesn't look up from his magazine when acknowledging you.

“I live upstairs?” Your tone is light and playful. You decide to test the waters, wondering how much Keishin will let slide today.

“Don’t be dense, little one.” He graces you with his eye contact for the first time, “I know you have a Biology lecture on Friday afternoons. So, why is that cute little ass here instead of on campus?” His lips are pulled tightly in a thin line and he rakes his eyes down your body. You’re wearing a short pleated skirt and a baggie pull-over. Exactly what he picked out for you this morning. Well, almost exactly. He was already opening up the store by the time you woke up, so the clothes were placed neatly on his side of the bed. What he didn’t pick out though, were the stockings currently brandishing your mid thigh, cutting off the supple skin with the soft, black cotton.

“Oh! My professor cancelled lecture today so I came home early to have lunch with my loving boyfriend.” You smile sweetly, dropping your backpack and rounding the corner of the counter he is sat at. Ukai hums softly- dismissively- and lights a cigarette, his eyes don’t give away any emotion, so you are left hanging off the end of the burning cherry. Has he caught on yet? Maybe the thigh-highs would be enough to distract from your real surprise.

Before you can ruminate on the thought, a wide, kind smile spreads across his face. If you didn’t know any better, this smile would be comforting. Your boyfriend pats his lap, motioning for you to take a seat. You adjust yourself to fit snugly and lean into Keishin’s chest. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple and takes a drag from his cigarette. Customers trickle in slowly, and you stand a few times to ring up their purchases, always the dutiful girlfriend. Keishin watches you with adoration in between paging through a magazine, everything you did was so perfect, even if it’s just scanning a few groceries. Such a good girl you are.

It’s not until you sit back down, and he adjusts your hips to settle back into him that he is made aware of the game you’re trying to play. And he is pissed.

“Princess, did you not like the clothes I picked out for you this morning?” He has fully caught on to you at this point, and you both know it, but he isn’t going to show you his hand quite yet.

“Of course I did, Daddy.” You bury your burning cheek into his neck, letting the familiar smell of cologne and campfires calm your clambering heartbeat.

“I see, then why are you wearing these…” Keishin’s voice trails off and pulls at the material of the thigh-highs, snapping it against your skin.

“Actually,” he interrupts, “I have a more important question. But I need you to be a good girl and answer honestly.” Keishin whispers into the shell of your ear and nods a goodbye to the elderly man leaving the store. You two were alone now, the promise of other customers wandering in diminishing quickly with the time of day.

“I’ll be a good girl Daddy.” You try to coat your words in velvet as best as you can, but Keishin scoffs, clearly unamused.

“That’s rich, princess. Now tell me, did you go to campus this morning without panties on?” You knew the question he was going to pose, you could have even saved him the breath. You knew you were going to get caught, I mean, that is why you did it. But now, faced with having to atone for your sins, the confidence in your original actions was melting away.

“I forgot to put panties on this morning, Daddy. I’m sorry.” You try to pout in the sweetest way possible, but Keishin knows. You’re lying through your teeth.

“Tsk, you forgot. How could you forget if I laid them right on top of your skirt this morning?” He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a damning article. As he moves the exhibit into evidence, light pink thong hanging off of fingers, you resolve that your little game was over long before you even tried to start. All you can do now is wait with baited breath and flushed cheeks for his next move.

“Stand up princess.” Ukai grabs onto your hip bones and lifts you upward. He spins you around to face him and perches his elbows on his knees. “Show me what’s mine baby girl.” His request, his demand, rolls off the tongue like icicles. You know what he means, but still stare back dumbly, mouth wide at what he was insinuating.

“You know I don’t like repeating myself, little girl.” His words stir inside you. If he sees how wet you’re getting, you’re done for. There’s no escaping this moment though. You take a deep breath in a feeble fight against the suffocating feeling in your chest, and lift up the end of your short, black skirt so he can see you. All of you.

Your precious, sumptuous thighs now in his view. He studies the lines of the tattoos not covered with your stockings. Beautiful floral designs in delicate black ink. Keishin thinks the work you get done is always so beautiful. Every addition befitting you perfectly. He loves tracing the pads of his fingers over the art in softer moments. This moment though, was not soft, and the tattoos on your thighs were not the subject of Ukai’s attention.

He flicks his eyes up to meet yours briefly, and trails down from your quivering bottom lip, to your delicate, freckled collarbones peering sweetly from your large sweater. He drags his darkening gaze down further, cherishing every inch until he reaches your hips. Nestled in between the apex of your thighs, in small, dainty writing lays his prize.

“My Daddy Will Kill You.”

No matter what you did, he would always be there, snugly under the second layer of skin. When his fingers weren’t intertwined in yours, when he couldn’t have a protective hand in your back pocket. Whenever he was away with his team for tournaments or just when you were in class. He was always on you.

“Such a gorgeous little cunt you have.” He leans back in his seat, watching you fidget under his stare, “Whose cunt is this, baby? Is it your classmates? Is it your professors?” You bow your head in shame at Ukai’s insinuation, you know that going to class with a bare ass and a short skirt was going to get you in trouble. How could you resist though, when the punishment always feels so good.

“You’ve been acting like a petulant brat recently. I’ve been letting things slide because I know how stressful your senior year of college has been.” His tone is exasperated, but his eyes are calm, level, dark, “I can’t ignore this, you know that right?”

“I know, Daddy.”

“Your class was cancelled. So that means we get to start the weekend early.” He pulls your hands from your skirt, letting it fall back into place and holds both of your hands in one of his much larger ones. “Go upstairs and sit on the bed. I want you in just your skirt and those cute little tights you were so keen on wearing. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“But Daddy…” you really did like to test your luck sometimes, but the look he gives you, slightly shocked and more than lightly infuriated, was enough to make you hurry to the back and up the stairs to your shared apartment. You kick your sneakers off at the door and head straight to the bedroom. You pull the sweater over your head and unclasp your bra. Usually Keishin likes to do that step for you, savoring the way you shiver as he brushes the straps off of your shoulders, but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations.

You tremble like a puppy as you wait for Ukai and almost jump out of your own skin when you hear the front door creek open. Usually you are met with a bellowing voice upon his entry, walking through the door with a hearty, “Honey, I’m home!” even if you had only walked in a few steps ahead. Now, all you can do is wait as he mulls about the apartment with lackadaisical intent and a deafening silence. After a few agonizing minutes and feeling like he made his point, Ukai finally appears in the doorway, arms folded and pressed tightly to his hard chest with a categorically sadistic smile on his face.

“So, you do know how to follow directions?” You gulp loudly and nod your head, but quickly correct yourself. If you don’t use your words you’ll make things worse for yourself. “Yes, Daddy. I know how to follow directions.” It’s not a lie, obviously you are aware of his rules, you just prefer breaking them. Your response is small compared to the loud, sarcastic laugh falling from his throat. Ukai steps towards you slowly.

“You are such a little tease, I came up to kiss you goodbye this morning and found these still sitting on the bed.” He pulls the thong out of his pocket again and drops the lace into your lap. “You left them there because you wanted me to find them. You wanted me to know you were sitting in class with a bare cunt.” There’s no use trying to find an excuse to push past your locked jaw, because he’s not really asking a question.

“I left them on purpose, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Your mea culpa is underwhelming to say the least, and you both know it. You may be pleading guilty to all charges, but you don’t seem eager for absolution.

“You are such a little attention whore. My timid, darling girl has been acting like an insolent slut recently. What am I going to do with you?” His voice sounds questioning, but unmistakingly rhetorical. He’s known what he was going to do to you from the moment he spotted your panties weighing the bed down this morning.

“Turn around baby.” Ukai unbuckles his belt, and you turn away from him, tucking your legs to sit upright. He gathers your long h/c hair from where it was settled around your face and meticulously braids it to lay flat on your back, attaching the green scrunchy from his wrist to the bottom.

Just like a calling card, Keishin always had a scrunchy of yours around his wrist. Whenever you are hunched over the kitchen table in the middle of writing a paper, he pulls your hair behind you and fastens it into a bun, careful to keep it loose so as to not invite a headache, and kisses the crown of your head. Regardless of where you are: shopping, date night, visiting him at practice, if he notices your hair becoming annoying he will slip it from your neck and twist it into the green scrunchy.

And when you are about to be punished, Ukai pulls your hair into a neat, low braid.

You feel him run his hands from your shoulders to your wrists, pulling them gently behind your back. He presses your palms together and gives them a squeeze so you know to keep them together. Ukai pulls off his shirt, and frees his undone belt from his jeans, folding it in half and running the cool leather up your thigh. He swats softly at your skin, just enough to make you flinch.

Ukai tosses the belt to the ground, deciding he would rather you feel the sting of his palm, and sits down next to you on the bed. You face him with your hands still laced together behind you and let him position you to lay across his lap. The side of your face and your shoulders lay flush against the bed and your ass is raised up above his jean-clad thighs.

“You know the rules, right my love?”

“Yes, Daddy. If I lose count you have to start over.”

“There’s my smart girl. You look so beautiful like this.” He lands a smack on your right cheek, actions greatly contrasting his soft, almost taunting tone. “It’s such a shame you’ve been acting like such a whore.”

He delivers slap after slap on your bruising ass and you count every one out to him, briefly considering what would happen if you stopped counting, but you know that your punishment is already going to be harsh enough. You’re a masochist, yes, but not an idiot.

“Why do you always seem to be on your best behavior when I have you over my knee, darling?” Ukai connects his palm with your tender flesh again. “How many was that baby?”

“Fifteen, Daddy.” You speak in an even tone, if your boyfriend catches on to how much more you like this than he already knows, you’re, quite literally, fucked.

“You really know how to play me, baby. I’m always wrapped around your little finger.” He starts to knead your ass cheek with his large hand, skimming the tips of his digits against your wanton cunt. He’s testing you, wanting to see if you’ll start squirming or unclasp your hands from their position behind your back, but you hold steady.

“You leave me naughty little surprises. I had you on my mind all day, thinking about this naked little pussy walking around campus. One tiny slip and you would have shown everyone what’s mine.” Another sharp swat to your butt reverberates through the room and you can barely mumble out your counted response.

“But that’s what you wanted isn’t it? You wanted everyone to see this slutty pussy of yours didn’t you?” Whether that was the truth or not doesn't actually matter, you know not to make an excuse. You are just meant to count and thank.

“You need to stop squirming, princess, or you’re going to royally piss me off.” Ukai continues his relentless pace, two thick fingers pistoning deep in your dripping pussy. This was one of Ukai’s favorite games, finger-fucking you to the point of the bed under you slamming into the wall. Your job was to keep completely still. One arch of your back or escaped moan and he would land a sharp slap to your puffy, untended clit.

He’s actually being quite generous despite the circumstances. Usually, you would be propped on your hands and knees, but Ukai has laid you flat on your back with one leg tossed over his broad shoulder. The position, while easier to keep your body still, does mean that Ukai’s piercing, hungry gaze has you pinned like prey under him. The completely pornografic sounds of his fingers are making your head spin. The fact that he’s been hammering his fingers relentlessly into your g-spot for an hour, is starting to make your mind foggy, all thoughts are starting to slip from your brain and your boyfriend can tell.

“God, baby, I love making you absolutely stupid for me. I bet all you can think about is my cock filling this little cunt up, huh?” His words are sneering, taunting. Your response is a babbled agreement and plea for his cock, and the sight of you so completely fucked out makes the bulge in his jeans strain even further. The feeling of his fingers in your squelching pussy is dulling all other senses, so when he pulls the digits away, you can’t help the cry that rips from the back of your throat.

“Don’t worry, precious girl, I’m going to give you what you want. What you’re fucking desperate for.” Ukai pushes himself from the bed and removes his jeans and boxers, and you watch as his thick cock springs free to slap against his abdomen. The sound makes you mewl, your cunt clenching in anticipation.

As Ukai crawls back onto your shared bed, his head dips down in between your legs. He licks, flat and languid across your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue with a feral groan.

“Please, Daddy. Please fuck me. I- I need you. Wa- want to be your good girl.” You find your words as best as you can to beg for him, the sweet cadence of your voice and the way your weak arms reach out for his messy bleached hair signals to him that you’ve fallen completely into a foggy, submissive haze. You tug lightly at the tresses and the impressive self-control he has kept up thus far snaps like plywood under a heavy boot.

Ukai takes one more deep, hungry lick at your soaking pussy and sits up, pushing your legs further apart, digging his nails into the soft skin under your knees.

“Open your mouth, Princess.” You are quick to comply with his request, sticking your tongue out and looking up at him through your lashes. You hear the sound of him spitting, his saliva and your arousal coats the thickest plane of your tongue, but connecting one thought to the next becomes impossible as Ukai pushes his thick cock into you at the same time.

“Jesus Christ, no matter how much time I take to get you ready you’re still so tight. God, you make it really hard to stay mad at you.” His hands keep your legs pressed up to your chest, pushing his thick cock into you at an agonizingly lazy pace. Ukai was right, it didn’t matter that he had finger-fucked you into the mattress for an hour, taking him was a tight fit every time. As he buries himself in you, the intoxicating burn of being so full takes all of the air out of your chest. His thick cock stretches you so far, you swear he can feel your own heartbeat within the walls of your tiny cunt. He’s barely halfway into you and you can’t help but constrict, the tinny flavor of your orgasm crawling up from your spine to your mouth.

“There’s no way I’m letting you cum already.” Ukai snickered sadistically, thumb brushing across your tattoo, the dirty secret you shared, right over where you need his fingers most. He wasn’t going to touch your deprived clit yet, and hoping for him to do so was a waste of energy.

“I’m sorry Daddy. I promise, I’ll be good.” Your tears are rolling down the side of your face, wetting the sheet next to you.

“You’re a pathetic mess and I’m not even all the way in you yet. I would save the tears if I were you, babydoll.” You try to compose yourself, but Ukai’s words of dismissive degradation give your whimpers more body, sobbing and babbling as his cock bottoms out.

You can feel every inch of him, hard and thick and so so full inside of you. Ukai pulls out of you completely, his soaking tip rubbing on your labia before slamming back in to the hilt. His pace becomes brutal with every thrust, original slow pace completely unknown to you now. There’s no way you're going to be able to stand properly after this.

“Daddy, please. Please let me cum. Need to cum, Daddy. Need to be your good girl.” A series of calls for your daddy and prayerful begs are the only things you know at this point, drool and tears covering your face.

“You know what, Princess? I bet I could make you cum with just one touch to that little clit.” Ukai takes one hand off of your thigh and hovers over where you have needed him since you woke up this morning. “If I’m right, I’ll make you cum again. If I’m wrong, you’re not gonna cum at all.”

You can feel the warmth of his finger looming over the neglected bud, the anticipation is overwhelming and cruel, but all worth it as soon as he pushes the rough pad of his thumb down. Ukai presses a single, taught circle into your clit and the coil wound tightly in your stomach snaps with incredible force. You know there is a scream that rips from your dry mouth, but you can’t hear it with the blood rushing through your ears. Ukai works you through your first orgasm, stilling his thrusts as until you come floating back down.

“I know this slutty little cunt better than the back of my hand. Now, my precious little thing,” You watch as Ukai hooks your limp legs over his shoulders, lining his throbbing cock back to your slopping entrance. “Let’s do that a couple more times.”

“Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help, falling in love with you.”

You feel your senses coming back to you slowly, with every delicate touch Keishin glides over your skin. He pulls you back to reality with sweet touches and the deep, gravely sound of his voice. After several meticulous moments and even more words of praise, Kei delivers a delicate kiss to your forehead and carries you to the shower. You take a deep, relaxed sigh as he massages your aching muscles under the hot water. After drying your exhausted body with a fluffy towel, Keishin helps you into a comfy pair of leggings and one of his sweatshirts.

“Take my hand. Take my whole heart too.” Your boyfriend’s broad arms wrap around your waist, hands finding purchase under the orange sweatshirt currently drowning your form, and you melt into his chest. “Because I can’t help, falling in love with you.” You turn around in his arms to steal a kiss, but as your lips attach to his a small laugh bubbles up from your stomach.

“What are you giggling at?” Keishin eyes you curiously, and you start laughing even harder.

“Oh nothing, I was just thinking about the bloody nose you gave me when we first met.” You cackle at the memory and feel Keishin take an exasperated but amused sigh, joining your laughter with his own.

“First of all, Princess, you ran into me.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#ukai smut #ukai x reader #ukai keishin x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #ukai keishin #coach ukai x reader #coach ukai #haikyuu keishin

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waka-chan-out · 3 years

Note

Hello! Congratulations ^^ could you do oikawa + prompt 12? Maybe the reader is a dumbass, hates him, or is just pretending, idk, thank you!

300 Follower Event

Oikawa Tooru

Prompt 12: “Fine! I’ll say it.”

this fic was part of my 300 follower event. check out the rest of the submissions here.

timeskip college au.

word count: 2.4k

content warning: i—this is basically enemies to lovers without all the extra steps. oikawa is a brat. i am in love with him. let’s all have a good time. otherwise, the only warnings are someone walking in and technically unprotected sex. we can ignore that for the sake of the fantasy.

thank you so much! i liked your thinking with this one. it was very fun to write.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked. Oikawa frowned.

“Like what?”

“Like I have something on my face. If you have something to say, just say it.”

“I don’t!”

“Then stop staring.”

“Fine.” He looked down at his notebook. Then he huffed and laid his chin on his hand. You groaned.

“What?” you snapped.

“What do you mean?” He held up his hands defensively.

“You’re acting all pouty.”

“I am not!”

You set your jaw and glared at him. He was infuriating. He was also smart, which made it even more frustrating that you were assigned to work together — he seemed like he was good at nearly everything he tried.

He was also handsome. So handsome it made you want to slap him. No wonder his friend from home was knocking him around all the time. It was hard to stare that that pretty face for too long before you wanted to punch it.

“Now who’s staring?” he said, sly smile creeping onto his face. You rolled your eyes and turned back to your notebook, scribbling what was probably nonsense in your notes.

“It’s not so terrible for you to admit you’re attracted to me.”

You stared at him in disgust.

“What are you talking about?”

“I meant exactly what I said. You don’t need to get so defensive.”

“I’m not defensive.” You laughed incredulously, but you had to admit -- you totally sounded defensive. “You’re just wrong.”

“Ah, I see. We’re playing that game.”

You tried to return to your work, but he was staring holes into the side of your head, face tipped over into his palm, spinning a pen in his free hand. Without looking up, you pushed your notes over to him.

“So I was thinking you could present this part. Then I can talk through --”

“You’re very pretty, you know that?” he asked. You stopped talking for a moment, pointedly not looking up at him.

“I can talk through this idea and then we can take turns after that.”

He leaned in. “You’re also very stubborn. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Yes. They have. Can we work please?” You turned to glare at him but stopped midway through the motion. He was incredibly close, too close, a smug smirk plastered on his infuriatingly perfect face. You gritted your teeth.

“We can work. Do you want to work?”

Your face felt hot.

“Yes.”

He tipped back and crossed his arms.

“Okay. What am I doing again?”

“Were you not paying attention?”

“No.” His eyes fell to your lips. “I wasn’t.”

You took a shaky deep breath and turned back to your notes.

“Um. The presentation. You can . . . wait.” You paged through your notes. “I lost it. Hold on.”

“You seem flustered.”

“I’m not -- you know what?” You pushed your books away. “I give up. What is your deal today?”

He licked his lips and scanned your face, weighing his options. Then he dramatically held up his arms like he was surrendering.

“Fine, I’ll say it.” He leaned onto the table, closer to you than would have made you feel comfortable. “I find you extremely attractive.”

“Subtlety isn’t your thing, is it?”

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“Let me rephrase.” He sighed. “I like you. Very much.”

You stared at him.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

He tipped his head to the side and grinned.

“Well, I can think of any number of things.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yes.”

You scanned his face. He was completely serious. Even with an eyebrow arched and small smile on his face, he wasn’t joking in the least. You sighed.

“Fine.”

His eyes flew open.

“What?”

“I said fine.”

A disbelieving smile played at his lips.

“Fine, what?”

“If I do something about it --” You looked away, unable to continue while looking at that smug face. “Will you finally shut up?”

He grinned, still looking unsure.

“Are you serious?”

You smacked his arm.

“Yes, I’m serious. If you keep acting like that I’m gonna send you home.”

“I’ll be good.” He crossed his heart. “Promise.”

You stood and nudged at his chair.

“Then scooch.”

He raised his eyebrows, that cheeky smile still plastered on his face. God, you wanted to knock that right off. He pushed back from the table and you threw a leg over him so you were straddling his lap.

“My, I was hoping you’d say yes but I didn’t think you’d be this eager.”

You grabbed a fistful of his soft, impeccably styled hair and yanked it back. He let out a small yelp and stared at you in surprise.

“What did I say?”

He let out a breathy laugh.

“You told me not to act like myself.”

“I did, didn’t I? How do you think you’re acting right now?”

He grinned and bit his lip, a gesture that should have been off-putting but somehow worked perfectly on his face.

“If you want me to stop --” He strained forward against your hand in his hair, leaning very close to your face. “You’re gonna have to make me.”

“Done.”

You him closer and kissed him.

It was desperate, aggressive, laced with frustration and the slightest bit of self-satisfaction. He slipped his tongue into your mouth eagerly, smiling slightly when you returned the gesture. You could feel his confidence returning in every shift of his lips. He laid his hands high on your legs, squeezing them slightly as you pushed yourself further into his lap.

You lightly bit his lip and his fingertips dug further into your thighs.

He was greedy, seemingly entirely focused on getting closer to you, constantly closer when when he wrapped his arms around you and every inch of your upper bodies were pressed together. You expected him to be more selfish, maybe a little lazy. You thought he’d make you chase him. Instead he was entirely wrapped up in you, sighing against your mouth when your tongue slid against him just so.

You were faintly aware of pressure between your legs. He was clearly excited, impatience becoming more apparent as your hips moved against him.

He gasped into your mouth. You hadn’t expected that reaction from someone like him. It surprised you so much you had to pull back and laugh. He somehow kept a light smile on his face when as he frowned.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. You laughed and leaned against his shoulder. His brows raised and he waited for you to finish.

“I -- it’s nothing.” You covered your face with your hands. “You’re just . . .” You looked between his legs.

“You don’t have to call attention to it! You’re in my lap. What options did I have?”

“Think about your grandmother.”

His nose wrinkled.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oo! Think about Iwa-chan,” you teased. Oikawa looked off to the side like he was seriously considering what you said.

“Actually . . .”

“Oh my god. No. Stop that.”

“You’re right. You’re much prettier than that brutish Iwa-chan.” He leaned forward and kissed you gently. It didn’t last long, but when he pulled away you felt like your ears were ringing.

“Are we going to finish what we started or shall I head home?”

You glanced at the time and glared at him.

“If you tell anyone about this I’ll kill you.”

His face lit up.

“Really?”

You glared at him.

“Fine,” he said, leaning further against the back of the chair. “Do your worst.”

He inhaled a sharp breath as you gripped his hair and forced your lips together.

If your first kiss was aggressive, this one could almost be described as vicious. He yanked you against him, but not before you could start pulling at the buttons of his shirt and pushing your hips against his. He let out a small sound, so quiet it sounded like he was purposefully holding back to save his pride. You got his shirt open and took a moment to appreciate just how strong and soft he looked. Another perfection stacked on perfection. No wonder he had such a shitty personality sometimes. He had to make up for the rest of his strengths.

You ran your hands down his chest and he shivered. He shifted his lips away from yours and ran them down your jaw. He landed a few open mouth kisses on your neck as he slipped his fingers under the hem of your shirt. He only pulled his mouth off of you to tug it over your head, then immediately returned and kissed along your collarbone.

You sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck, melting into the warm press of his hands. He grabbed your hips and rocked them against him.

You both gasped, not realizing how sensitive you were to each other until you were more active about it. You prayed that you wouldn’t regret what you were about to do, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You hopped out of Oikawa’s lap and you silently thanked the universe that you weren’t wearing real pants. Having to shimmy out of a pair of jeans just to have sex with Tooru Oikawa was something you would have never lived down.

“Really?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Shut up before I regret this.”

He held up his hands in surrender, smiling lightly to himself. You readjusted your clothing as he frantically undid and tugged down the front of his slacks.

You swung back onto his lap. He hissed a bit at the more direct contact and stared up at you with wide eyes. He looked almost precious like this, like a kid playing with a toy for the first time. You tried to force the image out of your head.

You brought your lips back to his, kissing him hard as you brought your hand between his legs and tugged down the waistband of his briefs. He hummed in surprise but didn’t break the kiss. He finally seemed to grasp reality when you tugged your underwear to the side, and positioned yourself over him.

“You really wanted me didn’t you? Is this all you could think about while we were—”

You slid down onto him with little resistance. His eyes shut and he choked on the rest of his words.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you asked.

He let out a bitter laugh and tipped his head against your chest.

“Rude.”

You buried a hand in his hair, tugging slightly and reconnecting your lips as you started moving. He brought his hands to your hips to help you shifted on top of him. You were almost annoyed with how good he felt inside of you, somehow being just enough but not too much and hitting you exactly where you needed him. Your motion in his lap was more eager than you wanted to seem, but you felt like you genuinely couldn’t help it.

Oikawa pulled away from your lips and buried his face into your neck, swearing quietly. You summoned all the strength in your legs to go a little faster, allowing yourself to give in to the feeling as much as you wanted to hold back.

You held a little tighter to his hair and he began letting out nearly silent whimpers, soft and high and breathy. They were somehow both very unlike him and exactly what you would expect. He moved his hands from your hips to wrapping his arms around your waist.

He swore, voice muffled against your chest. You hummed in agreement, head tipping back as he pulled you down harder onto him.

One hand pulled away from your waist and fell between your legs.

“Can I?” he asked. You nodded without looking at him and he beamed. He slipped his hand beneath the fabric and began rubbing circles on your clit. You tipped forward and and buried your face against his hair, trying and failing to hold back a gasp. He laughed, then groaned as you pulled on his hair again.

“You like when I do that, don’t you?” you asked, smiling against his face.

“Shut up,” he huffed, moving his thumb faster against you. You moaned and tightened your arms around his neck.

“Are you close?” you asked.

“Mhmm.”

“Good.” You were breathless and riding the wire yourself, feeling like you could tip over any second.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “You’re gorgeous.”

The words sent a shock through you and you moaned against your will. You wanted to return the compliment, but you couldn’t find the words. Instead, you desperately pressed your mouth to his and sighed into his mouth.

His arm latched around your waist. It allowed your hips to shift less but made him hit you even deeper. Your breath rushed from your mouth into his and he drank it in.

Your lips hovered just above his as you swore, grip on his neck tightening so much you were sure it was almost painful as your body shook. You went over recklessly and almost embarrassingly hard, but it seemed to drive him crazy. He held you steady in his lap as he followed after you, eyes squeezing shut as harsh sounds fell from his lips.

You fell limp against each other, chests heaving in a shared rhythm. Slowly, your pants became laughs as you realized the position you were in. He joined in until you were both in a fit, voices breathless and giddy and muffled against each other’s skin.

“That was better than I thought it was gonna be,” you said. He weakly smacked your leg and squeezed you in a firm hug.

“You’re so mean.”

You ran a hand through his hair, hoping he wouldn’t see the genuine smile on your face.

You checked the time again and noticed his face had turned up

“Why do you keep checking the time?”

“Nothing. My roommate just —”

There was the sound of a lock in the door and in swung open.

“Oh my god!” You scrambled out of his lap as your roommate stepped into the entryway. “I’m so sorry.”

You tried to explain through small bursts of laughter as Oikawa rearranged his pants and gathered his things. He tucked into his shoes and approached the door.

“Tooru. It’s nice to meet you.” He grinned, looking somehow even more handsome with his ruffled hair and rumpled, unbuttoned shirt.

She stared at him like he was out of his mind. His smile didn’t falter.

“Well.” He turned to you and did a single finger gun motion. “I’ll be seeing you. You have my number.”

The door swung shut and you buried your face in your hands.

Shit.

#meg’s 300 follower event :)#oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #tooru oikawa smut #tooru oikawa x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader

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markresonates · 4 years

Text

Jaehyun: “You’re going to regret saying that”

wc: +850 | fem reader | genre: smut

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[ 9:04 pm ] “Okay, I get it Jaehyun, it’s a surprise, but am I even dressed properly? Is it okay to wear this regular dress? You didn’t give me a single hint about where we’re going,” you complain.

His hand restricts your ability to see and the earplugs he made you wear muffle any sounds. Your high top converse stumble over his feet every so often as Jaehyun carefully trots behind you, his other hand with a tight, protective grip on your hip. The ground becomes uneven and squishy, making you further prone to tripping as it shifts beneath your feet.

Rowdy butterflies of excitement flutter in your stomach as you’re highly aware he has something more than just your anniversary dinner planned for tonight. You’ve purposefully been bratty as of late and go against his previous orders, yanking the ear plugs out. You hear the waves of the ocean, and the rhythmic crashing and washing upon the shore of the dark, foamy water.

“Baby, you’re so impatient tonight,” he comments with a light chuckle, followed by a darker one. “I’ll definitely have to do something about that soon.”

“Hmmm, like what?” you ask with a flirty tone, baiting him further.

“See, that’s another surprise you’ll have to wait for,” he warns, his infliction dawning that dominance you love so very much.

“Okay we’re here,” he announces as he removes his hand from your face. The romantic, picturesque picnic spread across the beach takes your breath away.

The grainy sand is sprinkled with luminous, plastic candles, circling the wide bed sheet laid out for the perfect date. You spot a medium-sized ice chest, presumably holding cold drinks; one of those large, square, insulated pizza bags; and cups, napkins, and disposable utensils in a zip lock plastic bag at the very corner of the layout.

As you move to sit down on the sheet, he grabs your hips, roughly pulling your body flush against his chest.

“While we’re eating, y/n, try not to think too much about your punishment later tonight, okay? You know, you’ve been such a little brat this week, you’re gonna get it real hard, just like you deserve,” Jaehyun whispers in your ear, subsequently sucking on your sweet spot for a handful of seconds, tantalizing.

A wave of tingly heat washes over your body and you feel immediate arousal in your core, exactly like he intended. The thing is, tonight you decided not to wear any underwear, meaning there’s nothing to stop your wetness from dripping down your thighs or on anything you sit on, or in this case, the bed sheet.

The date goes off without a hitch; you eat pizza and drink a little wine, and reminisce about memories you share about your relationship. You try your best not to think about his words, or how sore you’ll be tomorrow. Miraculously, you manage to carry on the conversation as if you weren’t envisioning every last vivid detail of what’s going to happen when you get back to your shared apartment.

After eating everything he brought for the night, he politely asks you to hand him a napkin from the bag behind you. It’s just barely outside of your reach, and ultimately, you have to move from where you’re sitting to grab it. And that’s when he sees it.

“Awwww, baby, what’s this wet spot right here?” he questions innocently, acting like he doesn’t know exactly what it is.

You just happen to be on your hands and knees reaching into the bag of napkins, your dress barely covering your wetness. You don’t answer him, nor do you turn around, too mortified to admit how utterly soaked your folds are.

He crawls over to where you remain frozen in place and sits directly behind you. “Hmmm, lemme see how wet you are.” Flipping up your dress, he leans in closer to get a better look at your slick hole. You inhale sharply as his hands make contact with your pussy lips, parting them delicately. “Fuck, y/n, your pussy’s fucking gorgeous.”

One hand remains parting your folds, while he takes two fingers to slowly rub up and down your slit. You impulsively moan from the sensation his hands are bringing you and tilt your body down, chest pressed flat to the bed sheet, back arched, and making your ass even higher in the air. Your position gives him the perfect view, his thick cock nearly throbbing in heavy arousal from the visual of your juices trickling down your thighs.

“You’re such a slut not wearing any panties tonight,” Jaehyun taunts as he finally slips his fingers into your hot core. “And always so tight no matter how many times I fill it up and stretch you out.”

You can both hear how wet your hole is as his fingers pick up speed inside you. “God, I love that my baby is a little cockwhore. You really wanted to be fucked this badly that you gave me the easiest access, huh?”

“Fuck, Jae, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to fuck me just as badly,” you whined back to him. The hand that was holding your folds open delivers a hard slap to your ass, echoing along the empty beach, competing for loudest noise with the crashing waves.

“Wow, baby… you’re going to regret saying that.”

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➾my masterlist

#jaehyun #jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenarios #nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct 127 scenarios #jaehyun drabble #timestamps

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

Text

MC is Half Demon and Blah Blah Blah-

Time for the Group Retreat!

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Lessons 5-6 Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

I’m quite hyped for this one, ladies, gents, and esteemed readers! For simplicity’s sake, since this is before M!MC and A!MC arrive, L!MC will go back to being referred to as just MC. Enjoy the Headcanons!

Since the previous Underground Tomb incident ended much less violently, Lucifer is now more worried than angry about MC’s rampant shennaniganery.

Like... his kid was poking holes in his totally foolproof “Your cow-uncle went to live on a farm in the human world” story. What if MC somehow got into the attic and got hurt?!

It didn’t help that they were still in this weird phase of their father/child relationship. On one hand, Lucifer obviously cares for his kid, and his kid likes him... but it’s also only been less than three months and we all know how emotionally constipated Lucifer is.

MC’s also getting REAL sus of all the secrets their dear old dad is keeping... doesn’t help that they STILL haven’t went up into the attic.

Anyhoo~ the announcement for the retreat was a barrel of laughs.

“I’m proposing, a group retreat!”

Everyone met Diavolo’s announcement with the exact same confused reaction. It’s like the entire assembly hall was doing the ‘Guy Blinking’ meme.

“A... group retreat?” Lucifer repeated slowly. “For what reason exactly, Lord Diavolo?”

The Crown Prince was giddy with excitement as he explained. “MC told me about their middle school overnight trip and it sounded like it would be quite fun!”

Simeon, Luke, MC, and Solomon were all seated next to each other in the ‘exchange student seats of less importance’. Luke leaned over and whispered a question to MC.

“Why are you so friendly with the crown prince?”

MC smirked and shrugged. “Lucifer had the Demon-Flu and couldn’t go meet with Lord Diavolo last week so I went for him. Lord Diavolo’s surprisingly bad at Connect Four but has really good luck in Snakes and Ladders.”

Luke’s jaw dropped in complete and utter shock and horror.

“We’re playing CandyLand and the Game of Life next time, want to come?” MC added.

“Play CandyLand... with him..?” Luke looked at Diavolo, who was still explaining his plan for the retreat, then looked back at MC. “I’ll only go to shield you from his corrupting influence.”

“Yeah... Corrupting...” MC had to hold back a laugh at the thought of Diavolo, who during MC’s visit lit up like a Christmas tree upon being called ‘Dia’ and believed that Mood Rings were the greatest human invention ever, being a corrupting influence.

“MC! Torture dungeon or no!?” MC was snapped out of their conversation by Mammon shouting at them from his seat.

“What?”

“Do ya think there’s a torture dungeon under the castle, or not?”

“I’m not sure,” MC turned to Diavolo. “Lord Diavolo, is there a torture dungeon under the Demon Lord’s Castle?”

There is in fact, no torture dungeon. Presumably...

Everyone packed up and headed out to the Demon Lord’s Castle!

The fabulous seven all broke several speed limits and traffic laws in order to be there early. Listen, they had to get there before Purgatory Hall, it was a matter of pride.

Besides, what’s the Royal guard going to do? Arrest six of the seven rulers of hell and a kid? Ha. No. Not when Diavolo controls their paychecks.

The rooming situation remained the same, Asmo, Simeon, and MC were roomed together, and MC got to watch Asmo get psychologically profiled by Simeon. It was truly a sight to behold.

MC was nice enough to assure Asmo that they really liked him and thought he was very sweet.

Asmo, not used to being complimented on his personality, almost started openly weeping.

So, the tour of the Demon Lord’s Castle began! Asmo got yelled at by his ex in the painting and the usual batch of idiots got sucked into the catacombs under the castle.

Lucifer wasn’t terribly sure how or if he should express his concern for MC being stuck in the labyrinth.

All these new fatherly feelings of worry are very very odd. He didn’t worry this much for Satan, mainly because Satan was usually the threat.

Even as a baby...

Lucifer found himself checking his DDD every few minutes to see if MC had texted or called from wherever the painting dragged them to, never mind that if they did text he’d hear the phone ding.

“Lucifer, don’t worry too much,” Diavolo patted Lucifer on the shoulder, a bright smile on his face. “Your brothers and MC will be perfectly fine! There’s nothing too dangerous in the catacombs that they wouldn’t be able to take care of.”

Resigning himself to the fact that MC was under the care of his last choices for babysitting, Lucifer put away his DDD. “I know they’ll be fine, but I’m not overly pleased with the situation.” He shot a glare at Helene in the portrait, who rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Lucifer worrying about someone, I’m truly, genuinely shocked.” Hearing Satan’s attempt at goading him, Lucifer, flawless demon that he is, resisted the urge to throw his DDD at his brother.

“Quiet, Satan.”

————

“WHY THE FUCK IS A SNAKE DOWN HERE?!”

“ITS HENRY 1.0!”

“YEAH THAT REALLY CLEARS STUFF UP, LEVI!”

MC and Levi continued their screaming match as the group ran for dear life from a giant snake.

Yeah... nothing the brothers couldn’t handle... sure, Lord Diavolo...

They made it out of the scary catacombs... don’t worry.

Lucifer did that parent-thing where he cleaned the catacomb dust off MC’s face with a napkin.

Yay! Parenting!

Failed pillow fight attempt #1 happened that evening. Because Mammon was obsessed with being the fun-uncle and saw his brothers encroaching on his place as favourite uncle.

MC doesn’t know how to break it to him that he’ll probably always be the favourite uncle and he doesn’t have to be such a dumbass to keep his spot.

Scavenger hunt went on as canon dictates.

Asmo had his diva tantrum and stormed off, but MC also wanted to win so they didn’t go after him.

Clearly expecting someone to go beg him to come back, Asmo was very annoyed when no one went after him.

“Um, helloooo? Anyone going to comfort me~?”

“Nope.”

“Well I don’t want your comfort anyway, SOLOMON.”

It was very close, L!MC insisted their loss came from sabotage. No evidence was found but just LOOK at Satan’s face.

Time for the Formal Dance~

If you’re wondering why Luke didn’t say anything when MC was suddenly poofed into their demon form, you’re assuming that Mammon wasn’t in on the “let’s prank the chihuahua” plan.

“Mammon..? Is MC behind you?”

“Nope! Why?”

MC was able to get to the other side of the ballroom with Luke none the wiser! Hell yeah, nothing like screwing with your friend!

So it’s canon that Lucifer is like, a solid 20/10, therefore MC is ADORABLE. What I’m saying is, some of the younger demons asked them to dance.

Asmo was also being MC’s hype man, which was very nice of him. Mammon also tried to give advice on how to be cool and suave. Beel was there for moral support.

“Alright kiddo, you need to be aloof and mysterious! People love aloof and mysterious, that’s why I’m so popular.”

“Don’t listen to him, MC. He flew into a wall as a kid and it killed all his brain cells. Just be proper but not snooty, sweet but not saccharine, friendly but not annoying,”

“Ask them if they want to share some of the hors d’oeuvres.”

“Okay, first, aloof and mysterious are the last words I would ever use to describe you, Mammon. Second, Asmo I have no clue what you’re asking me to do. Third... Beel that’s the best advice I’ve received in recent memory.”

None of that mattered anyway because MC got swarmed with dance offers.

“Well,” MC smirked and held out their hand at the demon that was bold enough to ask them to dance first. “I admire the confidence.”

The demon’s smile brightened, then dropped completely when their gaze drifted behind MC. “I uh... on second thought... I’m gonna...”

MC’s potential dance partners all quickly scattered to the snack table. The half demon growled and turned around to see their father acting like he didn’t just scare away MC’s groupies.

“Father! What was that for?!” MC huffed, Lucifer rolled his eyes and grabbed MC’s wrist and began to pull them away from the dance floor.

“You’re too young to dance.”

“That’s crazy! They looked like they were my age.” MC protested, their wings fluttering in annoyance.

“Even if they looked to be your age, MC, they’re hundreds of years older.” Lucifer said calmly.

“What about that equivalent age stuff you told me about? Like how Luke is hundreds of years old but by angel/human standards he’s technically younger than me?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” Lucifer lightly pushed MC towards the hallway that led back to their room.

“But I want to dance with someone!” MC felt their wings involuntarily fluff up.

Lucifer turned and smiled at his dear little brat, crouching slightly to get to their level. “Not on my watch.”

MC’s face was literally this: >:0

Lucifer is out here being the dad in every comedy that involves someone bringing home their partner to meet their parents.

MC was banished to their room, they spent their time angrily reading the manga they had packed.

When Levi escaped the party slightly later MC grilled him for details of what went on after they left.

“Nothing too interesting... except... um...”

“Spit it out, Levi!”

“...lrddiavlondlucferdnced”

“I can’t understand you, stop mumbling.”

“Lord Diavolo and Lucifer danced together...”

“...”

“I MISSED THAT?!”

So yes, MC’s desire to get a picture of Lucifer sleeping stems from VENGEANCE!

How DARE their father send MC up to their room and make them miss their OTP dancing together!?

So they call up their troupe of idiots and get ready to go be menaces to society.

MC also invites along Asmo because he seemed like he could use the adventure.

And because MC couldn’t plan the prank without Asmo noticing so it was better to just implicate him as well...

“Grrr...”

MC brightened and clapped their hands. “I know that growl!”

“It’s not my stomach, I packed snacks.” MC couldn’t see this, considering the room was pitch black (it must’ve been some kind of magic because demons have excellent night vision), but Beel waved a bag of chips in the air and got to eating.

“No, I’m not talking about your stomach, Beel.” MC skipped towards the source of the growling despite Mammon and Levi’s pleas for them to stop.

Ah! There he was!

“Cerberus!” MC cooed, the three headed dog stopped growling and barked happily. “Whose a good boy? Is it you?”

Cerberus let lose a bark that would probably make anyone crap their pants, but MC giggled and kept petting him. “Yeah! You’re the good boy! You like cuddles! Yes you do! Yes you do!”

A flash of light from a camera caused MC to drop their baby talk voice and stare angrily in the direction where the light came from.

“Whoever took that picture better delete it or I’m going to feed you to the dog.”

Cerberus growled in agreement. What a good boy.

“Well, as nice as this is...” Asmo huffed. “We’ve clearly been duped because this is not Lucifer and Diavolo’s room.”

“Oh well!” MC chirped and continued to pet the three headed dog. “Look at the doggy!”

“MC, you’re crazy. Dontcha ever forget that.” Mammon whimpered as Cerberus growled at him.

So yeah, they couldn’t get out of the room, so they ended up opening up the other door and falling into the catacombs like a bunch of lemmings.

Asmo charmed Henry, and they got out of the labyrinth no problem.

Yay! No consequences! Oh no- hi Lucifer.

Lucifer gave them all the mother of all lectures. Satan showed up with the rest of the gang and brought popcorn.

Belphie wasn’t there, okay? Satan needed to be a little shit for him.

Ah yes, the pillow fight... Mammon’s crusade to be the best uncle culminated in a massive pillow fight that ended with MC, Lucifer, and Diavolo standing over everyone’s unconscious bodies.

So they uh... won the pillow fight.

MC couldn’t sleep. They legitimately couldn’t. As exhausting as the pillow fight victory had been, everyone was snoring, and MC was bleary eyed and awake at one in the morning.

They eventually sat up and looked around, Asmo was passed out in a very unflattering position, Solomon was chanting god knows what in his sleep, Levi was half hanging off Simeon’s bed, Simeon and Luke were sleeping like angels (hehehehe-), Beel was in the middle of eating his pillow in his sleep, Mammon appeared to be dreaming about winning the lottery, and Satan was... suspiciously absent.

He was there a minute ago... weird.

Deciding that this wasn’t worth it and they should just go sleep somewhere else, MC got out of bed and avoided stepping on anyone as they vacated the room.

The Demon Lord’s Castle at night could rival the House of Lamentation in terms of overall creepiness. MC had gotten used to the spirits and curses that littered their home, but they had only been to the Demon Lord’s Castle once before, so they were extra careful not to accidentally touch anything. Their stomach rumbled and they frowned.

Damn, they had the midnight munchies... they needed a snack.

MC made their way to the kitchen and on there way, noticed a peculiar room through a half open door. Taking a few steps back to peek into it, they noticed... doors. A lot of doors. And ivy covered steps. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to any of the placements, and the room was... weirdly chilly.

“You can come in if you’d like, MC.”

Barbatos’ voice nearly caused MC to hit a high note that they hadn’t been able to hit since their voice began to change. They straightened out their wrinkled pyjamas and stepped inside.

The butler himself was walking down one of the flights of stairs.

“Um...” Quickly remembering their manners, MC straightened their posture and cleared their throat. “Good evening Barbatos.”

Barbatos smiled and inclined his head in turn. “Good evening to you as well, MC.”

“How did you know it was me outside? You were up there a second ago.” MC asked.

“It’s a part of my powers. I can see possible futures, and I foresaw you passing by my room and getting curious.” Barbatos explained.

“Oh,” MC said, half nodding and continuing to look around. A the sound of a door closing out of MC’s vision made them squeak and look around for the source of the noise. “What was that?!”

“It’s nothing to be worried about.” Barbatos raised his hands in a placating gesture. “These doors in my room are gateways to different timelines and some are gateways into the past of this particular timeline. That was another version of me passing by.”

“Does this... happen often?” MC knitted their eyebrows.

Barbatos hesitated before answering. “Not really. It’s quite rare. Lord Diavolo has expressly forbidden me from using my full powers freely.”

“Ah... makes sense...”

“Now, I believe you came down for snacks?”

MC blinked in surprise. “How did you- oh... the time magic...”

“Yes, the time magic. Now, would you prefer yogurt and fruit, or apples and peanut butter?”

“Yogurt and fruit please!”

I’m sure MC’s knowledge of how Barbie’s room works will totally not come into play later. I’m sure.

Solomon and MC graced the brunch table with their cooking. I think you can guess how it would have turned out if Barbatos hadn’t intervened.

Rest In Peace to Beel’s tastebuds.

Anyway, the rest of the retreat was all fun and good.

MC may or may not have slipped up and called Diavolo ‘Dia’ in front of Lucifer. It would’ve sparked a lecture if Dia’s puppy-like excitement wasn’t so damn adorable.

Lucifer’s got a heart... somewhere... it’s probably all shrivelled up and tiny, but I’m sure it’s there.

Everyone went back home, brought closer together through... pillow fights and surviving Solomon’s cooking I guess..?

Anyway, MC got home, unpacked their stuff, watched Kakegurui with Levi and Mammon, let Asmo paint their nails, made and ate dinner with Beel, continued their piano lessons with Lucifer, and received a 100% fake smile from Satan.

It was a nice day with their new family, MC curled up in their bed and prepared to go to sleep.

“Help me!”

MC lurched upwards in their bed, whipping their head from side to side, trying to find the source of the voice. Their room was completely empty, the perks of being half demon extended to being able to see in the dark. No new smells either, they were alone in the room.

Auditory hallucinations were common before falling asleep after being sleep deprived, creepy, but not too unusual.

“MC!”

Okay- that one couldn’t be ignored. It was common knowledge that the House of Lamentation was definitely haunted in some capacity, but the ghosts never really bothered the demons living inside, MC was partly convinced that some of the ghosts didn’t even notice that the demons were there. So it couldn’t have been a ghost calling their name.

“MC! I need help!”

The voice reverberated through their head, like it was trying to hit every part of their skull to make sure it was at least felt if MC couldn’t hear it. MC massaged their scalp and got out of bed.

The House of Lamentation at night truly lived up to its haunted reputation. Cold, clammy, dark, even by demon standards. No spooky old house was going to scare MC though, they walked down the hall with their head held high.

They walked closer to walls and furniture, knowing that the floor was less likely to creak in those areas. How did they know that? Mammon had told them it worked like a charm. Well, it’d work better for him if he stopped tripping over the furniture and alerting Lucifer.

MC was much more nimble and careful, stepping slowly and lightly around the hallways until they reached the door to the attic. They reached out to clasp their hand around the doorknob, then froze. It smelled like…

Oh no.

MC leapt away from the door like it was rigged to explode if they touched it and practically dove for cover into an alcove. The all too-recent smell of Lucifer’s fancy cologne and the increasing sound of someone coming down the stairs made them clamp their hand over their mouth and crouch down.

What was their father doing up there?

He had said the attic was full of old junk and there was no reason to go up there, so why exactly did he-

The door slammed open and Lucifer stomped down the hallway back towards his room, MC presumed. They were about to let out a sigh of relief when the footsteps paused. MC felt their heart drop right into their gut when they heard the footsteps coming back in their direction.

What were they going to say to him when he found them? ‘Sorry! This isn’t where the bathrooms are!’ The last thing MC wanted was to add to their father’s ever growing list of stresses. MC was totally responsible and grown-up, their father didn’t need to worry.

MC clamped their eyes shut and tried to slow their heart rate. Demons were beings of darkness and shadow, they could blend in quite easily. They took a deep breath, cleared their head, and felt the shadows of the hallway shift and cover them like a blanket.

Lucifer’s footsteps stopped, MC heard a tired sigh, then the footsteps started up again, this time in the direction of his room.

They allowed themselves a sigh of relief before relieving themselves of their hiding space and opening the door leading to the attic staircase.

If the rest of the House of Lamentation was considered clammy, cold, and foreboding, the attic staircase was that multiplied by a factor of twelve. MC felt themselves shudder involuntarily when they stepped closer to the staircase. Every primal part of their brain was telling them to turn around and walk away, but one tiny part was holding them back. They placed their foot on the first step, waiting for any kind of resistance, nothing other than the feeling of passing through invisible cobwebs.

“MC?”

Upon hearing their name, MC craned their neck to try and get a look at what could be waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

“Are you coming, or not?”

The cascade of warning sirens that began to blare in MC’s head went ignored as they continued to scale the staircase.

When they reached the final step, they were met with a long hallway, with a single door on the right side of the wall.

“H-hello?” MC tried to instill some force into their voice, but it still ended up quavering a little.

“Down here.” Someone knocked on the wall next to the door, almost causing MC to jump.

Oh. Oh no. MC stood straight in front of the door, and when they saw who was looking back at them they nearly passed out.

“Belphegor..?”

Belphegor’s eyes flashed as he gave MC a once over. His eyes narrowed when his gaze snapped to MC’s. The analytical expression melted into a lazy grin.

“That’s me,” he said softly. “Nice to finally meet you, MC.”

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natsukitakama · 3 years

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What kind of Yandere Floch is ?

Could I please get Yandere Floch since I’m really curious what type of yandere would he be but with a fem s/o who isn’t member of yeagarits and she’s with Hange and others instead, wanted to stop Eren. She’s also afraid of Floch since she can sense something odd about him

Hey I’m that anon who request yandere Floch with a reader who isn’t a yeagarist, well just so you know they’re not dating but perhaps they are friends and the reader is type of person who’s not ready to be in relationship even if she has a crush and Floch is aware of that. you could reply this ask at the same day when you post this request

Hey it’s me again, the same anon who request yandere Floch, there’s something I want to add more is that the reader figure it out that eren was using and manipulate Floch and the reader was telling Floch that he’s being used so really curious what would he tell her. Once again reply this ask until this request is posted which I know you’ll take long but I’m fine with it since I’m patience

Author note : Hi there, first of all thank you for being so patient with me ! I hope you’ll enjoy your request. It’s like a HS of my what kind of Yandere are they with two part : part 1 and part 2, the only difference is this headcanon got context

Before we started, let me reminds you those relationships are TOXIC please be careful. No one should treat you the way they did in this headcanon, you’re precious and deserve someone who’ll be able to take care of you properly.

Warning : violence / Mention of stress / Toxic relationship and behavior / slight nsfw / mention of violence / Spoiler from season 4/manga if you didn't catch up with the manga you might be spoil so be careful

-->if you don’t feel confortable wit those kinds of things don’t read, I want you to feel good on my blog this is a happy place.

Masterlist

We’re going to start with the basic, during a long time you guys got a hate/love relationship

None of you knew if you hate each other or if you were too into each other, like you were always teasing each other, always trying to get on the other’s nerve.

It was kinda cute until it became an obsession for Floch.

He didn’t notice it though. Not at first, he thought that he was genuinely crushing on you. I mean you were pretty hot, you got a big mouth not afraid to tell whatever you had in mind, you were even bold enough to argue with Floch with that damn smirk of yours.

Before he could acknowledge it he was already in his kneel for you (not literally not now though).

But to you, you were just friends. With your life and what was going own outside of the wall you knew it wasn’t the right time to get in a relationship, so even though you were in love with Floch you decided that it wasn’t appropriate to start dating.

But Floch disagreed with you. It was already too late, he was into you. He wanted to be by your side, he was craving for your attention whether it would be by arguing with him, fighting (not in a bad way you know just teasing each other) or even romantic attention.

He wanted to get everything that you might give him.

And he was ready to do everything in order to get what he was craving for.

At first you didn’t mind it, you didn’t even notice how bad the situation was. I mean, you were in love with him and as you got to know him you realized that he went through a lot of things. You were aware that the Shinganshima’s event left a huge mark on his soul and now he was dealing with a trauma that might stay forever.

It pained you to see him sometimes struggling with his dream because he was always dreaming about the death of his friends, the way he almost dies and for nothing. Yeah they got Shinganshima back but now they needed to be strong in order to fight the whole word outside the wall.

He needed to be strong so he wouldn’t live this again, he needed to be strong so no one would be able to touch you. He knew at this point he became addict to you and you were the only who can maintain a sort of serenity around him.

So yeah when it came to Floch you weren’t exactly unbiased, you cared a lot about him, so you couldn’t manage to just straight up and tell him to let go.

And he knows it oh boy he knows and he is not afraid to use it against you.

Especially when it was time to choose your side, would you be a yeagerist or would you stay with Hange ?

He expects you to make the right choice ( aka follows him in case you were wonderin)

But it was more complicated than that, of course you were afraid. Since you’ve realized that your nightmare started because some people outside of the wall (who used to be your boundaries) decided that you were monster who needed to be killed because some of your ancestor made war against them. You weren’t a fool, you were aware that talking won’t be enough, it’s been decades since the outside hated you, but you weren’t ready to use such a powerful and dangerous power (aka the rumbling) against people without being a hundred percent sure there weren’t a way out.

So for now you decided to follow Hange much to Floch’s dismay

Not gonna lie he was ready, I mean he knew everything about you so of course he kinda expected you to not follow him easily (where’s the fun then ?)

Even if he expected you to confront him and not follow him already, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I mean why you wouldn’t follow him while all he was doing was fighting for a better word for both of you ? Why wouldn’t you agree with him when he was protecting his people ? Why would you disagree when he was obviously right

So yeah he felt bitterness against you, especially because since you’ve decided to join Hange’s side all you were doing was to confront him about his relationship with Eren. « He is obviously manipulating you ? » « Why are you following him ? I thought he was an ass ? » « We didn’t even try to talk to them how could you be so sure there is no other way ? »

Quickly you came to realize that you couldn’t change his mind which pains you, even though you weren’t ready to be in a relationship for now, you couldn’t help the feeling of emptiness each time you were thinking about him.

Yeah you were missing him, you missed the way you two used to tease each other, you missed his cocky smile each time he was showing off to own some of your precious praise.

But sometimes you swore this man was scaring you, the way his eyes was always on you no matter what (he could have been talking to some of his companion his eyes would remain on you)

Sometimes, you swore that he was following you even though you didn’t have any proof that he was doing it, you just felt it. He was here no matter where you were he was here looking at you from your usual spot to your training spot, you were even starting to think that he was here when you were showering or when you were sleeping.

This sensation was driving you crazy, everyone started to believe that you were a little bit paranoid (yes the man was always looking at you but he told you he was in love so it’s normal right ?)

The feeling became stronger after one of your last confrontation because his behavior (and himself) change brutally :

When you decided to follow Henge-San no matter what, you knew that it would affect your relationship with everyone especially the one you got with Floch. After all he decided to become a yeagarist and to betray everyone in order insure paradis’ safety. In his mind everything made sense, his trauma, all the things he had to go through was because of them, because some people behind the wall decided that paradis was the real danger and needed to be annihilated. What he couldn’t understand was why you hadn’t join him yet ? His goal was noble, he was doing everything to provide you safety. Why were you against him ? Why would you meddle into his plan ? At first, he thought you were playing hard just to amuse him, because you used to love teasing him and while he was enjoying a little opposition coming from you, now that he was about to betray everyone including his superior by changing them into titans he needed to have you by his side. He couldn’t wait anymore, the plan already begun so he needed to convince you to follow him.

That’s why you were here now, in jail behind the bar while Floch was looking at you a frown on his face. No, it was more than that, it was the face you made when you were about to scold your child from acting like a brat. He looked disappointed and quite angry, though you got some ideas why he might be angry you couldn’t however understand why he was so disappointed. After all, you told him that his plan was insane so why was he acting like this ? To be honest you should be the one being angry, he got the nerve to send some rookie from the survey corps find you to arrest you so they could bring you to your jail. You’ve been here since your last argument with Floch and it was like a week ago.

« You know I always knew you were a bad looser but I didn’t expect you to bring me into jail for not being cooperative. Don’t you think it’s a little bit excessive ? Like a LOT »

« Always sassy right Y/N »

« It’s not sassiness at this point it’s just being rational »

« Rational ? You are talking about being rational while being the one who claimed that my plan was full of shit ? »

« I didn’t really say that I just underlined the fact that we still got some cards to play before sending whatever Eren want to send »

« The rambling »

« Yeah whatever that’s not the point »

« It’s definitely the point »

« Absolutely not there is plenty of things to do before even consider sending them titans to kill a whole population »

« A WHOLE POPULATION ? Did you hear yourself y/n ? THEY kill us, THEY were the reason we don’t have a home anymore THEY are the reason so many people died and for what uh ? »

« Not because their government want us dead does it mean the people want our death most of them are probably innocent. There are other way Floch »

« There is no other way y/n the world has to be fix »

« Fix ? Now you are scarring me Floch »

« It doesn’t matter what you think y/n »

« May I ask you why ? »

« Because you’re not leaving this jail »

« I beg your pardon ? »

« Look, here you’re safe from both them and the yeagarist »

« I’m not afraid I’ll kick their ass »

« I won’t take the risk of losing you, so you’re going to stay here all you cute for me yeah ? I Wont be too long I need to work on a little problem then I would be back and you could yell at me as much as you want ok ? I’ll be back »

« No no no Floch look come back OI come back ! I’m not going to stay here you now I’ll find a way out »

« No you won’t nobodies know you’re here I told the yeagarist that you were dead. They won’t look for you, your friends believe you’re dead too. I’m the only person who knows where you are. But it’s okay, it was always about us right ? »

With that he just left your jail, without even a look, all he could was your scream but he didn’t care. The jail was hiding under the military court no one would even think about looking for you here. Besides the wall was thick enough so no one would hear you screaming, for now he decided that you will remain here until he was done saving paradis. But of course, he promised himself to take great care of you so don’t worry.

After this « incident » (aka his way to save you from the trouble outside according to him), his behavior change toward you. You noticed it, he became possessive and rather paranoid when it came to you.

So you might ask what kind of Yandere he is ?

Possessive : I mean he was already possessive before he became the Yandere that he now is, he just lost so many people that now he was afraid that you would be next. So yeah he always makes sure to have his hand on some part to your body mostly your hips or even better holding your hand, since you were attracted to him you let him do his things. But as he falls gradually into darkness, his touch which used to be light touch became more rough. Floch wasn’t holding you anymore he was grabbing you, as if to demonstrate to everyone that he owns you. It wasn’t a mark of affection, but a way for him to illustrate your affiliation to him (as if you were wearing a leash). Speaking of leash, he started to think about it when he notices way too many people was looking at you as if they didn’t understand that you belong to him. And when you two started to be intimate, he was more than ready to mark each inch of your body whether from his teeth, mouth or even from the way he is grabbing at your thigh. It quickly became a habit of him to ask who you belong to especially each time he was giving a rather hard slap from his hips or his hands (because if you think he wouldn’t spank you for being naughty or a brat you’re wrong he loves that) and even though at first you didn’t like the idea of moaning your belonging you quickly discover that it was better for you to just do as he said.

Paranoid : It might because of his trauma from the mission in Shinganshima or because he was more aware about the fact that everyone outside the wall want to erase paradis from the world but he was afraid to loose you. I mean since he joined the survey corps all he has do was losing someone, he lost Erwin, he lost his friends, he lost a part of his mind, he almost lost his life. There is no way he was about to lose you. So yeah as you may notice before, he started by locking you from the world in a jail under the military court after claiming to everyone who wanted to hear it that you were dead. One night he woke up after dreaming that one of the yeagarist would discover you in jail after bringing another prisoner, what if they unlock you ? So after multiple days in jail, without any light, he decided that he couldn’t let you here it was too dangerous, although he claimed to you that he did because he noticed your unhealthy body cause of the lack of light. But since he wasn’t sure if he could trust you enough, he took some handcuff with him so he could link you and him, which made him laugh cause it was as if he put a ring on you. That day he locked you into a house secluded from the world, meaning that you couldn’t reach any city without a horse, it was safe for him and for you and here he was sure no one would ever notice you.

Threatening : Of course, you wouldn’t let him do as he pleased, so some times you tried to kick his ass to steal his horse, or to climb into a tree to help you finding the closest city. You even tried to make him believe you kill yourself so he went completely crazy, screaming, crying so you could knock him you. Unfortunately it never works, and after your failed attempt to leave him he started to threaten you. At first he uses light poison, like he gave you a poison that he mixed on your meal or your drink without you noticing so you were ill during the whole day and you needed to wait like a good s/o that your lovely husband as he calls himself, so he could give you the medicine. Sometimes he even let you believe that he might give you something that will change you into titan like : Do you remember all your officer ? Yeah ? They all drink that famous spinal liquid that change everyone into titan, what if you drank it by accident mh ? Maybe when he gave you food he already mixes your drink with that poison ? Whether it was true or not no one will know, but it works you never attempt to leave him after that.

Violent : I hate to say it, but at some point when dark would entirely cover his mind, he would start being violent against you. Though he would never be something that could kill you, he wanted you to remember that you were living a peaceful live because of him, you were safe because of him. To him you got no reason of being such a brat to him, not when he was giving you everything you wanted. He took care of you, you had no right to be mad at him. So yeah sometimes he had to break your ankle, or maybe your leg so you won’t escape. Sometimes he would strangle you slightly just enough to knock you out. It barely happens because to act like this he needed to be really really angry, like loosing every common sense you know ? So it barely happens but it happens. Your body still have so marks as proof that you shouldn’t get on Floch’s nerve. Despite his physical violence, he tends to be quite violent with his word too so it wouldn’t be a surprise that you’ll break. The emotional amusement in addition with the physical violence would be enough to break anyone so you shouldn’t be ashamed. After all maybe he has been looking for this since the beginning ? Who knows ?

#Attack on titans #aot #aot floch #Shingeki no kyojin #snk #snk Floch #floch forster #Floch x reader #Floch Forster x reader #Yandere Floch x reader #attack on titans x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #Shingeki no kyojin x reader #snk Floch x reader #aot Floch x reader

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Spoiled Rotten (Reid Fic)

Summary: After Spencer went radio silent on Reader while he was in prison, their pride and stubbornness threatens to tear them apart forever. Reader’s forced to mourn the death of who they were and experience the inner turmoil of navigating who they are.

A/N: Y’all are gonna kill me for the ending, but it’s one hell of a way to go. Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst Content Warning: Imprisonment, humiliation, abandonment, anger, frustration, angst, yelling, fighting Word Count: 5.3k Playlist: Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo

Time jumps are indicated by “. . .” or “_ _ _”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A rather unfortunate predicament we’ve found ourselves in tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever been quite this uncomfortable in my life, yet I’m careful not to speak too soon. Because I know the second Spencer opens his mouth to break the silence we’re currently sitting in, I’ll stand corrected.

“You’re breathing really hard,” He tells me out of nowhere.

See, I stand corrected.

Now that I’ve become hyper aware of my own inhale and exhale, my respiration is just that much more restricted. I’m practically holding my breath at this moment - both from the anticipation of catching this unsub in the act and giving Spencer one less thing to scrutinize about me.

“I didn’t say you had to stop breathing,” He tacks on as if it would put me any more at ease. Not that if he had explicitly said such a thing, I would’ve.

Unlike other people, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to throw myself at his feet so he’d like me. But to use that as grounds for his disdain would be foolish. Our rancor went deeper than the basic lack of synergy between us.

And in the spirit of getting to the bottom of that abyssal pit, I finally asked the question with words that always seemed to hang above but never would form.

“Why was I the only one denied visitation while you were in prison?”

It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like this between us; we were actually close once, although it is hard to imagine that version of us ever really existing. However, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember with perfect clarity who we used to be.

. . .

“Jeez, you really don’t like these things do you?” I nudged him playfully before feeling instantly guilty once I witnessed the result of my shove that must’ve been a little too much for all 120 (at most) pounds of him. I’d neglected to remember the strength I held over the lanky Doctor as well as neglected to notice where the trajectory of my push would land him - in the direct line of a circus clown walking the opposite direction as us. This, of course, brought him face to face with the character. Unfortunately, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lens of Spencer’s glasses grazing the white face paint of the caricature.

After a shudder of mortification and a very brave shriek, Spencer ran to my other side to be as far away from the clown as possible and apparently, as close to me as possible. From a distance, you’d think we were conjoined simply by the way he was glued to me - shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, thigh to thigh.

While removing his glasses to clean them off with the hem of his blazer, he answered, “Carnivals? I mean, what’s not to like? What with the loud noises, the heart-attack-inducing food that’s more grease than actual food, or the sheer amount of bacteria harboring on each and every handle, hoop, ball, or button of these ridiculous game booths.”

“Wow, you really don’t like carnivals.” I should’ve figured.

“Nope. Never have and probably never will.”

As someone who looked forward to the fair every summer of her childhood, any aversion to carnivals broke my heart. I had a fondness for them borne in adolescence that I couldn’t quite justify now in my adulthood.

“But they’re fun!” was the best argument I could muster. The whine in my voice being provoked by the possibility that the higher the shrill of my pitch, the easier he’d be to sway. Turns out, Dr. Reid was not nearly as susceptible to my auditory persuasion as I might’ve thought he was. Just a stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel.

“I’m sorry. I know you brought me here because you love these things, but I just can’t get past the ...” He surveyed the fair, ostensibly against his will, in search of the perfect word to describe our surroundings. “Filth.”

I would’ve argued in the defense of the carnival, mentioning how it’s endearing that the only bathrooms for miles were porta potties, and that the screaming, crying, sticky children galore just added to the attraction, and that there was a hidden charm to the way the roller coasters creaked beyond their means with every ride.

But to an extent, I agreed. It was rather filthy, and I wasn’t much of a germaphobe myself so to someone like him, this would be hell on earth.

“Well, you get what you put into it. If you’re willing to overlook some minor imperfections, I really think you’d enjoy this place.”

Spencer by now had his hands in his pockets and his walking pace had slowed to a complete halt. There was a moment of skepticism, followed by a partially open smile to make way for the laughter that escaped from the disbelief that he felt for letting me break his resolve so easily.

“Alright then. What do you want to do first, Brat?”

The nickname I’d earned could be seen as meanspirited, but truly, it was affectionately diminutive. Like all good nicknames are. And like the proclaimed Brat I was, I’d taken him to all my favorite parts of the fair.

First came the bumper cars to ease him into the experience - as ironic as that sounds. He was reluctant to submerge his gangly body into a mini vehicle, much less one that’d been inhabited by God knows how many people before us, but he pushed his reservations aside when he realized he’d get to slam into my car (safely, of course).

Secondly, we went on the Carousel, but this was only in preparation for the real ride that I wanted to take him on next - the Swinging Chairs. He’d gotten a little nauseous, from both the repetitive circling and the galvanized chains he had to hold that were definitely held by several others.

He had no interest in going on the Gravitron - super lame, I know - so we opted for the Ferris Wheel instead. I didn’t mind making this compromise so much after recognizing all that he’d done for my benefit that night. And for his generosity and selflessness, I thought it only fitting to end the night going somewhere so tame he couldn’t possibly have any opposition to it.

The photo booth.

The booth in particular we’d gone to was smaller than an airplane bathroom, if you can imagine that. The bench seat was barely wide enough to fit Spencer, let alone seat the both of us. While he didn’t explicitly make the offer to let me sit on his lap, it was kind of a give in that I’d have some part of my body intertwined around him like stubborn ivy.

. . .

I still laugh thinking about the tangled mess of limbs we were below what the camera couldn’t capture. It was arguably the furthest extent of contortionist work I wanted to do in my lifetime, and henceforth exceedingly uncomfortable, and yet, I’d never felt more at home than when I was in his arms.

That night he would tear off the top three photos to keep for himself while I kept the bottom three photos.

To this day, I have never seen the pictures that he kept, and I’m left to wonder if he had them at all.

Because I still have mine. And they were virtually the only thing keeping me sane throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment.

Six Months Ago ...

My eyes were locked on the loose thread of my cardigan that I was rolling between my fingers anxiously.

“Would you stop that?” Penelope swatted my hand away from my sweater. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.” She grumbled.

“Sorry,” I apologized bleakly.

A few seconds later she groaned again, making me think I was still doing something bothersome, but it turned out to be just the opposite. “Ugh, I know that sounded mean, and I hate when I sound mean, but I can feel my forehead creasing from the stress, and watching you fidget is going to give me an ulcer.”

“I wish I could help it. I’m just really worried about him.”

“Well I am, too, but that’s not gonna do us any good right now. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Sometimes Penelope’s overly optimistic view on life was futile and unwelcome, and truthfully, this was one of those times.

“Penny?”

As she turned her head, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the lenses of her dark green glasses. I could see my own mournful expression as I asked, “What if he’s found guilty?”

She started to say something but stopped herself. “Right now, all we need to focus on is his bail. We can worry about a verdict later.” She put her hand on top of mine and shook it briefly to remind me that we were in this together.

Moments later recess was over and the team came trudging back into the courtroom.

The sound of the judge clearing her throat and our footsteps on the floor made this feel all too normal.

How could Spencer’s life be hanging in the balance in such a place as non-intimate as this?

It frustrated me how casual things felt today and how everyone was acting normally. Prentiss had yet to bat an eye, Rossi’s stoic expression never changed, and Penelope was telling me not to worry. Everyone was acting so aloof.

My eyes darted to Spencer, who was looking back at us woefully. I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, so I kept my head down and stared at my feet after I took my seat.

Even when I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the vision of him in a suit, just like one he’d wear to work. But instead, he was wearing it for this - this vastly different situation.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him the same in one anymore. I’ll probably just remember this particular look on his face, in this god awful courtroom, during this horribly nauseating circumstance.

If one thing was for certain, it was that this would all come back to me if I ever laid eyes on him in a suit, and that thought fucking terrified me.

Because that one thought spiraled into the next: Everything was bound to change after this. Every little thing would change in every little way.

Spencer’s lawyer, the judge, and the prosecutor were going back and forth for a while, but I tuned it all out because I knew if I had tuned in, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my arguments. Eventually, though, I heard something I could no longer ignore.

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk.”

I stood up immediately, getting a head rush from the speed. I knew what was to follow, so I needed to be on my feet the second I heard it. Maybe so I could run and escape before I had to.

“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in federal custody pending trial.”

“Spencer!” I shouted, losing all the composure I’d been trying to maintain. I reached for him as if he was at any capacity to reach back and hold me. God, I needed him to hold me. Hold me like how he did at the carnival.

Hold me.

Luke held me back as I fought to be near him.

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to break free of his tight grip. Spencer could only stand and stare, mirroring my own wistful glance. He mouthed something to me that I couldn’t quite make out, but if I knew him at all, he probably said something about not wanting me to worry about him.

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s gonna be alright.” JJ reasoned, pulling me into a hug.

“How long before this case goes to trial?” I heard Prentiss whisper to Spencer’s lawyer.

“It’s a complicated case. I’d say three months maybe?”

Immediately, I worked myself out of JJ’s arms and pushed my way through the team, running up to the barrier between us.

“Spence!” I cried out in anguish.

To the sound of my voice, he glanced over his shoulder sadly. He wasn’t even shocked I’d been able to get so close to him - he seemed to expect it, and for that, he was sad. Because he knew if I was going to be as stubborn as to fight to get to him at this hearing, then I was going to be stubborn enough to reach him in prison, too. And should he find himself behind bars, he knew that I’d get to him one way or another.

That is if he’d let me.

“Be strong,” He weakly smiled. ‘For me’ his sad eyes begged in addition. He held my gaze for as long as he possibly could before disappearing into another room.

As I watched him walk away, I could feel my heart shattering and crumbling into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps that was a premonition, a true gut feeling, telling me something I at the time couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have accepted.

That was the last time I would see Spencer.

People always say when something unbelievable happens, it doesn’t feel real, but this? Nothing felt more real and more intense than this.

There was no other way for me to see this situation but as the first defeat in an endless line of them.

If Spencer was denied bail, what else could happen to him? Could he be found guilty too? Because prior to this, the denial of his bail seemed impossible. He posed no flight risk, but according to the judge, he did. So if what I once thought to be impossible happened, then it could and would happen again.

I knew Spencer was going to be found guilty.

What I didn’t know, though, was how I was going to live with myself from then on.

I didn’t go that day.

I knew myself too well. So did the others, which is why they didn’t object to my decision not to come to Spencer’s trial. They knew I was better off staying home. Especially, if there was the chance that I might react hysterically again.

I didn’t stay home, though. That part the team never found out about.

I went to visit Diana instead. A much wiser choice, in my opinion.

“You know, we’ve been talking so much about Spencer today, but we haven’t talked about you yet,” said Diana.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I feigned a polite smile.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her chin downward and gave me that sly grin of hers.

“No, no, of course not. I know better than to underestimate the Diana Reid.” I quipped, making her smile widen. “I just figured you’d wanna spend your time talking about someone much more interesting.”

“Oh please, Spencer and I talk about you all the time.”

I perked up from the checker piece I was fiddling with. “You do?”

“Mhm,” She nodded over and over again. “I always knew there was something between you two because you could always talk about each other to me, but for some reason, you could never actually talk to each other.”

For the first time in months, I genuinely laughed and I couldn’t help it. “He makes me nervous! I always feel like he might correct something I say, or tell me that there’s food in my teeth.”

“You know, now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about seeing a really big piece of lettuce in your teeth one time.”

“Diana!” I squealed, pushing the checkerboard at her, pretending to take offense.

“I really don’t know what you’re so nervous about! I think it would be good if you just talked to him.”

“It’s, um, it’s not that simple. Not right now, at least.”

My energy quickly nose-dived and I tried to do my best to hide it from Diana, but it permeated through the rest of the visit. I couldn’t fully enjoy myself after it.

The team and I all agreed not to let Diana know, especially not with the uncertainty of the case. There was no point riling her up if there was nothing to be worried about. And I could only imagine how I reacted - Diana would be reacting 10 times more hysterically.

But as much as I hated to say it, I almost would’ve rather been in her position.

I would give anything to un-know Spencer’s circumstance.

Present Time ...

In this car, there was nowhere for him to run or hide, not like before.

Anytime I so much as entered his gravity by being in the same room, he’d flee the space in the next breath. Granted, he couldn’t really avoid me entirely. We did have to be on the same flight for an extended period of time, but he made that work by letting me choose my spot first, then choosing a spot directly on the opposite side of the jet.

What a gentleman, huh?

“Kudos to you, by the way. For managing to avoid me for this long. I imagine it’s been as not-easy as it has been incredibly-cowardly.” My words stung as they flowed from my lips as badly as I imagine they seared his already cracked skin. I couldn’t believe that now that I finally had the opportunity to talk to him, I was using it to be petty and passively aggressive. But then again, I could.

Because after what he put me through, he deserved to feel the full severity of my indignation.

My only wish was that he knew exactly how I had felt when I found out.

. . .

Icarus.

He died tragically while using artificial wings, invented by his father, to escape from the Labyrinth. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, it melted the wax that held the wings together, and he fell into the sea.

‘Don’t fly too close to the sun.’ That’s the moral of the story. That’s what Reid was trying to tell me. But I didn’t listen.

I flew too close.

I had approached the window with more zeal than this predicament warranted.

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here to see Spencer Reid, R-E-I-D,” I eagerly spelt his last name with ease as though it were my own last name.

She’d flipped back and forth between pages, running her index finger up and down the sheet for far too long that it made me worry. Turns out, I had every right to be worried.

“I don’t see you on the list, ma’am.”

I was so mindnumbingly dumb that I couldn’t even see how dumb I was being. “Oh no no no, I’m with the FBI. I called earlier and left a message, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember you,” She smiled politely, giving me the tiniest fragment of hope. “But you’re not on his list.” Only for it to be shattered in an instant.

I had yet to process or accept this information. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he doesn't wanna see you right now. And frankly, neither do I. Next!”

“Wait, could you just please check with him? My name is (y/n) -”

“Ma’am, you are holding up a whole line of people that wanna see their loved ones too, so I suggest you see yourself out before I call security to help see you out.”

I knew by her tone of the word ‘help’ that meant a prison guard would most likely forcibly remove me from the premises, and the last thing I needed was to feel even more humiliated.

I got plenty of that when I had to come back to the BAU.

“You’re not on the list?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked. More so than I was. Above all, I just felt really stupid.

“I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Stephen reasoned. He was so good at being level-headed. Which normally, I would’ve loved. But right now, it only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But later on, she asked him herself, and he said - and I quote, ‘I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever.’”

. . .

Those were the words that seared my skin, and he hadn’t even spoken them directly to me to do it.

The words that did just enough to heal me back to health were, of course, Penelope’s.

“Since you haven’t seen him yet, the rest of us will just wait until you have. It’s only fair that you have your first turn before the rest of us go back for a second time.”

Back then, it was easy to hold out hope, but the more and more time passed, the more he kept denying my visits. Therefore, the more my hope began to fade.

It had been weeks since anyone else had seen him before I finally surrendered. Although I had newly-brewing sourness towards Reid, it didn’t feel fair to deny him everyone else’s presence until mine was permitted.

Luke was the one who volunteered to visit first. And to my dismay, Spencer didn’t fight against it.

The proof was finally there. Now I could say with absolute certainty: Spencer just didn’t want to see me.

It was both ironic and utterly frustrating to think about how I’d never gone more than two weeks without seeing him. Even when the BAU got time off after big cases, we’d always spend that time together. The longest we’d spent apart was 12 days. And right when he came back to D.C, we were attached at the hip for the next week, trying to compensate for all that time we were apart.

Now, look at us. I haven’t said one word to him in half a year.

If tragedy and comedy could coexist, this would be it.

“How is he?” I asked Luke as soon as he got back.

“He’s holding on,” Luke affirmed with confidence. What he said next lacked any of that. “He told me to tell you not to worry about him.”

Something in me knew it was a lie. “Did he actually say that?”

His lack of an answer was one itself.

“Did he say anything at all about me?”

“I tried telling him how much you wanted to see him, but he just brushed it off. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

This became my routine for the months to follow. Every time someone would come back from the prison, I’d ask them if they talked about me, but the answer was always no. After a while, it had gotten to the point where I purposefully started leaving myself out of the loop. At least in that case, it was by my own volition that I was being excluded, not by a predicament being forced on me.

Not by Spencer.

“We’re not doing this right now,” Spencer declaration brought me back to the present, where I found him removing himself from both the conversation and the vehicle. When I heard the latch click to open, my hand reflexively flew to my auto-lock to prevent him from leaving. Naturally, he still managed to escape using his door’s button.

If I couldn’t stop him, then I could follow him.

“Then when will we do this? Huh, Spencer? When? Because anytime I try to talk to you, you run away.” The mere fact that I was speed-walking after him was proof. While he casually strolled down the sidewalk paying me no mind, I tried to be clever and walk down the street so we’d be somewhat side to side. I was tired of staring at his back every time he walked away. I needed to see his face.

For his every stride, I had to take at least three steps. He was gliding through the world so effortlessly as I was trekking my uphill battle. It was quite fitting, though. Further exemplification that, between us, I was fighting harder to preserve the people we used to be, the relationship we used to have. Meanwhile, he couldn’t care less. A stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. Just like he always was.

As I began to speak, I had to also be conscious of the parked cars along the curb, being careful to weave in and out.

“For months, you have blatantly ignored me. The entire time you were in prison, you denied my visits. And it’s not like it was a one time thing. I tried to visit you over 100 times while you were in jail! 100 times I got rejected. 100 times I got turned away. 100 times my heart shattered.”

By now, I was speaking so loudly that I could see household lights within neighboring homes turning on. I hadn’t even realized how far we’d walked down the street and away from our car, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Then after you were released, it’s like I never even existed. I had to find out that you were out of there a week later than everyone else because they all assumed you came to me yourself to tell me the good news,” I laughed wryly at my own stupidity. “Do you know how hard it was for me?”

“Do you know how hard it was for me?”

It took me a second to register that he was actually engaging with me in this conversation now. But when I looked at his expression, I could see that something within him had snapped. A little piece of me was glad, though. Now I knew for sure that there was some effect I had on him.

“Hard for you?”

“I know you came to visit me 100 times! Want to know how I know? Because I was there, too! I was there every time a guard came to ask if I wanted to see you. I was there every time I turned you away. And while you got to walk out of those doors every time I did, I was stuck in there, rotting in that cell, thinking about how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to touch ...” His voice faltered. “To touch you. But I had to protect you!”

“You do realize in protecting me, you were hurting me in the process.”

“Because you just don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” His hands tugged at the root of his unruly hair like evidence of the frustration that my stubbornness caused. “You’re such a pain in the ass because you can never cooperate! It’s gotta be your way or no one else’s! ‘Spencer, it has to be this way because I said so. Spencer, you have to let me see you because I said so. Spencer, you have to talk to me because I said so. Spencer, you have to ride this stupid roller coaster because I said so,’” His imitation of my nagging voice would’ve made me laugh before. Now, it was bringing me onto the verge of tears. “Since clearly no one’s told you this before - not everything is about you! You just want it to be because you’re a whiny, little brat! You’re so spoiled rotten that you can’t even see how far down it goes. If you did, you’d know that you’re rotten to the core and that nothing will ever satisfy you. Especially me.”

His words had done more than sear me. They pierced me. They ripped me. They destroyed me. When he called me Brat, I thought it was endearing. Now, looking back, I realize - no, that’s just how little he thought of me.

As I came to the conclusion, I stopped dead in my tracks on the pavement.

I was done chasing Spencer.

His face had fallen from its anger, indicating he was apologetic, but I was beyond accepting his sorry excuses anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I looked behind me to find our car at least a football field away. I guess in many ways, I’d gone the whole nine yards.

“This is what you wanted right?” I turned back to him momentarily. My voice scared me how calm it was because, inside, I was boiling with rage. “Well, here you go, Spence. Have all the fucking space you want.”

It was usually me watching his back while he walked away, and now, he was watching mine.

“(Y/n), wait!”

And for the briefest second, it actually felt good to be the first one to leave.

I was free.

_ _ _

To my dismay and relief, when I walked into work the next morning, he wasn’t there. I would’ve looked for him with more than a cursory glance except I was stuck on looking at something strange in the bullpen that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But as I walked further in, a blaring siren went off in my head.

Spencer’s desk is completely empty.

I instantly sorted through my purse for my phone to reach Prentiss when I noticed something more.

I had been desperate to cling onto any notion that he still loved me, and there it was, just sitting on his desk. Proof that the man I loved was still in there somewhere.

The top three pictures from the carnival photo booth.

I laughed, as I always did, thinking about how much we had to exert ourselves to be positioned in a semi-adequate way. In the next wave, I felt profoundly empty. He had kept the pictures all these years, and now that I finally get to see them, he’s left me.

As I brought my hand to my face to clear the tears pooling at my lower lashes, I saw that my finger had an ink smear on the pad of it. There was nowhere else I could’ve obtained it except for if there was writing on the back of the photos.

What I read when I turned it over was as follows.

I want to be this guy for you again, (y/n). I just don’t know how.

I just don’t know if I can.

No matter how much I’ve changed, one thing’s still the same.

I love you.

I should’ve focused on the message, but all that I could focus on was that if I managed to smear the ink, that meant it was fresh, written just now.

He was still here.

I pocketed the photos and abandoned my purse, only carrying with me the phone that I forgot to use to dial Prentiss. After a moment’s indecision, I figured that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator, and I bounded down the steps without hesitation.

“Spencer!” I yelled into the parking structure when I reached the ground floor. The sound of me bursting through the door caught the attention of Anderson, who was getting out of his car.

“I just saw him leave.” Anderson threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. I knew, even in my state of mind, there was no feasible reality where I could reach him on foot. I had to call him.

I pleaded to myself for him to pick up with every ring of my phone.

“(Y/n),” He said like a statement instead of a question. Again, he’d anticipated I’d do this. He probably picked it up not even having to look at the caller ID but knowing it was me and no one else.

“I don’t need you to be the guy you were before, Spencer. I just need you to bend a little bit. I know we’re both stubborn people, but if we can just find a halfway point-”

“(Y/n), (y/n),” He was settling me and the sentences that were coming out of my mouth at 100 mph.

“I’ll bend if you bend.” I promised.

The static of the call filled my ears until his voice finally did.

“For everyone else, I bend ... for you, I break.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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