#this low-toned growl to it that u can hear on the edges? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkykeiji · 4 years ago

Text

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: okay FINALLY!! very loosely inspired by tag you’re it by melanie martinez!! uhh dabi’s a drug dealer, keigo’s in his third year of university and a track star, reader’s in her first year of university. please, please pay attention to the warnings below! if keigo’s your comfort character and you cannot handle him being physically abusive and a drug addict, then you might wanna sit this one out! promise he’ll be painted in a more sympathetic light in part two. | aaah dedicating this to @rat-suki, because ur the only one who’s actually known the details of this fic since november, and because i put a lil something inspired by new moon in there for u ehehe <333 | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+, noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, drug use & abuse + graphic depictions of addiction, mindbreak, overstimulation, manipulation, lowkey yandere vibes (which will get worse), daddy kink, a brother a lil too obsessed with his sister + questionably close sibling relationship, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy), rough sex, semi-public sex, cumplay/cum feeding, minimal prep, degradation/dumbification, choking, kinda brat taming???

words: 14.8k

synopsis:

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to. But you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, and allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

It’s well past midnight, but the moon is still hanging high in the sky, illuminating the dingy shopping mall parking lot, its reflection gleaming on the wet, cracked concrete. Breathless little laughs and squeals of surprise and pleasure ring out among the vast empty space, your own voice echoing around you.

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

He’s chasing after you, legs longer than yours, faster than yours, mischievous little growls getting caught in his chest as you daintily leap away from him, just out his grasp again, the tips of his fingers grazing the soft linin of your dress.

“No!” you giggle, pushing your burning thighs to keep running just a bit longer, propelling you forward.

But he’s getting closer and closer with each pound of his boots against the pavement, encroaching on you more and more with each tiny gasp exhaled through your parted lips.

Eventually, he catches you, like he always does, large hands wrapping around your hips as strong arms pull you backwards against a solid chest. You’re both panting, chests heaving with exertion, bubbles of laughter escaping your throats.

“Tag,” he breathes, hot breath curling around the shell of your ear. “You’re it,”

His arms encircle you, holding you tightly, your own arms covering his, little fingers digging into the skin of his forearms almost possessively as he uses his strength and bodyweight to guide you towards the car—a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz that runs like shit and guzzles gas like no tomorrow. But it’s pretty, and he loves it, with all its chrome and argyle blue, glittering in the moonlight.

“You’re being bad, princess,” the words are mumbled against the skin behind your ear, and you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Good girls don’t run away from their Daddies like that,”

And he says the word with so much disdain, cruel and mocking, making you feel sick for liking it.

“Baaad girl,” he whispers, dragging the word out.

A tiny pout settles on your face, eyebrows knitting. “Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

“You are,” he chuckles, pressing you against the damp metal of his car as you finally reach it, his body still draped over yours. “What? You gonna fight me on it?”

Squirming a little in his grasp, you turn to face him, a playful glint shining in your glassy eyes as you nudge your nose against his. “I just might!”

“Hah,” the breath of air washes over your face, scorching and sweet, a stark contrast to the humid, cool air surrounding you, causing your exposed flesh to break out into chills. “I’d like to see you try, dollface,”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” you murmur, yelping when his fingers dig into the supple flesh of your ass through your dress, grabbing a healthy handful and squeezing in retaliation.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, pushing his forehead against yours, eyes nothing but gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of sapphire. “You gonna show me?” his rough voice fades into a whisper, unblinking eyes holding yours steadily. Calloused hands are sliding up your thighs now, slipping underneath the thin material of your dress and taking the hem with them.

“N-Not here,” you breathe, trying and failing to pull back from him, eyes widening in alarm as you feel his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties.

“Yes, here,” he responds, voice smooth as velvet as soft lips drag along your neck, sharp teeth sinking into your flesh like a hot knife slicing through butter.

Panic is beginning to rise in your chest, your throat closing up, and you choke a little on your words, shaking your head frantically. “Please, Dabi, no, we could just—”

“Wow, you really want me to bruise that pretty ass of yours,” he smirks, cutting you off and pulling back to gaze at you lazily, lips glimmering with saliva.

“No, I—”

“Especially with how much you’re saying no today,” he tuts his tongue in disapproval. “Such a bad girl; a silly, little, stupid, bad girl,”

Each word is punctuated with a sharp slap to your scantily clad ass, each bringing with them a sharp sting that you can hear, echoing out among the parking lot.

“Not bad,” you whimper, eyes shutting tightly against the familiar burn of tears. “Not bad, j-just wanna—”

“Wanna what?” he teases, voice mocking yours as his palm collides with your ass again. “Huh?”

“W-Wanna—Want you to fuck me right,” you rush to say, the words exhaled as a singular huff of breath.

“Oh?” he pulls back slightly, eyes searching your face, his own features contorted with false concern. “Is that so?”

You nod quickly, eagerly, and he can see it in your eyes, how desperately you want him to buy your lie.

But you know he hasn’t the moment that trademark smirk returns to his face, mouth curling up at the edges as he leans forward, lips moving against your ear. “I think that’s a boldfaced lie, babygirl,” his voice is low, sinister, dangerous, traces of amusement sown into his tone. “I think it’s because you don’t want anyone to see how much of a little whore you truly are,”

“D-Dabi, please,” you whimper, vision blurry with tears as you paw at his jacket, pleading with him.

He thinks it’s so cute when you beg, his silence imploring you to continue, urgently rambling on in your quest to convince him.

“I-I want you to really fuck me; I want you to leave b-bruises all over my body, I want to feel you in my tummy, I want you t-to stuff me so full of cum that it goes to my brain and makes me stupid, please Daddy, I want—”

Slim fingers wrap around your neck and squeeze, forcing a cry of surprise from your lips and effectively cutting you off. “I’m gonna make sure you remember those words, sweetheart,”

✰ ✰ ✰

The thump of your own heart echoes in your ears as the Cadillac Eldorado thrums under your body, the leather sticking to the bare skin of your thighs.

“Open,” he demands, delivering a harsh slap to the thigh nearest to him, eyes never leaving the road as his foot presses down, car accelerating. Your thighs obey immediately, spreading as far as they possibly can in the cramped space, knees knocking against the door and center console box.

A rough hand, decorated with callouses and scabs, kneads the flesh once before sliding up, up, up, and then hooking in the elastic of your panties, Dabi spitting out a curse as he lets it snap back against your skin.

“Take those off,” he seethes, aggressively ripping his hand away from you as if he’s aggravated that you’re even wearing them at all. Your dress hitches up around your waist in your haste to obey, little fingers catching in the lacy material as your hips squirm, seatbelt cutting into your flesh, wiggling a little as you pull the dainty material down your legs.

He’s already holding his hand out expectantly and you press them into it, waiting for his fingers to close around the garment before taking your hand back. He feels them, rolling the fabric around in his palm, between his fingers, chuckling darkly as he chucks them over his shoulder a moment later, onto the dirty ground of the backseat.

Those were your favourite, but you know better than to say anything, forcing your expression to stay neutral, to keep your nose from wrinkling up in distaste.

“They’re wet, but not nearly wet enough,” he tsks as if he’s disappointed, hand finding your thigh again. This time, they part instantly, without any verbal prompting, hips pushing towards his palm as it skims the skin of your inner thigh.

“Now, I’m gonna play with this cute lil clit of yours,” he begins, fingers brushing the sensitive nub, words tumbling from his lips slowly, lazily, unhurried, as if you’re stupid, as if you need an ample amount of time for each word to sink in.

It makes your pussy throb, and the borderline malicious smirk that spreads across his face tells you that he felt it, too.

Speaking through his smirk, he continues in the same patronizing voice. “And you—you’re going to be Daddy’s good little girl and get nice and wet for him, so he doesn’t hurt his cock when he fucks you. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

Yes Daddy, of course Daddy, anything for you, Daddy.

It’s torture in the most delightful way, coarse pads of his fingers just barely grazing your clit, just enough for you to feel it, just enough for you to want—no, need—more. Heat, thick and sticky, pools in the pit of your stomach, thighs straining to open impossibly wider, edges of the car’s interior digging into your knees as you desperately try to shift your hips, to press further into his touch, to evoke anything harder than these teasing, feathery touches.

Blunt nails sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, hard enough to make you yelp, entire body flinching from the sudden pain. “Big girls use their words,” he chastises, voice fading from a growl into a pleasant, light tone.

“Please, Daddy, I-I want more,” you whimper, hips still trying to catch your clit on his fingers, on his palm. “Touch me more,”

The hum that vibrates in his throat has your heart sinking, corners of your mouth tugging down as you blink against the sting of disappointment—you know that hum, know it all too well, know all of Dabi’s bizarre mannerisms at this point and what they mean for you. And that hum, the one that only lasts for a moment, the one that’s barely a noise at all, the one that doesn’t even sound like he’s considering anything, means no.

His eyes don’t leave the road in front of him, despite the fact that his car is going faster, and faster, and faster, whipping through the empty city streets, neon buildings and harsh florescent lights becoming nothing but a blur. And if it weren’t for the hard lump straining against the black denim of his jeans, you’d figure him disinterested; facial features relaxed, breathing normal, entirely unresponsive to the pathetic little noises he’s so effortlessly pulling from you.

It ignites a fire in your chest, blazing with the need to make him react, to make him pay attention to you.

Wearing your best pout, you arch your back a little, the action shoving your hips towards his hand again. “Daddy, Daddy,” you whine, low and needy in the back of your throat, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, touch me more? Please, Daddy, I want it so bad, want your cock so bad, please, help me get wetter? Wanna be dripping for you, Daddy, I wanna be soaking for you,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, smirk growing into a full grin as he glances at you from the side of his eye. “Such a brat,” he shakes his head, through the grin is still present on his face as he finally presses two fingers against the swollen bud, rubbing slow, hard circles into it. “You better be drenched for me by the time we get home, you little bitch,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Large hands are on your body as the two of you stumble up the stairs, nimble fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, obscene sucking and slurping amplified by the stairwell, bouncing back to your own ears, saliva slicked lips slipping and sliding together messily as teeth clack together, practically tripping over each other’s feet and fucking Christ he needs you, he needs you now, his cock hurts, goddamn it.

And you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, all clingy and needy and desperate, hushed little whines catching in the back of his throat, fading from deep, rumbling growls as rough hands paw at you.

A sharp gasp is knocked from your chest as he slams you against the wall on the landing of floor three with such force that your head ricochets off the concrete, your resounding cry silenced by Dabi’s lips, tongue invading your mouth as he swallows your beautiful little noises of pain.

You can feel his cock pressed up against your hip, hot and hard and throbbing through the denim that conceals it as he grinds against you, fervent, eager, impatient.

That panic is bubbling up in your throat again, bitter and acidic and eroding, rendering your voice weak and frail as scabbed knuckles drag across your bare thighs, inching higher and higher.

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

“No,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to break the skin. “I’m done waiting,” hands are rucking up your dress. “You made me wait that whole fucking car ride,” sharp hipbones keep your thighs spread. “I can’t wait any longer,” the clinking of his heavy belt buckle echoes throughout the stairwell, sending chills pebbling across your skin.

And then he’s forcing himself into you, shoving his cock into your tight little hole, a choked cry bouncing off the dirty white walls as your eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the edges.

The stretch is magnificent, little cunt aching as it sucks in his thick cock, and you swear you can feel the burning in your belly, little pinpricks of pain shooting through your gut.

“G-Gonna tear me in half,” you wail, head falling forward, forehead bumping against his.

“Shh, baby, Daddy’s got you,” a callous laugh leaves his lips after he spits out the nickname, the singular word filled with such derision it must sting his tongue. Large hands hoist you up, and your legs immediately latch around his waist, seeking comfort in the monster that hurt you.

“Daddy, Daddy,” Tears drip down your cheeks as you bury your face in his shoulder, the word escaping your lips in tiny half-sobs catching in your throat, little fingers curling against the worn leather of his jacket.

And he can’t help but soften a little as you weep into his neck, thinks it’s so cute that you need him so bad, your little stuttered breaths hot against his neck as you cling to him, reminding him that he is the only man that can make you feel like this; he is the only man that can make you cry while simultaneously finding solace in his embrace. It makes his blood surge, sends cinders searing up his spine, gives him a high better than any other drug every could, and he finds himself hushing you gently, twitching cock buried in your cute lil cunt, snugly pressed against your cervix.

“Okay, okay,” he’s saying as his hips begin to pump, slow and languid. “Quiet, Daddy’s gonna make it feel good, alright? Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it go away,”

The sweetest, airiest little mewls of Daddy, yes, Daddy, soak into the inky skin of his neck, sandwiched between uneven hitched breaths. He’s gaining speed with each thrust, though, working up a steady rhythm that has you practically bouncing on his cock, little wails of pain fading into whimpers of pleasure. The combination is dizzying, infecting your mind with a haze that is only Dabi, surrounded by him, immersed in him—glowing sapphire and burning hickory and spicy nicotine—unable to quell the little noises spilling from your throat, each one louder than the next with each bump against your cervix and drag against that spot.

“That feel better, princess?” he breathes out, pausing just to readjust his grip on your ass—to angle your hips just right, chuckling at your selfish, needy whine—and then he’s drilling his cock into you, head pounding against the spot that has his name escaping your lips in high pitched squeals that break in your throat, heavy belt buckle clanking against the wall with each of his thrusts.

It sends sparks of mind-numbing pleasure burning through your abdomen, your chest, straight to your very core and collecting there, each spark adding to the growing fire that’s beginning to blaze, followed by intense spears of pain, slicing through your gut and down the muscles of your thighs, legs beginning to quiver as ankles hook tighter, tighter, tighter, the heels of your sneakers digging into his back dimples, trying to get him closer, closer, closer, desperately begging for more, more, more.

Yet it’s all so much, too much, please, Daddy—the harsh sound of metal colliding with concrete mingling with your pathetic whines and his panted breaths, rough whimpers catching deep in his chest, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound.

“C’mon, babygirl,” he gasps, pace never slowing, never faltering once, even though there’s glistening dewdrops of sweat decorating his hairline, inky strands beginning to stick to the skin of his forehead. “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy, cum before someone catches you being such a sweet little—God, Christ—a sweet little slut for me,”

And your cunt submits, would never dare to disobey a direct command from its master, from its owner, clenching around him as you cream all over his cock, a sharp cry ripping up your throat as your nails scrabble against leather clad shoulders.

A growl rumbles, deep and dark and dangerous in his chest, as his hips piston a few more times before they still, tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, branding his name in tiny blotches of navy and violet as his cock throbs, coating your insides with spurts of thick cum.

Head falling forward, his forehead collides with yours, chests heaving and breathing laboured. And he can’t help the little chuckle he huffs out as you wiggle your hips a little, eyes still closed as you rock in little motions against him, clit catching on his pubic bone.

Needy little bitch.

But he isn’t nearly done with you yet, because that desire, thick and sticky in the very pit of his stomach, only wants more, insatiable and voracious, desperate for more of your whines, more of your tears, more of your cunt.

You’re gonna make good on all those words you spewed in the parking lot, baby, he’s nearly snarling at you, cutting off your whiny complaints as he drags you up the final flight of stairs, stopping halfway to haul you over his shoulder with a huff and a deft slap to your ass, carrying you the rest of the way to his apartment.

“Dress, off. Now.” He orders as he throws you onto his mattress, pulling his shirt over his head, belt buckle jingling as he walks, still hanging undone.

And then he’s crawling over your naked body, lips attacking yours, smashing and smacking and slurping, a large hand wrapping around your wrists as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, laving over yours in slow, deliberate drags, pinning your wrists against the cold cracked drywall behind his nearly bare, minimalistic bed, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together between a singular rough palm—a silent warning—and forcing a yelp from your throat into his.

“Don’t move them,” his lips mumble the command against yours before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, between sharp gleaming teeth that bite down hard, sinking into the soft flesh and refusing to release until he tastes copper, the tip of his tongue tracing the harsh indents left behind, licking at your lip once more before pulling away completely.

“I want you to leave bruises all over my body!” he mimics, voice absurdly high as lips skim the curve of your neck, tongue darting out to trace along your collarbones. “Isn’t that what you said, baby?”

But you can’t answer, too busy sucking on your now swollen lip, trying to soothe the incessant throbbing as metal stains your tongue. That’s disrespectful, you think you hear him growl into your unmarred skin before something sharp pierces your nipple, clamping down around it and tugging. A resounding cry tears through your throat as your body instinctually bows off the bed, pressing further into him, a muffled snicker vibrating against your chest before his tongue flicks, licks, slobbers, thick strings of saliva glimmering in the dim light as he pulls away, breaking and slapping against his chin.

“Answer me next time I ask you a fucking question,” The words are spit so harshly they slice into your skin, head nodding fervently before he’s even finished speaking, blinking the bleariness from your eyes. Smoldering sapphire holds your gaze for a moment, burning into your very soul—digging, prying, searching, scrutinizing, his breathing slow, calm, controlled with each deep rise and fall of his bare chest.

You aren’t sure what it is he’s looking for as he peers into the depths of your eyes, but you don’t dare let your gaze stray from his, don’t dare blink, don’t dare breathe until he breaks the spell, blinking once as his lips curl up into a wicked smirk.

“I’m gonna turn your body into a work of art,” he promises you, voice low and guttural, forcing thorns of ice up your spine as lips drag across your jaw.

And he does, paints little galaxies across your skin with his tongue and his lips, asymmetrical blotches of blues and greys and purples, ivory bones scraping against your flesh, signing his name into his masterpiece in deep, dark indents of crimson and violet.

It aches and it pulses and it stings, glittery trails of salt water staining your cheeks, tiny shimmering droplets clinging to your clumped, spiky lashes, adding the finishing touches on the greatest piece he’s ever created.

And it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty when you’re like this, baby, covered in navy and plum and carmine, and, fuck, it’s a shame you won’t stay like this.

It seems he’s in a trance for a moment, in awe of his craftsmanship, of what he’s produced, breathing laboured as shining azure eyes drift over your body, slowly, purposefully, as if he’s memorizing every single nick, bite, scrape, bruise, burning the image into his brain forever.

His gaze floats back up to yours, holding it for a moment, pupils big and gaping and swallowing you whole—before something snaps, breaks, and he comes back to himself, remembers why he did it.

Narrowing slightly, his eyes darken, that sadistic smirk returning to his lips. And then he’s shoving his cock into you again, hard and leaking and the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, cute little cunt stretching around him for the second time tonight.

But little girls who act like brats deserve to get fucked like brats, he tells you in a snarl, slender fingers collaring your neck and squeezing slowly, slowly, slowly, crushing the column of your throat.

Everything’s beginning to grow hazy, vision sliding in and out of focus as those calloused hands continue to tighten, and tighten, and tighten. He looks like some sort of sick angel as he looms above you, nothing more than a shadow of sharp edges and smooth curves, inky spikes and glowing sapphire, haloed by the weak neon light that spills in through grimy windows. Jutting bones prod the soft flesh of your inner thighs, carving out a space just for them as his hips snap viciously, relentlessly, obstinately.

And it’s all overwhelming, overstimulating on every front, uncontrollable tears streaming from your eyes as you choke roughly on your own sobs, each one being forced from your chest by your Daddy’s harsh thrusts, only to get caught on the palm pressed to your airway, ears ringing from the slap of skin against skin overlapping those harsh words spit at you in his falsely saccharine voice.

Aw, no, baby, wispy words caressing your cheek as they float by, eyes starting to roll back in your head. Don’t pass out on me, dollface. I want you awake when I fill your cunt with cum.

The pressure around your throat lets up just a hint, and you wheeze in air, a rush of cold flooding your body. You can feel it, that contrasting, familiar heat scorching the pit of your stomach, beginning to curl in on itself more, and more, and more with each pump of his hips, until it explodes, your body arching off the mattress, unintentionally pressing into the hand adorning your neck, restricting your air entirely.

The chuckle that leaves his lips as you choke yourself is dark, would send spears of ice slicing through your veins if you weren’t otherwise focused on trying to fill your lungs with air. Nothing leaves your mouth other than a few choked whines, barely more than a huff of light breath.

But his hips don’t slow, and he’s glaring down at you with parted lips and lidded eyes, pupils gaping, so large you’re unable to detect even the slightest hint of blue outlining them—nothing but big black orbs, absorbing everything in their vision, sucking everything from you, every hitched sob and soft whine and gorgeous wince, each time he pounds against your cervix.

And it’s how your looking up at him—with those gleaming, adoring eyes and that blissful, fucked out grin—that has him cumming with a shuddered f-fuck, forcing his eyes to stay open as he pumps you full of thick cum, desperate to catalogue every little expression that crosses your face, the way your eyes flutter slightly, the way your neck arches, the tiniest little moan slipping through chapped lips as his cock pulses inside of you.

You must pass out for a second, Dabi’s calloused palm lightly tapping against your cheek as he murmurs to you in that sinful, silky voice, sugared sentiments twining around your exhausted body.

Wake up, princess. Daddy isn’t done playing with you yet.

Words tumble past your lips in a mumble, though you aren’t quite sure what you’re saying—everything feels hazy, like you’re gazing through a thin cloud of smoke, and despite the fact that you can barely move, your body feels light, almost floaty in a way, entirely numb to the immense pain it has endured thus far.

Two fingers, coated in thick, gleaming cream, are thrust into your gasping mouth, tongue met with the salty, bitter taste of his cum. You cough around the sudden intrusion, immediately obey when he orders you to clean, sluggish tongue sliding up and lapping at and slipping between them, sucking the digits free of cum.

Good girl, he leans away and your heart flutters weakly at the praise, saliva slicked fingers dipping into your hole again to gather more.

“C’mon,” he breathes as he brings his fingers to your mouth again, sticky viscous glops collected on his fingers. They catch in the dim light streaming through the window, a unique mixture of pale moonbeams and hazy neon, cum almost glittering, almost pretty. “You wanted me so bad, didn’t you?” your head’s moving—nodding, you think, you can’t really tell, breathing shallow as your eyes belatedly follow his glistening fingers—and he smirks down at you. “Then eat my fucking cum,”

Lips part instantly, mouth falling open as your tongue lolls out, eyes drifting up to his and pleading mutely, begging for the substance—the very essence of him—and nearly moaning when he drags his fingers across the saliva coated muscle, curling and sucking his digits back into the heat of your mouth.

And he’s fucking high off of it all, pupils blown to hell, outlined by the thinnest ring of cobalt, barely detectable, visible only when it catches in the moonlight.

A lumpy pile of denim sits abandoned and bunched up near the end of the bed—he must’ve kicked his pants off at some point, though you don’t remember when—and his cock’s hard again, head brushing your inner thigh. It’s hard for you to tear your gaze from it, fleeting thoughts of stamina and impressive grazing through your mind, turning to smoke the moment you try to latch onto them.

He notices, of course—you’ve been staring at it for nearly a minute now, glazed eyes unblinking, soft little pants passing through barely parted lips. But it’s the way you’re staring at it—in the purest, unadulterated form of desire—that makes it jump, twitching a little against your thigh. You think you hear your Daddy breathe out a curse, think his rough fingers brush some hair back from your drenched forehead, think he says something along the lines of how much he fucking loves you, but in your dreamlike state, you can’t be sure.

Because then rough hands are on you, manhandling you as whatever trance he had fallen into yet again snaps once more.

“We’re gonna put that pretty, empty head of yours to good use!” he’s saying almost enthusiastically as he hoists your boneless body up, propping you up against his chest and securing you with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. “Whaddya think about that, hmm, princess? Want Daddy to use your little skull as his own personal cumdump? Huh?” lithe fingers squeeze your cheeks so hard your lips pucker up, a high-pitched whine getting caught in your throat. “That’s all it’s good for anyway, isn’t it?”

You try to nod, but all your head wants to do is flop back against his shoulder.

“Oh baby,” he cooks mockingly, jutting his inky bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

“T’is!” you mumble through his grip, drool beginning to collect in the corners of your scrunched mouth, dribbling down your chin. Gazing at him through the corner of your watery eyes, your resolve hardens, doing your best to hold your exhausted body up on your own, expression steeling as you force your woozy head to nod as best you can in his bruising grasp.

“Yeah?” he breathes, mouth curving into a dangerous smirk before his lips are at your ear, voice dropping an octave lower. “You’re fucking stubborn, y’know that? Stubborn little brat, just like your bullheaded brute of a brother,”

And then he’s pushing you down, shoving your head into the mattress and pulling your hips up, a hiss spit through your teeth as he purposefully presses into the fresh bruises.

Your poor little pussy aches, fucked open and raw by his cock, but you are stubborn—you can’t help it, it runs in your blood—exhilarated by the challenge and pushing your hips back weakly towards him.

Your Daddy chuckles behind you, but it’s one of those annoyed chuckles, one of those disbelieving chuckles, one of those chuckles that consists of an audacious smirk, quick short nodding that’s more to himself than anyone else, and a tongue running along his top teeth, sucking on the bones, before it fades from his face completely, replaced with scorn in an instant, eyes cold and jaw clenched as he delivers a harsh backhand to your ass.

Then his body’s blanketing yours, chest hot and heavy against your back, lips moving against the shell of your ear.

“Oh, you really want me to break you, don’t you?”

No, truly, you don’t, but you grit your teeth, eyes shut tightly against the sting of a fresh wave of tears, trying to stop your head from involuntarily shaking no.

He laughs again, this time mean and sharp and full of malice, as he straightens up, lining his cock up with your hole.

“Nah, nah,” he’s saying as he pushes in, and God, it still hurts, it still stretches you, reopening little sutures created in the stairwell. “I think you do—Actually, I know you do. And Daddy knows best, right?”

Yes, of course, Daddy knows best, Daddy always knows best.

And it burns, that relentless snap of his hips, driving his cock into you with deep growls and grunts, with such force that it’s jostling you up the mattress, little hands planting themselves in a pitiful attempt to press back against him, to keep yourself in one place. Every muscle in your arms screams at the effort, stiff and rigid from being held, kept, still and obedient against the wall for an extended period of time.

The dreaminess has faded again, leaving behind a dull haze, and it all just hurts. It seems to come in bouts, inexplicable waves of numbness and pain, alternating sporadically and sprinkled with spikes of intense pleasure, a potent mix of chemicals swirling in your brain, lust and desire and terror and anguish burning through your veins.

You’re sobbing into the mattress now, fingers curling tightly in his soft black sheets as your bleary vision begins to darken at the edges, mumbling out something almost in a chant—his name, you think, though you’re not sure, it all sounds muffled to your ringing ears—vibrations of your voice getting caught in your throat, hitching with your sobs and the rough piston of his hips.

It’s building again, licks of fire scalding hot against the walls of your stomach, the temperature rising with each drag of his cock against that spot, until you’re sure the flames are going to engulf you from the inside out.

Little squeaks, poor imitations of moans, escape your lips, interspersed with your pathetic wails. He’s speaking once more—you can feel it, his chest reverberating against yours, lips moving against your ear again. Something rumbles, rattles, deep and dark and dangerous at the very core of his body, and then he’s tangling a hand in your hair and tugging, hauling you up, a choked cry slipping from your lips.

It pulls you from unconsciousness’s grasp, just for a moment, clears the mist from your mind as he snarls against your ear, taking the cartilage between his teeth and biting down, hard.

“Thought I told you to answer me the next time I ask you a fucking question,” he breathes, and he almost sounds gleeful, contradicting his voice, so rough, so hoarse, so hot.

You did, Daddy, you did, you’re trying to say, trying to nod in the vice grip he has on your strands, the words jumbled and muddled and near incomprehensible, wet and messy and coated in spit.

“But I guess my—Christ—my cock makes you too stupid to do that, huh?” he’s panting now, in time with his thrusts, huffs of breath sweltering against your already sticky skin. “What would your goody-two-shoes brother say if he could see you, hmm? If he could see how fucking dumb his little slut of a baby sister goes from my cum,”

It’s too much, too much, Daddy, too much, the brutal pounding of his cockhead against your swollen cervix and the continuous stream of strained, husky, filthy words he’s spewing in your ear and the sting in your scalp and that spot, that spot, that spot—

It hits you so hard it’s painful, knocks what little breath you had right out of you as your entire body convulses on his cock, little cunt clenching and gushing as you weep Da-Daddy! over and over and over, the only word your soupy brain is capable of conceiving, body going pliant in his arms as your head lolls back against his shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open while he continues to drive his cock into you, hard and fast and messy.

He cums with the prettiest broken whine you’ve ever heard—or at least, you think he does, entire body gone numb once again, think you feel his hips juddering and his cock pulsing, think you feel that familiar, thick substance filling you to the brim. Everything is still for a moment, his chest heaving against your arched back, and then he laughs malevolently, though it sounds far away, even though you can feel the sound vibrating against you.

“That ought’a teach you to say no to me again,” he spits harshly in your ear, giving one more hard yank on your hair before letting go completely, your abused body collapsing in a heap on his mattress.

It feels like you’re more Dabi than yourself now, with his name written all over your body, signed by his mouth, his teeth, his fingers, and his cum leaking out of you, drying hard and sticky on your thighs, his scent being all you can smell, all you can taste, heady and fiery. And as you crawl into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness—finally, finally—you think about just how much can change, and how fast it does, in a mere 92 days.

✰ ✰ ✰

Three months earlier

The air is hazy with thick smoke, heavy enough to dilute the already dim yellow light shining from the bare lightbulbs overhead. The stench of cheap beer, weed and sweat stings your nose, and it wrinkles reflexively.

You aren’t supposed to be here.

Throbbing music radiates through the house, causing the structure to tremble in time with the beat, the dirty drywall you’re currently pressed up against quivering in response. It’s so loud it hurts, vibrating through the warped linoleum floors and through your body. It makes you shiver in disgust, as if it’s some sort of parasite worming it’s way through your veins in timed intervals.

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

You’ve been backed into a corner—literally, surrounded by three college boys you’ve never seen before as they drunkenly leer at you. They’re a year or two older than you, glassy half-lidded eyes scanning your body in a way that makes you feel filthy, in a way that makes you want to scrub your skin raw to rid it of their slimy gazes.

They’re mumbling out something, speaking amongst themselves in low voices, peppered with raspy snickers that make your skin crawl. Pressing further into the corner, you quickly wrack your mind for something—anything—that will get them to part just a little, that’ll crack the wall of bodies you’re now surrounded by just enough for you to barrel through. Adrenaline begins to surge through your veins as you gear up, drawing in a deep breath, and—

“Whadda we have here?”

The men part immediately at the sound of that low voice, smooth as melted chocolate, revealing a figure with spiky onyx hair, an involuntary gasp escaping your lips the moment your eyes collide with sapphire.

“Ah, I thought it was you,” he smirks, peering down at you with a gaze so intense it feels like your body’s been set aflame. “What’s a good little girl like you doing in a place like this, hmm?”

Dabi.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen him, remembering the man with the pretty cobalt eyes and inky hair standing under a singular flickering lamp post outside of the tiny house you and your brother share, or lingering on the threshold of the front door, eyes lazily darting around the space as he waits.

He never comes inside. Your brother doesn’t allow it.

You’ve barely spoken any words to him, always responding to his polite greetings with shy nods or little waves.

But this is the first time you’re meeting him properly.

Feet bolted to the floor, you try to respond, only able to emit a pathetic little squeak.

He huffs out a condescending chuckle, gazing down the bridge of his nose at you, head tilted up just a touch, lidded crystal eyes glittering in the dim light. That trademark smirk spreads into something darker, something almost ominous in nature, something that whispers in your ear that it knows something you don’t, sending sharp spikes of ice shooting up your spine.

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes widening in panic as anxiety begins to rise in your throat. He isn’t about to rat you out, is he?

“Thought so. Dunno why I asked,” he heaves a heavy sigh, chest rising with the force of it, as if he’s extremely exasperated, as if you’re some sort of child lost at a supermarket and he’s bringing you back to your parents. “Alright, let’s go,”

A hand extends, hanging limp in the smoky air for a moment, waiting, before Dabi sighs again with a roll of his eyes, latching onto your wrist and all but dragging you out of the corner, maneuvering through the mass of sweaty bodies crowding the dingy living room.

“We’re leaving?” you ask dumbly as Dabi approaches the back door, hand still wrapped in a firm grasp around your arm.

“Yep. My work here is done, and you,” he tuts his tongue with a slow shake of his head, hidden smile on his face. “Your work here is done, too,”

“W-Where are we going?” you ask as the two of you stumble outside, shivering a little as the cool, fresh air hits your heated skin.

“No idea. Away from this place,” he looks back at your briefly, giving your wrist a soft squeeze before dropping it. “You tryna put your brother in an early grave or somethin’?”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips as you shake your head again. “No, I just—”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” his words echo your thoughts from before. “You were in some real danger for a second, y’know that?”

“I-I know. Thank you for, uh, s-saving me, Sir,”

“Sir?” his eyes are bright with mirth, shining despite the weak light provided by the waxing moon. The smirk returns, and you feel it again—like he’s plotting something, like he’s got some big secret he’s hiding, a plan, something up his sleeve. “Sir is nice, but I think there’s another name you’d rather call me,”

Eyebrows knit in confusion, your eyes drift to the ground, mulling over his words. Something else you’d rather call him? Like what? You’ve only seen the guy a few—

“Still have no idea why you haven’t fucked him yet,” one of your friends muses as Dabi’s exiting his car, eyes watching him lazily from where you’re both seated on the front lawn.

“Keigo would murder me, literally,” you giggle a little, glancing over at the man with inky hair before looking away again, down at your lap as little fingers thread through the grass beneath you and shaking your head.

“Shame,” she sighs, twirling her sticky pink lollipop idly, the candy catching in the sun. “He’s Daddy as hell,”

A sharp gasp leaves your parted lips, eyes snapping back to her face and holding them for a moment before the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, your fingers tapping her bare knee in a silent warning that he’s approaching.

Heavy black boots collide with the front stone path, buckles jingling daintily, his head perking up in a catlike manner, trademark smirk forming on his lips as you both urgently try to calm your laughter.

“Ladies,” he nods with a wink as he passes, little giggles cutting off instantaneously, the two of you mumbling shy greetings in response.

That was the only time you had ever spoken to him, until now.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. He did hear.

He chuckles slightly, dropping the subject with a shake of his head.

“So. Where to?” he asks expectantly, feet slowing to a stop on the cracked sidewalk as he taps out a cigarette. He whips a silver Zippo open, sharp twinge of metal swiping against metal cutting though the silent nighttime air. “Home?”

A shrill bubble of incredulous laughter escapes your throat. Dabi glances over at you, amused, raising an eyebrow in question as he cups the flame and brings it to his lips.

“Do you want to put my brother in an early grave?” you snort.

“I could just walk you to the street, you know,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. “Precious niisan wouldn’t even need to see me,”

You shake your head, idly kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe as you begin walking again. The campus is beginning to bleed into the city now, engulfing the two of you in familiar florescent light. “No, I can’t go home,”

“Why?”

“I…” you trail off, heat flooding your cheeks. “I, um, told him I’d be staying at a friend’s place tonight,”

Dabi gasps mockingly. “Baby, you lied to your niisan?”

Knocking your shoulder against his arm, you scoff, trying to hide the stupid smile the nickname conjures. “Oh, shut up,”

“Getting bold now, I see,” he hums to himself. “Could’a swore just a few minutes ago you were scared of me,”

“N-Not scared, just—uh, just surprised, that’s all,”

“Uh-huh, sure. Tell me again why you can’t just go to this friend’s house?”

“Well, she’s—she’s, like, y’know—” you shrug as a form of explanation, deflating a little at his unimpressed stare as he blows smoke out his nose. “She’s going home with some guy,” you mumble. “A-And I was supposed to too, but…”

Dabi tsks, shaking his head in false sympathy. “Sweetheart, you’re a teenage movie cliché,”

“Shut up,”

“You tell me to shut up one more time and I’m gonna have to do something about it,” he singsongs, a thinly veiled threat coated in sugar. Swallowing thickly, you glance up at him, blinking twice. His eyes tell you that he’s not fucking around, despite the relaxed features of his face, smile easygoing and gaze lidded.

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

“Don’t you know? Good little girls don’t speak like that to Daddy,”

He spits the word out, almost patronizing in his tone, but that fails to stop the way your stomach flutters when it falls from his lips, fails to prevent the choked little gasp that escapes yours. He laughs loudly, your cheeks burning with shame.

Sapphire eyes glint in the pale moonlight, as if he’s just discovered the most valuable treasure, as if he’s just been given the key to the universe—a predator who’s just ensnared it’s prey, and the smirk that slowly etches itself across his face is nothing short of sinister.

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

“Hmm?”

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to, but you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

✰ ✰ ✰

He only has one bed and no couch, he informs you as he leads you up four flights of stairs, explaining that the elevator’s been broken for a few months now, panting out the words just a little.

A soft giggle slips from your lips, amplified by the empty stairwell and echoing off the concrete walls, and Dabi looks back at you, amused.

“Something funny, princess?”

And although there’s a friendly grin on his face and mirth in his eyes, something in his voice makes you tremble, shoots scorching sparks up your spine and sends them rushing through your veins, and your laughter immediately cuts off.

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head and hoping that he didn’t catch the full body shiver that coursed through your figure just a second ago, all thanks to his voice. “Just laughing at the absurdity of it, s’all,”

“Ah,” he says sagely, nodding once. “Well, here we are,”

A tattooed hand gestures vaguely to a white door with a large, black 4 painted on it, the paint beginning to chip away, worn down and faded in some spots.

Dabi’s apartment is small, but you like it. He’s surprised, he tells you, expected someone like you—someone brought up with luxury, someone who’s never had to ask for or want anything in their life, because they always already had it—would hate it.

“Or maybe, that’s exactly why you like it,”

It’s a little snarky, the way those words flow out of his mouth, biting your cheek as they pass, and you wince a little.

“I think it’s homey,” you say quietly, tiny voice raw and honest, deciding to omit the fact that you’ve never really had a space that felt homey yourself. “It’s very you. I really do like it.”

His eyes soften at your gentle confession, features relaxing a little as calloused fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then, I’m glad,”

For a moment, you’re positive he’s going to kiss you, staring down at you so intently with that look in his eyes as they slowly sweep across your face. But he turns on his heel a moment later, stalking into the tiny bachelor and beckoning for you to follow with a wave of his hand, flicking on a lamp as he passes.

“You hungry?” he’s asking as he walks. “I know this kickass noodle place that delivers 24/7,” he collapses on his bed, outfitted in black sheets, looking up at you expectantly when you stop hesitantly a few feet away. “You should probably eat something,” he continues, pushing himself up on his elbows, legs dangling off the end of the mattress. “Especially if there’s still alcohol in your—”

“Oh no, I don’t drink,” you cut him off without thinking, the words etched into your permanent vocabulary, sitting down next to him, just a hint too close.

“No, no, of course you don’t,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head, sitting up fully. “Let me guess; niisan doesn’t allow it,”

A frown forms on your lips, brows knitting together. “Well I—”

“Ah! Stop,” he cuts you off with a disinterested wave and a roll of his eyes. “I’ve heard enough,”

Normally, you’d scoff at someone speaking to you so rudely. But with Dabi, with Dabi, it’s different. A little giggle escapes your lips without your permission, the bubbly noise surprising you, and Dabi chuckles in response, a genuine grin spreading across his face, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“So. Food?”

The takeout arrives at 1:56am, Dabi bringing the bag full of noodles and other appetizers—too much food for only two people, if you’re being honest—back to his bed, placing it in front of you and then crawling onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged.

The action surprises you—he doesn’t have a table, but you had been expecting him to bring the food to the small breakfast bar, complete with two mismatched stools, not his bed.

Old Hammer Horror films flicker on the TV as the two of you pick through the food together, Styrofoam containers littering the bedspread. And it’s…fun—it’s the most fun you’ve had in a long time, a strange, unfamiliar giddiness fizzing in your tummy every time you make him laugh, every time his eye catches yours, every time he shoves your knee and calls you dollface, despite the deep, honey-coated voice echoing in your head telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this and he’s dangerous.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Bedtime,” Dabi says simply as he returns from the little kitchenette after storing the leftover takeout in the fridge, using a hand to tug at the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

“Wha—”

The material hits you square in the face and an involuntary, entirely unsolicited giggle bubbles past your lips, pulling the garment from your head.

“Pajamas,” he nods at the fabric now bunched in your hands, but you can’t seem to find your voice to respond.

Teeth bite into your tongue hard enough to make you wince in an effort to keep a gasp within your chest when he comes into view. He’s lean—toner than you expected, muscles gliding smoothly under his skin as he moves—and you’re unsurprised to find his chest and back decorated with vibrant, intricate tattoos.

Of course, you knew Dabi had tattoos—they’re on his face, his neck, his collarbone, disappearing under the neckline of his shirt and resurfacing under his short sleeves, curling around his arms, brilliant flowing ink telling stories across his skin. They’re beautiful—they’re mesmerizing, inquisitive eyes slowly roaming the expanse of his chest.

But you had never noticed the soft, slightly puckered skin they hid. Scars, your mind provides dimly.

“Do you want to touch them?”

The rumble of his deep voice snaps you out of your revere, heat flooding your cheeks when you realize you were staring. There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you can’t quite tell if his offer is serious or not, your eyes floating up to his.

“Here,” he chuckles a little as he sits down, offering you his forearm, flipping it over and resting it on the bed.

He lets you trace every single one. He won’t tell you where or how he got the scars, and you don’t push, even as curiosity erodes your chest. It’s impolite to pry, Keigo’s voice echoes through your mind, and you nod once to yourself.

You don’t have sex that night. He doesn’t force you. You nearly tell him that you’re surprised, what, a man of his stature, of his reputation, has a pretty girl in his bed and he doesn’t fuck her?, petty retaliation for what he had said to you when you entered the apartment hours ago, but you chicken out at the last minute. You’d soon come to find that some things are better left unsaid.

✰ ✰ ✰

Spring has just arrived, bringing with it cool, gentle breezes and swaying blades of grass decorated with glistening dewdrops that sparkle when the sun catches them in just the right way. The smell of freshly battered cinnamon sugar donuts and cheap coffee wafts in through the open window, drifting over your bodies and embracing you.

It rouses you, and your eyes flutter open to be met with Dabi’s face. And, God, he’s so damn pretty, with thick dark eyelashes fanned out delicately across inked skin and tousled onyx hair, breathing deep and calm, sharp jaw on display. Reaching out, you daintily trace over his relaxed features—circling defined cheekbones, sliding down the slope of his nose, trailing along his jaw—allowing yourself a moment to admire him before thick guilt begins to strangle you.

You should go. Keigo still thinks that you’re at a friend’s house, and doesn’t expect you to be home until late afternoon, but that belated bitter guilt finally brands the back of your tongue, face souring a little at the idea of deceiving your big brother. And after all he’s done for you, niisan tsks in your head, voice sweet and syrupy, and you can almost see the disappointment in his eyes as he shakes his head. We’re all each other has, you know. And you do, really, you do know, head nodding routinely, instinctual at this point, as you begin to push yourself up.

“Stay,” Dabi says softly, eyes still closed as a hand catches your wrist. You stop immediately, allowing him to pull you back down to the mattress as lids lift to reveal the most brilliant sapphires. Fingers trace down the curve of your neck and you hum, arching into his touch.

“Keigo—”

“Doesn’t have to know,” he cuts you off, his voice still quiet, rough around the edges and heavy with sleep. “C’mon. We’ll go get pie for breakfast, and I’ll have you home to niisan by dinner, promise,”

Giggling a little, you roll into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you atop his chest as he flops onto his back.

“Pie,” you laugh, resting your chin on his toned muscles and gazing up at him. “For breakfast?”

“Why not?” He asks, and that smile is back again, the boyish one that looks like he’s hiding something, a little amusing secret just for him, the one that induces a whole flock of butterflies in your chest. “It’s Saturday,” he shrugs as best he can, then squeezes you to his chest. “You don’t got anything to do, I don’t got anything to do...”

Crystal eyes glitter in the morning sun as they gaze at you, golden rays creeping through the small gaps in his thick purple curtains, swaying gently in the wind.

Molars sink into the inside flesh of your cheek as you think, and Dabi tuts his tongue softly, a hand coming to gently pull the skin from between your teeth.

“Okay,”

His lips curl into a smirk, something sharp flashing in his cobalt eyes. “Okay,”

That’s how it begins—with deceptively bright, youthful smiles and cherry pie for breakfast— and five days later, in the backseat of his Cadillac Eldorado while James Cagney flickers on a worn out, off-white screen and two of his fingers are three knuckles deep in you, he asks you to be his, digits curling in your pretty little pussy as he breathes the words against the shell of your ear.

You’re whimpering out yes as you cum, nodding almost frantically against his shoulder as your hips roll towards his palm.

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

✰ ✰ ✰

But it progresses faster than you ever thought it would—faster than you ever thought possible—like a shot of morphine straight to your bloodstream, pupils gaping as DabiDabiDabi surges through your veins, becoming all you can think about—all you want to think about, all you want to do, eat, feel, breathe.

Midnight double-features of old Hollywood films at the local rundown drive-in become one of the many staples of your relationship, finding comfort in the sharp smell of buttersalt popcorn stinging your nose, in the way the film’s sound cracks and pops as it travels through the car radio, staticky like an old record, in the way Dabi forces a cherry Jolly Rancher from his mouth into yours, the hard candy clacking against your teeth.

This is how you spend most of your weeknights for the next month or so—passing candy through kisses in the backseat of the Eldorado, tongues shoved down each other’s throats, stained red and purple and blue from the cheap artificial dye, hands wandering up dresses and little fingers tugging at beltloops and buckles.

On Saturday mornings—sometimes Sundays, too, if you’ve been a really good girl—you find yourself in a familiar red booth at The League—a little diner tucked away on one of the city side streets not too far from Dabi’s apartment—cheap speckled plastic glittering in the sunlight and sticking to your thighs as your favourite waitress, a young woman by the name of Himiko who insists that you call her Mimi, takes your order. She seems to know your Daddy—your Dabi—somehow, but you don’t press, because it’s impolite to pry, you know and niisan raised you better than this.

He always lets you pick what you want for breakfast, but Daddy always orders it for you, always reminds you the mornings you decide on pancakes that if you get those, you aren’t allowed any sundaes or a slice of pie, because too much sugar is bad for his babygirl, and he knows how much syrup you drown those things in, dollface.

But there’s one staple of your relationship that you love more than all the others.

Joyrides.

That’s what he calls them, those drives through the bad parts of the city, the parts with cracked concrete sidewalks and shattered glass and needles littered in the dying grass.

Dabi takes you along frequently, tells you that you have an important job to do, that you play a crucial role in this whole operation, because the police—including your father—have been cracking down especially hard on dealing in this area. But nobody bothers to question a seemingly innocent young woman delivering inconspicuous brown paper bags—bags full of pretty little pills and tiny baggies of white powder—to shop owners and crumbling apartment complexes, eerily reminiscent of a Girl Scout selling cream filled cookies and thin-mints.

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

It’s an instantaneous rush, though, being allowed to participate in Dabi’s business ventures, being allowed to help. It’s a privilege, you think, makes you feel like he trusts you, and you absolutely live for the praise, for that gorgeous smile he gives you after you deliver the sweets to the client, for the passionate kisses he rewards you with for being such a good little helper.

Joyrides are the best. Because it’s just you and him, the Eldorado’s radio struggling to play whatever station it’s picking up on—usually some sort of sixties rock—as you cruise the streets in his absurdly large car, the sky smeared with strokes of faded pinks and oranges, peppered with wispy clouds that look like loose strands of white cotton candy.

And sometimes, after his work is all finished, he’ll drive you to one of those cliffs you’ve come to know so well and let you ride him in the drivers seat—precious little whines and pathetic broken whimpers spilling from your lips as you rest your head against his shoulder, gyrating your hips in fast, shallow little circles, using his cock like it’s a toy, just like he told you to—before taking you back home to fuck you properly, to fuck you right.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s quaint, the little house you and your niisan live in, with its perfectly trimmed hedges and well-manicured grass, a stone walkway leading up to the front door, which is painted white. White windowsills, white brick, white, white, white, the whole thing is white—bright, pure, untarnished.

It’s just enough space for the two of you, your adoptive father, an absurdly large man by the name of Toshinori Yagi, had stated proudly, the first day he showed it to you.

And it’s only a short walk from the university, his wife chimed in with a smile too wide for her face, nodding excessively.

It’s convenient, they had said, the day you received your acceptance letter and scholarship offer from the university your brother attended. It’ll be good for you to stay with your older brother for a little, before going off into the world on your own, they had promised.

You hadn’t really wanted to go to this university—would’ve much preferred to go away to school in another country—but you didn’t. Keigo knew it, too, knew your desire to leave, to see more of the world, to experience it on your own without that hulking shadow with the wild hair. But he coaxed you into it, convinced you to stay, just like he always does, begging you softly not to leave your poor niisan all alone as gentle fingers pushed locks of hair from your face, trailing down your cheek and coming to cup your jaw, reminding you that you’re all each other has.

And you had nodded, nuzzled your face against his palm, sought comfort and relief in the presence of your big brother, just as you always do. He was right; you had your entire life to travel the world, what’s the rush? Why leave now? Stay with him, just for a little longer.

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. Keigo has always had a penchant for living fast, after all, seems to somehow incorporate conceptual and literal speed into all aspects of his life—his marks in school, his record-breaking track races, and now, his personal life, too.

It started in high school. He was in twelfth grade. You still don’t know who gave him his first taste, still don’t know why he decided to shoot up that night, but he did.

And it made him feel invincible. It made him feel like he could fly.

He hid it well, didn’t look like a heroin addict—at least, not what the words ‘heroin addict’ usually conjure up. His topaz eyes were bright as ever, even if his pupils were just a pinprick; nails cut so short it looked painful, to keep from scratching and scabbing his body; was always sure to keep his track marks well hidden, methodical in choosing his injection sites, and kept up with regular hygiene, even if his wild, windswept hair did get a little messier.

Yes, he hid it well.

But he couldn’t hide it from you for long, didn’t hide it from you well enough, becoming increasingly careless the deeper he spiralled into the addiction.

And it takes a while for you to truly acknowledge it. You didn’t want to—not at first, anyway—didn’t want to believe that your all-star, top-of-his-class, golden-child of a big brother was a junkie.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way he began recklessly disposing of the needles in the small trash can under his desk instead of hiding them in the kitchen trash whenever your mother asked him to take it out, ignored the burnt spoon you found in the sink and the bloody Q-tips you found littering the counter of the bathroom the two of you shared, ignored the way those tiny orange syringe caps had begun appearing in odd places, seeming to pop up more and more frequently.

Yes, you ignored it, until he stole one of the shoelaces off of your sneakers. And you still can’t explain it, exactly, can’t explain why that was the final straw, why that had you gripping a laceless shoe in a trembling hand as you stormed into the washroom uninvited and unannounced, catching him with the string between his teeth, just as the last of that disgusting orangish-brown liquid sunk into his veins.

The words disintegrate on your tongue, escaping in a pitiful little squeak, all of the fury you felt towards him for his behaviour melting the instant your eyes catch the end of the injection, wide and unblinking as they stare at the needle stuck in his forearm.

For a moment, neither of you are able to speak, Keigo’s mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes flood with tears, the prettiest topaz shining in the warm washroom light as they frenetically search your face.

“Sit,” you tell him, finally breaking the silence, your voice not your own. His eyebrows knit together, and he shakes his head a little in misunderstanding, but you persist. “Sit,”

Shoulders deflating, he holds your gaze for a moment longer before nodding once and obeying, sitting on the closed toilet.

“We have to—” you stop as your chin begins to wobble, swallowing thickly against the sob crawling up your throat, quivering hands rooting haphazardly through a first-aid kit. “W-We have to clean those, so they don’t get infected,”

Glassy golden eyes watch you intently, his chest hiccupping just a little as he wordlessly holds his arms out to you, armed with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, the scent stinging your nose.

There aren’t many—only a few little pinpricks on each arm, some decorated with dark blooms of periwinkle and violet, but they still cause your tongue to crumble to bitter, suffocating ash in your mouth.

Tiny fingers encircle his wrist, your touch always so soft, so gentle, as if you’re afraid to break him, and he chokes on a noise that sounds suspiciously similar to a sob.

“You don’t—You shouldn’t have to—” and he can’t even force the words out, breathing out forcefully through his nose as his tears finally overflow, glistening drops streaming down his cheeks, bleary eyes unblinking, focused on your little fingers as they continue their tender ministrations with so much care, with so much love it’s nearly stifling, and he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it—

“I want to,” a knuckle catches one of his fresh tears, swiping it across his cheekbone and leaving a glimmering trail in its wake. “Alright? I want to,”

And this—this becomes a habit.

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t tell Keigo about your relationship. Not at first, at least, conjuring up flimsy excuses that become more ridiculous as the days pass, as your disappearances steadily increase. Dabi doesn’t want to, makes up some bullshit excuse about how he isn’t ready yet. But you buy it anyway, and you wait.

Until the morning of one of your niisan’s big races, the ones where multiple trainers and coaches come from all over the country to assess his performance, when Dabi shows up entirely unannounced and uninvited, makes sure he’s in Keigo’s line of sight as he bounces around at the starting line, and kisses the life out of you, right in front of him.

That’s the only time he attends one of Keigo’s races.

The rest you continue attending by yourself. Dabi doesn’t like it, doesn’t like to have you out of his sight at all lately, but he knows it’s moot to argue with you. You’re going, you told him firmly, the night before Keigo’s next race, whether he likes it or not.

But, boy, was your niisan fuming by the time the two of you arrived home that day.

He hadn’t cared that he had, essentially, lost the race, hadn’t cared that he didn’t even manage to place in the top three for the first time in literal years, hadn’t cared that he just blew several chances with potential coaches and sponsors.

None of it mattered.

With a rough hand wrapped around your bicep, he all but yanks you out of the car, doesn’t care that you’re stumbling over your own feet as he drags you towards the front door, doesn’t care that he shoves you inside the house so hard you do trip, crying out as your hands and knees collide with the cold tiled floor.

And he’s yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, the moment that white door slams shut, shut so hard the walls tremble.

“Fucking Touya Todoroki!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You can barely see him through your tears as you quickly flip yourself over, beginning to inch away on your hands and feet as you stare up at him, breath hitching in your chest.

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

“Oh Jesus, don’t tell me—He didn’t tell you his fucking name?”

No, you shake your head quickly, chest stuttering as the name echoes through your mind, your big brother nothing but a blur of crimson and gold advancing towards you, mumbling to himself about how no, of course he didn’t, why would he? Of course not, as he drags nimble fingers through his messy hair.

“To-Todo—”

“Todoroki,” he spits, so harsh it makes you flinch.

“Your coa—”

“Yeah, I know his father,” Keigo rolls his eyes as he crouches down, catches your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger, and you cease all action immediately, freezing in his grip. “You know his brother,”

Your brow furrows as you belatedly search your memory for any instance of the name, gunmetal grey and snow white flashing through your mind, but everything’s too foggy, too hazy with the fear of disappointing your niisan more, eyes squeezing shut as you hiccup at the mere thought.

But then he’s sighing, always knows when he’s gone a little too far—you are very delicate, after all, so small and naïve and in desperate need of someone to take care of you, aren’t you?—collapsing back on his heels and pulling you into his lap as soft hands smooth down your hair, murmuring it’s alright, it’s alright and niisan’s got you, niisan’s got you.

“What’re you doin’ with a man like that, my little songbird?” his voice is gentle as he rocks your bodies back and forth, after your sobs have calmed a bit.

What are you? you want to ask, front teeth sinking into your tongue hard enough to make you wince, keeping those three tiny words inside of your mouth.

“I like him,” you mumble instead, nuzzling your face into his chest and hiding from those bright, inquisitive topaz eyes.

“You—You like him,” he snorts to himself in disbelief, shaking his head a little.

“I do,” you respond, a little firmer as you pull back to stare at your big brother’s face, eyebrows knit together in determination, sparks of fury igniting deep in your chest at the thought of Keigo thinking he knows better, when he’s just as bad.

“He isn’t good for you—”

“He isn’t good for you,” you shoot back, tone clipped as you level your gaze, squirming a little in his arms. His grasp tightens, like he’s terrified you’re going to leave, honey eyes holding yours for a beat before he lets out a breath, looking away, defeated.

“That doesn’t mean you should be allowed to see him,” he mutters, glancing at your tear-stained face for a moment before his eyes flit away again. “But…” his chest rises with a deep inhale, pressing against you. “I guess…I guess it isn’t very fair of me to, uh, judge you, is it?”

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, gazing at you from the side of his eye, a tiny smirk spreading across his face. “Stop being so cute,” he grumbles, squeezing you against him just a bit too hard, giggles spilling from your lips as your fingers curl in the cotton of his hoodie. “I’m trying to be mad at you, y’know,”

“Kei-nii,” you whine with a roll of your eyes, shoving his shoulder weakly, though there’s a smile on your lips.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s saying as lithe fingers brush some hair back from your face, palm resting against your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw rhythmically. “Just—Promise me, if he ever hurts you…You’ll tell me immediately, yeah?”

Blinking a few times, your eyes search his face, sobering up as gold bores into you. There’s something in his stare, something you’ve never seen before, something that you can’t decipher, and it sends chills pebbling across your skin. Swallowing thickly, you nod, little jerky movements as your eyes hold his. “Y-Yeah, promise, niisan,”

“Good,” he whispers, chin resting atop the crown of your head as he cradles you to his chest. “We’re all we have. Never forget it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You only question Dabi about his name once, lounging around on his bed in the early hours of the morning, tangled in his sheets, wearing his t-shirt, with his large hand resting on your bare thigh. His head’s tipped back against the headboard as he exhales smoke in pretty little curls that disintegrate into hazy nothingness only a moment later.

“T-Touya?” Your hearts thudding against your ribcage as you almost whisper the name, barely audible at all, but his head snaps forward, sapphire eyes finding yours immediately.

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, that you’ve crossed some invisible line you hadn’t had a clue about, his glare scathing your skin; but then his features relax, and a little smirk spreads across his lips.

“Ah, so he finally told you,” his voice is quiet, and you can’t read his tone, eyes squinting a little as you lean towards him. “I don’t go by that name anymore,” he speaks up, voice ringing out clear and strong. “Don’t call me that again,”

The or else is implied, and you nod meekly, promising him softly that you’ll never utter it again.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been gnawing at you all week, sitting heavy like a block of lead in your stomach, the cuticles on your left thumb bitten raw in agitation. You need to tell him. You’re going to tell him, it’s just…

It just never seemed like the right time to tell him—then again, is there ever a right time to tell your older brother that you’re spending the entire weekend at his drug dealer’s place?

But now it’s Friday, and Dabi will be here in a few minutes, and you still have yet to let Keigo know.

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear the tinny laughter of a woman when you entered the house, arriving home after your last class of the day, hadn’t been expecting to walk into the living room to find said girl splayed across your niisan’s lap, staring up at him dreamily as endless giggles spilled from her painted lips, hadn’t been expecting him to be so completely enamoured with her that he doesn’t even greet you.

It burns up all of the anxiety that had been building inside you in an instant, turns it into boiling rage that bubbles and pops, noxious as it rises up your throat.

And so, you decide that you won’t say anything at all. If he’s too busy to even acknowledge you like he normally does every single day, then surely he doesn’t care if you leave, right?

“I’m going out,” you toss airily over your shoulder as your halfway out the front door, a small grin spreading across you lips as you spot Dabi leaning lazily against his car. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, smug grin of his own forming on his lips.

Keigo shoots up immediately, nearly knocking the girl to the floor, moving faster than he ever has in his life as he catches your wrist and tugs, hard. A loud yelp sounds from the back of your throat and you stumble backwards, right into your big brother’s chest.

“Where? Huh? Where?” he growls out the word through clenched teeth, squeezing again. “With who? That—That fucking scumbag?”

At the sound of your yelp, Dabi straightens up instantly, usual lidded eyes now wide open and alert, zeroing in on where Keigo has ensnared you.

“Not like it matters to you, not when you have a whore to entertain,” you spit, and though your gaze is blazing, your eyes are filling with tears, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Right?” you push, after a few moments of silence.

His grip loosens, although he doesn’t let go completely, fingers still clasped around you.

“Princess, I…”

“No,” you snap, viciously pulling yourself free of him. “Don’t princess me. Not after ignoring me like that,”

“You’re overreacting—”

“Then so are you,” you cut him off sharply, already beginning to back away and blinking hard to clear your eyes of stubborn tears. “I’m spending the weekend at Dabi’s. I’ll see you on Sunday,”

Dabi catches you the moment you’re within reach, drawing you close to his chest for a second before pulling back. Calloused hands gently raise your wrist, sapphire eyes assessing the damage. His thumb caresses the rapidly bruising area rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth, and he frowns deeply, his gaze finally meeting yours.

“Does he do this often? Hurt you like this?”

And it’s startling, shocking, to see the overflowing concern in his crystal eyes, studying your face intently as you try to find your voice. You don’t think he’s ever sounded that serious before.

“I—No, of course not,” you shake your head, tongue tripping over the words. “We—Y’know, siblings fight, and stuff, it’s—he doesn’t know his own strength, sometimes, uh, forgets it, a-and I bruise easily,” you shrug, wincing a little at the serious expression still etched deep into Dabi’s face.

“If he ever puts his hands on you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” Dabi says slowly, softly, as if he’s reciting the morning news to you, dark eyes drifting up to refocus on the figure still standing in the doorway. “Do you understand me?” he asks, though his stare does not leave Keigo’s, voice still calm, almost serene. “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He won’t, you reassure him, countless times over the next few weeks. Niisan’s never intentionally hurt me, Daddy, he won’t, I promise.

And they’re all true, those words you repeat to him, over and over and over again, while you comb fingers through his inky hair or press chaste kisses against his scarred skin. They’re all true.

Until they aren’t.

You should’ve known, really, not to talk about it. He doesn’t—not when you’re cleaning his track marks or wiping sweat from his forehead, not when he lays his head in your lap as he’s coming down, eyes fluttering as your fingers thread through his hair, not even when you’re feeding him teaspoons of water to keep him hydrated as his body forces him to throw up nothing, again, lips dry and cracked, skin clammy and cold—and you shouldn’t, either.

“Have you ever thought about switching to pills?” You ask one night, casually, as if this is mundane, normal, to discuss while washing dishes. “I heard oxy is like, heroin in a pill,”

His jaw clenches, you can see the motion out of the corner of your eye, quickly refocusing your gaze on the bowl in your hands, the same bowl you’ve been washing for about five minutes now.

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

“And I asked why not,” you spit, dropping the bowl from your hands. It cracks as it collides with the aluminum of the sink, the sound piercing through the tense air as you turn to glare at your brother, soapy hands on your hips. “It would be safer—”

“Marginally—”

“That’s still better than nothing, Keigo! Christ,” you sigh, running a sudsy hand through your hair. “They’re all fucking opioids, what’s the difference!? They’re all gonna get you high the same way, aren’t they?”

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

You wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to explain to you. You wouldn’t understand that he’s already attempted this, attempted to switch from heroin to pills, and that it wasn’t the same—isn’t the same. You wouldn’t understand that oxy doesn’t give the same instantaneous rush as heroin does, doesn’t take his breath away like heroin does, doesn’t warm his entire fucking body the way heroin does.

No, you wouldn’t understand how most of the time he feels like he can’t fucking breathe until he shoots up, wouldn’t understand how, at this point, heroin feels like an old friend, safe and cozy and more comforting than anything he’s ever felt before, than even your arms are, wouldn’t understand how heroin makes him feel like he’s fucking invincible, like he can take on the entire world in one day, like he can continue living.

It makes him feel whole again, full again, put back together with no cracks or missing pieces. It distracts him from how irrevocably shattered his insides truly are, providing him with quick, fleeting relief, just long enough for him to keep going, keep striving, keep breathing. But you wouldn’t understand any of that. How could you?

He’s sighing as he walks away from you, raking both hands through golden hair.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t see what this shit is doing to you! It’s killing you, niisan!”

God, no, not the honorific. Not when you’re gazing at him with tears spilling from your eyes, little hands desperately pawing at his t-shirt, urgent just to make him understand, to get through to him for one instant.

“I-It’s killing you and all I can do is watch,” your voice fades into a whisper, breaking on the last word as more tears streak your cheeks, leaving small gleaming trails in their wake, fingers readjusting, knotting in his shirt and tugging, latching onto him as he keeps walking, jaw clenching again as he tries to ignore you. “Y-You have to stop—no, no, n-not stop, just—just slow down, yeah? Slow down a little, it’s—it’s too fast, niisan, you’re going too fast—”

But it’s building, and building, and his head is throbbing, and throbbing, and your voice is rising higher and higher, louder and louder, and it’s all just too much, and before he even knows what’s happening, his hand is cutting through the air, knuckles colliding with your cheek so hard it sends you stumbling backwards, tripping over your own feet as you fall on your ass.

He regrets it the moment it happens, the very moment his skin makes contact with yours.

But that doesn’t matter; the damage is already done.

He’s never hit you before. Sure, he may be a little rough sometimes, and his grip may leave a few bruises every once in a while, but he has never deliberately hit you, until today.

He never thought he would.

Golden eyes dart from his hand, still raised in the air from where it struck you, blood gleaming on his silver rings, to your face, small and terrified, crimson flowing down your cheek, mixing with your tears as it slowly drips off your jaw, and then back to his hand.

And for a moment, he swears, the whole world stops.

Then, a mere second later, his whole world shatters.

You’re trying to form words, staring up at him with impossibly wide, unblinking eyes, but they’re just escaping your lips in little mumbles, half-formed and coated in spit.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, nothing more than a pitiful huff of air formed in the shape of a curse leaving his lips.

It takes your mind a moment to register what’s happened, numb with dizzying shock, stupid with the most heartbreaking pain, dazed as tiny, trembling fingers raise to tenderly prod at the wound, wincing the moment they make contact. But the throbbing of your cheek brings you back quicker than Keigo would’ve liked, and then your eyebrows are knitting together, mouth settling in a wobbly line, blinking hard to clear your eyes of pesky tears.

And all he can do is watch, watch as you shakily push yourself to your feet, watch as your hand grips your phone like it’s a fucking lifeline—a lifeline he very briefly thinks about diving forward and snatching out of your grasp—watch as you turn on the balls of your feet and disappear down the hall, the slam of your bedroom door echoing a moment later.

You barely make it into your bedroom before your collapsing on the floor, wheezing out uneven breaths, sharp, hard huffs of air that slice through your tight chest with each exhale, vision blurry with stinging tears as you stare down at your phone, cradled in quivering hands.

You know that if you make this phone call, Dabi will never let you come back. You know that if you make this phone call, this is it. Trembling fingers hesitate over his name, those four glowing letters staring back at you, an unnecessary amount of various heart emojis cushioning them.

He doesn’t pick up the first time. Maybe it’s a sign, you think to yourself, a sign that you shouldn’t leave just yet, that you should stay and rot away with him for a little bit longer, remain with him for a little more and give him another piece of your soul that he can add to his prized collection as he slowly steals your life force from you.

But then searing pain radiates through your entire face, along your jaw and to the back of your head, and the coppery smell of blood stings your nose, and you press on Dabi’s name again.

✰ ✰ ✰

If he’s being honest, he would’ve never picked up for anyone but you, probably would’ve killed the idiot that thought to interrupt him during one of the biggest deals of his career—of his life.

“What?” he snarls as he answers, pacing along the wall outside the warehouse like a rabid dog, anxious and eager. “This better be important, sweetheart. You knew I was meeting with one of the bosses today—”

“He hit me,”

It’s hard to understand you when you’re still sobbing, words all wet and garbled, and Dabi squints as he focuses his concentration, feet skidding to a stop as his heart begins to pound.

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

And then, his blood runs cold. His ears are ringing, vision fading in and out of focus as red tinges the edges, breathing beginning to accelerate, exhaled harshly through flared nostrils. The thin skin stretched taut across his bony knuckles has turned white as he grips his phone so tightly he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand.

“Pack your shit,” he tells you, voice oddly calm, cold and sterile and sending shivers skittering up your spine. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi #takami keigo #bnha smut #mha smut #aaaaaah fucking MONSTER #anywayyy cant wait to hear what u all think!!!#dabi don't get mad at me i lost track of time editing n i've been real good going to bed on time #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw daddy kink #tw drugs #tw:abuse

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g0ldengubler · 4 years ago

Text

lunchtime ~ spencer reid

A/N: THIS IS VERY UNEDITED VERY HORRIBLE WRITING! i just wanted to get this out. this is a kink i have but never really talked about it. but i hope u still enjoy! it’s very weird so if you don’t want to read it you don’t have to :)

Category: smut (NSFW18+)

CW: rough sex, riding, doggystyle, special guests listening in

Summary: spencer reid works a lot. he’s an fbi agent, he can’t help but be a workaholic! but when you guys finally get time to yourselves, what happens when it’s risky interrupted?

Word Count: 2078

✨masterlist✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

having a boyfriend who works in the FBI isn’t all rainbows and sunshine. Because of his job, Dr.Spencer Reid was always either gone on a case or working on cases at home. he could be doing it in the office, but spencer was a sweet guy and made a middle ground to see his girlfriend more. he was just as passionate about her as he was with his job, calling her every night when he was away, making sure to treat her when he got back or when he was done for the day. he made sure she knew she was important to him, which wasn’t something she ever felt from a guy who was a workaholic.

today was just like every other day. spencer got to do case files at home as there was no case as of then. Y/n tried her best to take care of him while working, as a return of the favor. She made him his favorite waffles that morning and even made him a fresh cup of coffee just the way he likes it-a cup of sugar with coffee to mix. He kissed her on the forehead, convinced that he didn’t deserve her. once he was done he went straight to work. In a way, y/n pretty much worked with him as his personal Penelope Garcia, as he was an old man when it came to computers.

it was lunchtime at this point. y/n walked into his office and stood in the door frame, watching his fingers move down the page in his book as he read. his fingers made her melt, and he knew that. clouds began to form in her head as thoughts of what he could do with this fingers took hold of her. she didn’t even notice he was wanting her attention as he snapped her out of her daydreams with a snap of his fingers.

“Bubs, are you ok?” spencer asked. he was still at his desk, his finger placed at the spot he was at. you looked back at him from his finger, noticing what he was wearing and it wasn’t helping your case at all. while he was wearing his favorite maroon cardigan that he thrifted (still lux though as it was ralph lauren), he also wore a pair of grey sweatpants. clever of him for the moments he had to video chat with people.

you were quickly out of your thoughts yet again as you felt your body move without you knowing before. you walked towards him as he turned his chair to your side. you noticed he was half hard in his pants, as the imprint of himself showed through. you sat on his lap and ran your fingers through your hair, peppering kisses below his ear. he chuckled, thinking you were being cute, but you were just getting started.

“it’s lunchtime bubs.” you whispered as you softly grind against him.

spencer put his hands on your his after guiding your body to straddle him. he guides them as his lips touch yours. “good,” he said in between kisses, gently rubbing circles over your shorts in the place you wanted him most, “i’m starving.”

not only was spencer the sweetest, softest man you’ve ever met, but he was also the sexiest and dirtiest. he was rough like a wild bear but soft as a teddy bear-taking such good care of you after he ruined you to filth. no one would ever believe the things you two have done together in the past year. no one would especially believe what happened today.

as spencer’s about to slide his hand down your shorts, his phone rang. he groan softly under his breath as his right hand left your side to grab his phone. you were a little annoyed at first, but once he put the phone to his ear, an idea popped into your head.

“hey hotch...” he said. you slowly leaned down and went back to the spot below his ear, sucking and nibbling it softly.

this wasn’t something new to the both of you. it was a fun little game you’d play if either of phones rang while you were in the middle of it, seeing how long they could last at acting normal. by now, spencer had got the hang of it and made it easy for him when it was any of his coworkers. today, however, he was almost struggling.

you heard other voices on the phone as well. you could tell by how low they all sounded that it was 3 of the men on his team.

“yeah, i was um...about to have lunch.”

you decided to try and break him a little, sucking a little bit harder.

“can i call y-“ a soft moan left his lips, cutting him off his sentence. his eyes bulged out of his head as his mouth fell open. you quickly coughed in a lower tone to help him out, trying not to laugh.

“yeah, luke i’m fine,” he said, “just stubbed my toe....shut up morgan!”

you giggled softly to yourself, but not softly enough. you heard laughing from his phone and realized you were busted.

“hi boys!” you said, jokingly sounding seductive.

spencer gave you a look that said ‘are you kidding me?’ which made you giggle even more. you hear morgan on the other end say, “aww, did we interrupt your lunch?”

“yeah, you did! we were just about to get started.”

spencer placed the phone back to his ear, taking a deep breath before speaking. “look seriously can we-“

he paused, listening to whoever was talking. slowly, spencer removed the phone from his ear and covered it with his shoulder. he looked unsure of himself, as if he was trying to gather the courage to speak.

“bubs,” he said weakly, “do you um...uh..d-do you want to...have the phone on speaker?”

you thought for a moment. you were always secretly into things like this, but never told spencer because you thought he would find it weird. but seeing him look kind of into it didn’t help the puddle forming in your shorts.

“you don’t have to if you don’t want to. whatever your comfortable with!”

you thought for one more moment before taking his phone out of his hands and putting it on speaker for him, setting it down on his desk. he looks at you confused.

“let’s put on a show for your coworkers, daddy.”

“ooooo coming in with the big guns already!” said Luke.

“y/n does not play.” said Hotch.

Spencer was frozen in his tracks. he couldn’t believe the words coming out of their mouths, let alone what was going on.

“well come on then daddy, give us a show! my popcorn is getting cold.” teased morgan.

spencer rolled his eyes at morgan before his lips attacked yours. you continued your grinding on him, this time he was grinding back. you moaned through the kiss as his hands went back in your shorts, rubbing circles on your clit.

“oh wow, spencer got a girl to moan like that!” said Morgan.

“is he making you feel good, hun?” asked hotch.

“fuck yesssss!” you let out a long moan as spencer moved faster with his motions. he let out a groan and cursed under his breath. you felt his pressed under your thigh and that made you try to hold in how turned on you really were. you held on for dear life on the armrests of his chair as he leaned back a little bit.

“are you getting close, baby girl?” asked morgan.

“yes yes yes fuuuck daddy please let me cum.”

“you wanna cum for me, angel?” asked spencer.

“yes omg please i’m so fucking close!”

“cum for him, princess.” said Luke.

before you could fall down the hill like on a roller coaster, you felt incomplete as he took his fingers out. you let out a little whine, letting the guys know he didn’t let you cum.

“ooooo doctor genius over there didn’t let her cum, how sad.” teased Luke.

“what are you going to do now?” asked Hotch.

“because she’s about to get fucked and really show you how much of slut she truly is. well, MY slut at least.”

spencer took his painfully hard cock out as you moved your shorts to the side. you felt the head enter you and shortly his whole length was slammed deep inside you before you even make a sound. you let out a quiet gasp before a loud moan escaped from your throat.

he let you adjust, but only for a short moment as he quickly began pounding you, holding you from your ass. you were a moaning mess at this point, letting out more dramatic, pornographic ones for the guys.

“fuck he’s really an animal isnt he?” teased Hotch.

“you like being pounded like a dirty slut?” asked Luke.

you moaned out a yes, but it wasn’t enough for them.

“use your words, baby girl.” said Morgan.

“i love being pounded like a dirty slut!”

“tell them who’s slut you are.” spencer growled.

you held onto him from behind his head and pushed his face in between your tits. “i’m you’re slut, spencer,” you moaned, “i’m daddy’s little slut!”

“you’re such a good girl, y/n.” said Hotch.

“fuck daddy can i cum? please let me cum ive been a good girl!”

“what do you think?” spencer asked.

“cum, baby girl.” said morgan

“cum for him, princess.” said Luke.

“cum hard all over his cock, baby.” said Hotch.

you finally came all over his cock, screaming as the pleasure surged through your body. spencer helped you ride out your orgasm and let you catch your breath.

“holy shit” said Luke.

“oh we’re not done yet,” said spencer, “she deserves a reward for doing so well.”

he takes you off his cock and makes you stand up, flipping you around so you were in front of him, your ass sticking out. he quickly put his cock back inside of you and luke and morgan cheered on. he pounds you harder this time, making sure you lose your voice by the time you’re done.

“youre such a dirty slut,” spencer growled, taking a handful of your hair and pulling it, “letting me fuck you over the phone with not just my friends, my coworkers. you like putting on a show for people? you want people to know how much of a fucking slut you are for me?”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his words. the pure filth in them almost pushing you off the edge as you squeezed around his cock. even the guys grew silent.

“fuck keep doing that angel, keep squeezing daddy’s cock like tha-shit im close. you want my cum inside you?”

“oh my god yes please, i want to be full of your cum daddy!”

hearing you say those words through him over the edge as you feel him filling you up, hearing him moan your name and cursing under his breath. he stayed inside you for a bit before he caught his breath and left to go get something to clean you up with. when he comes back he looks at you sitting in front of him, watching his cum drip out of you and onto his work chair. he wasn’t even mad about it.

“you did so good, bubs.” he says, walking over and kneeling in front you before cleaning you up.

“you were amazing, baby!” you say. he comes back up and kisses you, and it was hard to break away. but somehow you did after what felt like hours and laughed at yourselves for what you just did. you then remembered they were still on the phone. spencer grabs his phone and faces it towards them.

“well? how was the show?” you asked.

“holy-“

“fuck.” luke cut morgan off.

you had left them speechless before hotch finally spoke up.

“....we will not speak of this at work.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #mgg smut #spencer reid fan fiction #derek morgan smut #aaron hotchner smut #luke alvez smut #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut

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mooniefics · 3 years ago

Text

— personal punishment

pairing : nanami kento / fem reader

word count : 1.8k

tags : pnp, degradation, authority kink, office sex, semi-public sex, boss / secretary, nanami literally being the sexiest man to ever live and breathe

warnings : nsfw, power imbalance

summary : He couldn't expect you to be perfect—but he could definitely expect you to pay for each imperfection in more ways than one.

notes : thank u so much to @suna-reversed for hosting the incredibly creative jujutsuhub collab and allowing me to participate !! much love (୨୧•͈ᴗ•͈)◞*♡

you couldn't exactly say you weren't proud of your performance today.

for one, you'd come into the office late, knowing that your penalties would be formally waived by your boss but well aware that you would have to face his own personal punishment. it was just your luck that this very day was the most busy the office had been all month, leaving you running papers back and forth from your boss' office for hours, nearly tripping over your own heels three times too many before you even reached your lunch break, praying that you weren't screwing anything else up in your frantic rush.

but before you could even think about escaping the confines of the office building to make up for your missed breakfast at a cafe nearby, your boss was already calling back into his office. you already knew exactly why he was requesting your presence, fear and anticipation immediately tangling into a heavy knot in the pit of your stomach. but still you went, obediently as you always did, keeping your head low as you passed your coworkers in the hall.

your fate had been sealed the moment you made a mistake, the same outcome that had been repeating for months now each time you made an error, whether it was as small as not taking the trash out from the waste bin when it was too full for his liking to something as grievous as spilling his morning coffee all over one of his pristine white button-ups. for any and all errors, you were certain to face this punishment.

the position you were in wasn't unfamiliar, bent over nanami's desk, pencil skirt hiked all the way up to your waist with your underwear around your knees, completely at the mercy of the man caging you in with his body from behind.

"if you keep making all that noise, you're going to end up getting us both fired." he growled, voice low in your ear, one hand still pressed firmly over the center of your back, forcing your chest down onto his desk. the other was occupied between your legs, two thick fingers plunging mercilessly into your needy cunt as you struggled to hold in every whimper and moan each snap of his wrist drew from the back of your throat.

"'m s-sorry, s-sir..!" you barely managed to breathe out, nails beginning to scrape at the edge of the wooden tabletop, teeth digging almost painfully into your bottom lip.

"'sorry' doesn't even begin to fix everything you've fucked up today," his stern tone persisted, ribs aching between the pressure of the heel of his palm and the hard desk, "you know just how much stress i've been under and yet you went out of your way to make it worse."

"no, n-not that..! p-promise!" you whimpered, breath coming in pants, struggling to not rock back into his hand with the knowledge that he'd stop entirely if he noticed you doing it.

you had no choice but to keep your eyes trained on the door in front of you, thighs trembling with anticipation, muted gasps and mewls managing to find their way out into the open air despite your efforts. you knew he didn't mind the noise as long as you were making a conscious effort to keep quiet, only loud enough for him to have the pleasure of hearing, only expressing the pitiful broken attempts at showing remorse that seemed to arouse him to no end.

he curled his fingers to rub at spot inside you that made your knees weak, barely chuckling when you writhed under him. "enjoying your punishment like this... you're just a pathetic slut. That's all you'll ever be, isn't that right?"

Your head hung low as you came over his fingers, shuddering, biting firmly at the inside of your cheeks to hold back the whine threatening to escape your heaving chest. you knew you should be ashamed to be so excited in the face of his cruelty, but when it was his voice and hands—discipling you harshly but still paying such good attention to you and your body—you couldn't help yourself.

before you had enough time to begin catching your breath, you could already hear the clinking of his belt buckle as he pulled it free from the belt loops of his pants, the warmth of naked skin as the length of his cock met the back of your thighs, already hard. the hand resting at your back slid up to rest at the base of your neck, fingers working their way into your hair to firmly grasp, holding you still while he eased himself between your thighs.

"please, s-sir.." The words spilled out of you before you could even think to maintain your obedient silence, earning a tug at your hair harsh enough to jerk your head back, arching your body further.

"snd who are you to be making any demands?" He muttered scornfully, the head of his cock now rubbing directly over your dripping pussy, making no effort to do anything more than painstakingly tease.

"i'm not, i j-just—" You sucked in a quick breath as you felt a sharp sting over your ass, certain there was a reddening welt where his hand had just struck it, "i pr-promise i'll be better..."

"and how can I be certain that you actually will? you say the same thing every damn time, and you still have yet to show me any improvement."

your eyes watered as you searched for a proper response, stammering over your words for just a moment too long—long enough to reignite the anger you'd found a momentary mercy from. you just barely pressed your hand over your mouth in time to muffle your own cry as he slammed himself inside of you, the desk shifting across the ground with a harsh squeak, insides struggling to accommodate his size all at once. he found a quick, ruthless rhythm of thrusting almost immediately, paying your quick gasps and pitiful whimpers no mind, almost painfully deep.

"is this is really the only thing you're good for?" he huffed, groaning lowly despite his apparent ire, "just taking cock and nothing else?"

"n-no!" you protested, barely able to hold your voice steady enough to respond, swallowing down each hiccuped breath interrupting your words, "this is the l-last time, i swear..! p-please sir, please—"

he shushed you harshly before you could continue, large hand rubbing over the aching flesh he'd previously slapped in a silent threat to repeat the action. you wouldn't be entirely opposed to feeling his large hand strike you again and again, leaving prints of red across your skin that wouldn't fade until hours after you'd left the office for the night, but you knew that you still had the entire second half of your day ahead of you to pretend as if he hadn't completely ruined you just meters away from the rest of his hardworking employees.

"at this point, i might as well just be paying to fuck you." he muttered callously, the speed of his hips slowing the slightest bit, each thrust still hitting deep enough for you to feel in your stomach, "then what does that make you, hm? a prostitute? my personal little plaything.."

you strained to vigorously shake your head side to side, fingers aching from how tightly they were clenching around the edge of the desk, your own arousal trailing down between your trembling thighs, hot tears dribbling down your flushed cheeks. you should've felt more inclined to deny his assertion, to prove yourself to be more than just a toy for him to used whenever he desired, when he needed to take out the pent up frustration he saved for your errors and your errors only—but you knew in the back of your mind that you were perfectly content with your position, as immorally lucrative as it was. you would embarrass yourself everyday for the rest of your career if it meant you could experience this at least once more.

"sorry, s-sorry..! oh fuck, sir, 'm so sorry!" the apologies you knew he loved so much spilled from your lips in a pathetic, broken moan, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as you held out for a few more mind-numbing moments before cumming around his thick cock.

you barely registered his hand grasping your hair painfully tight as he grunted a few low curses beside your ear, shakily exhaling a sigh when he emptied himself inside you, finally letting you rest back against the hard surface of his desk while you both caught your breath. it was all over far too soon, the intense intimacy that never lasted longer than the half-hour of your lunch break, even though you were sure he could steal you away for far longer without anyone daring to question him.

you wiped at your damp under-eyes with quivering hands, trying to not further disturb your already ruined mascara, swallowing down a whimper when pulled himself out of you and tugged your underwear back into place, readjusting your skirt for you before moving away from your body entirely.

he had already tidied up his own clothes by the time you pushed yourself to stand, that familiar expression of cool indifference having already resettled onto his handsome features. he barely ever let you see his face when he was disciplining you, always making sure you were facing away from him, or that you couldn't lift your head enough to get a good look at his face. it made it all feel so impersonal, inspired something that felt like sadness in the back of your mind, despite how you tried to remind yourself that what you had wasn't true intimacy, and that he could really replace you any day if he felt so inclined to do so.

"go clean up in the bathroom." he said without looking at you, straightening his tie back into place and checking the time on his watch, "you will need to take a call from a new client soon, and it is imperative that you give them the perfect first impression of our company. i expect you to be back here within the next ten minutes." his brow furrowed, the look of someone who'd just thought of something unpleasant flashing across his features when he finally met your gaze. "no more exceptions today."

"yes, sir." you replied obediently, voice hoarse, quickly turning away before the weight of a sudden sadness could show, advancing towards his door as briskly as your state allowed you to. you didn't look back on your way out, even though you so desperately wanted to, maybe deliver a genuine apology now that you knew he was genuinely irritated with you.

but you didn't, and the day continued as it always did, phone calls and document filing keeping you occupied for the rest of your shift, not receiving another word from your boss regarding anything. you tried not to take it personally when he didn't bid you farewell before leaving the building, reminding yourself that it was most likely just the pressure of a busy quarter, cursing yourself for screwing things up and enjoying your momentary bliss before the true consequence of genuine disappointment from nanami anchored you back to the somber reality of your situation.

it was foolish of you to think you'd be anything more than a secretary in his eyes.

#jujutsuhub collab #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #kento nanami #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader

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ahfbhdfgdx · 4 years ago

Text

Please | Diluc x f!reader (NSFW)

Summary: diluc tries out some aphrodisiacs on u <3

Warnings: Smut, aphrodisiacs, intoxication, slight dubcon, oral, unprotected sex (lmk if i forgot any!)

Note: First post! If you like my writing, requests for nsfw or sfw are greatly appreciated :)

"Are you sure this is going to work..?" Diluc peered into the little vial that Albedo had bestowed upon him. It was a little bit foggy in there, a light pink tone. "This little of an amount too?"

Albedo nodded in silence, then walked back to his desk. "I think you'll find it actually works quite well. If it doesn't, let me know." He sat down and straightened the loose papers that were strewn across the tabletop. Diluc simply nodded in thanks and scurried out, closing the door behind him.

-xxx-

The sun has long set, nearing about midnight. Diluc stood in the tavern among the last few patrons chugging down their drinks. He wiped glass after glass, occasionally checking the clock. When would you finally be here, he thought to himself, placing another glass away.

"Don't get so worked up over her, Di!" Kaeya laughed, words slurring a little. He was sat at the counter with Rosaria. The rain pounded heavily on roof of the building, sending Diluc into further panic, although he hid it well. Maybe you had gotten caught in the rain? You could catch pneumonia out there! He tossed the rag down and leaned on the counter to catch a breath.

Rosaria glanced at Kaeya, both of them equally intoxicated and giggly, and turned back to Diluc. "Yeah, why are you so tensed up about her? It's not like she needs to abide by tavern hours anyway, she'll get here when she gets here!" She shouted the last line a little, Diluc scoffing at the stupor of these two. The tavern was closing in only half an hour. He could leave it open just for the two of you, it would make it easier anyway.

Suddenly, the door whipped open, and there you were, squeezing out your hair outisde the door. Head to toe, you were dripping wet. The three last people in the tavern turned to look at you as you laughed sheepishly. "I missed the forecast," you shivered and came to the bar counter, leaning over to kiss Diluc on the cheek, much to the delight of Kaeya and Rosaria.

He tensed up looking at you. Even fresh out of the pouring rain and all disheveled, you were still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. You had mentioned being ok with what he was going to do before, so he knew that he wasn't in the wrong, but the feeling of doing something so taboo got him going, especially with you standing right in front of him.

Glancing at the time, 12:30 am, he quickly ushered the drunken Kaeya and Rosaria out of the bar. "Shall I get you a towel to dry off?" He patted your soaked hair as he turned to the stairs. "Nonono," you laughed, "Drink first. Then towel."

He gulped. Now was the time he needed to do it, arousal and nerves swirling around his mind. "As you wish," He breathed out as he poured a glass of dandelion wine, your favourite. While his tall frame was turned against you, he carefully slid the vial out of his pocket, pouring it into the glass. It dissolved quite neatly, save a few sparks that flew out.

He picked up the drink, turning around and placing it hastily down in front of you. Giving him a weird look, you picked up the drink and looked at it for a good few seconds. Shit, I've been caught, he thought as he stared straight into your confused eyes. Shrugging, you took a swig of the wine.

Eyes widening, you looked up at his looming figure, "This is great! Did you put something in it?" You joked and giggled as you took another sip. His heart skipped a beat and shook his head. "I'll go get you that towel," Diluc started climbing the stairs, looking down over the railing to see you take another swig.

Looking down on the glass in front of you, your head started to feel a little floaty. Your wet skin started to feel a little warmer, maybe the warmth of the tavern was helping. That's all you thought, until you started feeling a pulsing feeling. Where's Diluc is all you thought as you took another short sip from the oh so delicious wine.

Diluc came back down the stairs, sneaking up behind you to place the towel over your now damp hair. Whipping around, you grabbed onto his waist and pulled him closer. "Diiiiiiluc.." You groaned into his stomach. "I'm so hot.. and so wet.." Your doe eyes looked up to him, gauging his response. His crimson red eyes looked back down on yours, starting to fill with lust.

He thought whether to just satisfy you now, or let you finish the substance he oh so intensely bargained for. "Don't you want to finish your drink?" In your foggy brain, anything Diluc says goes, so you nodded, still cuddled in his chest. He could get used to this, he thought as he gently grabbed the back of your head.

Bending down to whisper in your ear, "Would you some help with that?" You nodded again, turning your head to try and kiss him. "Yes please, Luc." That set a light inside of him as he picked up your spiked drink, pulling your head back a little. Moving the glass up to your lips, you parted them just enough to latch onto the glass, drinking it thirstily as he tilted the glass further and further, right till the very last drop.

As the wine went down your throat, you felt a sudden jolt of pleasure, moaning into Diluc's arms as he picked you up. It was as if any touch had you off the rails. As Diluc carried you up the steps to the third floor of the tavern, you peppered little kisses and nips all over his neck and cheek. "Where are we going..?" You breathed into his neck as he pushed the top floor door open with his hip.

Diluc placed you down carefully on the guest room bed, then stood back to admire the blank canvas in front of him. How beautiful you were lying there, moaning as you grabbed onto the bedsheets, a hungry expression on your face.

"Diluc, come here," you called out, shaking him out of his trance. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself on top of you, pinning you down. "Yes, my dear?" He cooed, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on the corner of your lips. You in turn grabbed his collar a bit harsher than you meant to, staring straight into his moonlit eyes. "Fuck me, Diluc." You whispered just close enough for him to hear. "I need it. Please fuck me.." You trailed off, feeling him start to trail his mouth down your neck.

"As you wish," He smirked slightly, unbuttoning your shirt one by one. "You really want it that badly, darling?" You nodded your head vigorously in return, threading your hands in his red locks. "I need you Dilu-" You were cut off by the man biting your hard nipple. Moans escaped your mouth in a steady flow as he licked and sucked it, playing with the other in his hand. "M-More please!!" You cried as the spike really started to set in, causing an unsatiable fire inside of you.

"You're so greedy, you know that?" Diluc growled, pinching your nipple with his hot fingers, it felt like a zap in your system. "I did this to you and no one else," He continued as he bit at you more and more. "By the end of tonight, the only thing that'll still be in your mind is me.." Only half of it registered in your mind, but the sound of his low voice vibrating through your system is all you needed to remember.

"Repeat it, my love.." He raised his face to be inches away from you, slowly reaching his hand down your unbuttoned pants, "Only I can make you feel this way." He toyed his finger at your entrance as you gathered the words in your mind.

"Only you can make me-"

He shoved his fingers inside you deep in, finishing your sentence with a scream. "D-Diluc-!" You huffed out as he started pushing in and out fast, curling at your g-spot. "More! More-" You yelped, bucking your hips, pushing his fingers in further. "Oh you want more?" He licked your jaw, sucking at the rainwater still left over. "Almost.. There-" You prepared to have the orgasm of a lifetime but was stopped short by Diluc pulling his fingers out.

You whimpered as he raised himself back up to your level. You were so cute laying there quivering, he thought. "What do you desire, y/n?" He inquired, toying with your wet hair strands, your face now a mix of rainwater, sweat, and tears of joy. "Give it to me, DIluc," You pushed his head down, craving that sweet release that was stripped from you.

He scoffed at your selfishness as he pulled down you pants and underwear, as if he didn't do this to you. He'll make you understand the manners you need to use for him. His tongue slit against your throbbing clit, sending you back on the ride. as he dined on your clit, his hand found its way back to your sopping entrance, continuing the pace he was going at before.

Your sight was blurry as you looked down, all you could see was the shape of Diluc. Him and the stars that filled your vision. You've never felt like this before, each lick and suck he did felt like its own orgasm. Diluc's doing this. Diluc's the one making you feel like this. Only he can make you feel this way. The words he put in your mind were the only words left at all as he took your brain away piece by piece, he was all that was left.

"Diluc.. Diluc.. Diluc!!" You screamed as you got pushed to the very edge. Suddenly, as if he could tell you were about to fully become his, he pulled himself away again. Tears rolled down your pretty cheeks as you brought your hand down, needing to finish yourself but to no avail. "Tsk," He sat himself up, giving you his fingers to suck off.

"I'm afraid only I can make you cum, my dear.." He peeled your hand away from your clit, and you moaned in defiance, at least as much as you could with his fingers in your mouth. "But you made a vital mistake," He took his fingers out, trailing them gently down your waist. "You didn't say please."

"P-Please Diluc.." You choked out, taking extra time to remember the word please, all you could think of is Diluc. "There you go! Was it that hard?" He tucked your disheveled hair behind your ear as he unbuckled his pants, taking the pants and shirt off. "Now you'll get what you deserve, my love." You pulled his underwear down in a frenzy, positioning his hard cock right at your entrance to take the work off his hands. "Oh how kind you are, y/n, positioning my own cock for me." He smiled a rare gleam as he pushed himself into you, finally getting to moan.

"You're s-so beautiful, so perfect," He complimented you for every deep thrust he blessed you with, "And you're mine." He growled the last one as he sped up his pace. Your head lolled back and all you could see is red in your vision. Not that you were to notice, but all you've been doing is chanting his name as you bounced from his thrusts.

"You come when I come," he pushes the words out with great effort as his pushes got shakier. Your legs were already shaking violently from being edged like you had, and you nodded your head as best as you could. "Ready?" He called out as he thrusted the deepest he could go.

"3... 2... 1..." He came with a loud groan right in your ear as you cried out his name, clawing at his back to get as close as possible. He filled you up to the very brim, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he slowly thrusted, coming down from his high.

Your eyes stayed close as he took himself out, resting on top of you with his hands in your hair.

"I love you darling.." He whispered as he pulled the covers over the two of you, but to silent ears. "Y/n..?" He lifted himself slightly to get a better view of you. There was no way you were going to have any senses for a good day at least. He sighed into a smile, and cuddled up close.

#diluc smut #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #genshin smut #genshin lemon #diluc #genshin imagines #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact

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godwrecks · 4 years ago

Note

um.. can i req for kuroo just being so mean to his girlfriend with a huge size kink on top? i just love the idea of him deliberately being mean bcs he likes seeing his baby cry for him then immediately change to a loving bf after that 🙈

Mean Dom! Kuroo - Too Dumb

word count: 1.7k

tags: dacryphilia; heavy degradation; daddy kink; dom! kuroo; mean kuroo tbh; size kink; throat fucking; some aftercare (?).

Always in a world of incessant business and black suits, you should have guessed Kuroo would need release somewhere else. Yet out of all things he could enjoy, out of everything that could be his if he just wished it to be, you turned out to be the subject of his adoration. He absolutely worshipped you - showered you with gifts and praise so much so that you would never doubt yourself or his love for you. And considering the way his eyes shone with tenderness whenever you were around, you never did. Not usually, at least.

But right now, when he was so deep inside you yet his face branded utter boredom, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your chest. You had struggled against his almost suffocating embrace, writhing like a prey facing death, when he ripped your panties aside and aligned himself along your folds. There had been a few protests, yet his dark gaze was enough to silence you.

“Tetsu,” you cried out, clinging onto his shoulders for leverage when he finally directed his eyes towards you.

“You fucking done yet, princess? You’ve had me waiting here for a while now,” Kuroo grunted, lowering himself down to his elbows and pushing a hand down against your abdomen. He was well aware of how much bigger he was in comparison to you. “Been inside you so many times, baby, and you still need fucking time to adjust?” He chuckled cruelly, his mocks only making your walls tighten around him. It wasn’t your fault - you wailed it wasn’t. Taking his long, girthy cock now was no easier now than it was before. No matter how many times you did it, he always managed to stretch you out until he made you his, turning the disastrous burn into pure ecstacy. Each and every time.

“I- I’m okay now, ‘s just too big…” Your whisper was borderline inaudible as he began thrusting inside you, setting a merciless pace that knocked the air off your lungs every time he bottomed out.

“You sound like a dumb whore the way you’re talking. Daddy’s cock, is that what you meant?” To your terror, he sat up on his knees, lifting up your thighs against you to gain more speed. Your back arched with moans as he rammed into you harshly, forcing you to take his full length with every buckle of his hips. “Fucking answer me, are you that hopeless of a case?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s what I meant. Daddy’s-” Cut off by a scream, your sentence got lost in a sea of heavy breaths. The low growls he emitted by your ear, coupled with the twitching and swelling of his cock inside you was nauseating. Sickeningly perverted.

Wrapping a large hand around your throat, you gasped for air while Kuroo gazed down at you with a sinister smile, zeroing in on the tears welling up. The bruising force of his hips clashing against yours was enough for you to hold his wrist in a desperate plea, begging for a breath of air as he kept tightening his hold.

“T-testu!” The raw panic ringing in his ears instantly tore his hands away from your neck, but the lifted corners of his mouth were unmovable as he pulled out all the way, just to slowly sink in back to you.

Your back pathetically arched into his touch, clit rubbing just right against the smooth skin of his defined abdomen. The way he looked down at you as if you were nothing but a used toy he’d throw away soon had your hand pushing against his chest, attempting to slow the reckless grinding of his hips.

“What now?” His eyes were so cold, only letting the slightly feral tone underneath the ice flicker through.

“Slow down, please, it hurts.” Contradicting your plea, you let it out a shameful moan when his thumb began circling the swollen bud. Oh, it was so clear he enjoyed watching you unravel under him, as if you were a little porcelain doll - the favorite in his collection.

“Princess, I don’t think I ever stated you have a fucking say,” he rolled his eyes, and the carelessness with which he threw you around in the bed - bringing you up to your knees on the edge of the bed while he stood - left an unfamiliar distaste reverberating through your system.

With another hand gripping your shoulder to keep you in place, he pried your mouth open slowly, savoring the crimson of your lips. His digits sensually pushed against your tongue, to which you responded by swirling your tongue around them. The hand previously restraining you lowered down to his cock, where he began pumping his fist up and down. Precum quickly began pooling from his tip and without realizing, your tongue had surely stuck out, ready for him to use your mouth.

At least that’s what you thought, but the moment he fisted your hair and forced you down his length, you knew it would be too much. You tried to relax your mouth, but his cock twitching inside your mouth made you choke even more. You couldn’t breathe, you only ogled up at him with tears that threatened to fall at any moment, hoping maybe he’d have some mercy. “You said you'd take it so why are you struggling, huh? Do you not want to?” He finally let go of you, and as much as you tried to compensate for the air your lungs were begging for, it was hard to even relish in the emptiness again when he sounded so damn disappointed.

“No! It’s not that, daddy, I just can’t fit you inside my mouth, it hurts,” you uttered the words as your arms wrapped around his legs, bringing him closer until his length was raised taut against your cheek.

“So everything hurts now for you,” the laugh that echoed off was strange, condemning. His cringe at the sight made your heart tremble. “I’m taking the time to train your useless little throat and this is how you behave? You should be fucking thankful, or would you rather I use my secretary’s?” You tried to listen for any sign of hesitance or teasing in his tone, but it was cold steel you heard. Shaking your head swiftly, your bottom lip quivered as his tip set against your mouth once again.

“So then why, baby? Why are you acting like such a stupid slut, as if you haven’t learned anything?” Using your throat as nothing more than a cock sleeve, he thrusted into your mouth continuously, ignoring all signs of your struggle. “You’re too dumb to remember, is that it? Maybe it’s time I throw you away and find someone new to play with.” Those were the words you lost it at, when the tears began cascading down your cheeks. Even as you sobbed, even as the oxygen barely managed to reach your blood and dizzied you, you kept him inside your mouth. Wishing - clinging to the hope that you could satisfy him again like you used to. But just as your spotted vision started going black, you were suddenly pulled up into his embrace, his arms holding you tightly against him. No, not like the claustrophobic hold he had on you earlier, but with that warm strength you were always met with when you needed it.

“I got you, pretty girl. C’mon, look at me,” Kuroo’s words were once again dripping with honey, his index finger lifting up your chin so your teary eyes could lock with his. “So fucking pretty when you cry, you know that right? Know how much I love you?” His charming smile was like a lullaby, easily dissipating every concern you had.

“Keep crying for me, angel, yeah? Wanna see those pretty tears when I make you cum.” Those words were the last you registered before he sat down and pulled you onto his lap, easily slipping inside you with how much you had been dripping onto the sheets.

Though you hadn’t come before, every thrust was worse than the previous. You were so sensitive you could feel absolutely everything - every vein and pulsing of his cock, every place where you clamped down on him, every brush of your hardened nipples against his firm chest.

“Tetsu, it feels so good! Feels so good, I’m gonna cum,” you sobbed on his shoulder, bouncing on his lap each time he plunged into you.

“Go on, princess. Cum with me, make daddy proud.”

With a kiss to your dampened cheek, his rhythm increased enough to send you both into your high. For a moment, you felt awfully aware of your surroundings, your heavy pants and the lewd sound of naked skin slapping against another. It was like the calm before a storm, right when your orgasm rushed in and cascaded over you, milking every last drop of the creamy liquid from Kuroo without even noticing.

You still trembled weakly from the pleasure when you felt Kuroo’s fingers draw circles on your stomach. It was then, when you looked down, that you discovered you were trying to keep in every bit of his seed inside you, unwilling to let any pour outside.

“Look at that bulge, too full with my cum, huh? You always do so fucking good for me,” Kuroo grunted with a smirk, the sweat on his forehead glistening with every labored breath.

“I love you,” you looked at him with furrowed brows and a pout, still unable to shake away the words from before.

He smiled briefly, wiping away the tears before cupping your cheeks and bringing you closer. “I love you so fucking much. Never forget that, okay? No matter what I say when I’m like that, you’re the only one for me. Only girl I wanna spend my life with, and only girl I want to absolutely fucking ruin every night.” His lips ghosted above yours with the whisper, merely brushing against yours with every spoken word. “Got that?” A brow lifted up with the question, seeking for the confirmation he needed to hear.

“Got that,” you smiled, taking the reins and lunging forward for a kiss.

my dumbass literally forgot abt the size kink?? i’m so sorry, i tried to go back & include it but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. thank u for the request!

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demonicheadcanons · 4 years ago

Text

The Obey Me Brothers Reaction to MC Breaking Down Over Schoolwork

(Initial ask contains an ableist slur and so cannot be posted. Please, in future, refrain from using slurs in any asks sent in!! It has since been added to my rules and I will straight up delete asks with slurs in them. Thank you <3)

AN: Apologies for taking so long to get to this one, its been in my inbox for a while. I’m sorry you were feeling that way, its really difficult getting adjusted to everything again, I work in a school and a lot of the students and teachers alike are definitely really struggling. Best wishes <3

I think I’m usually okay at not letting slip that Levi is my favourite boy, but you can tell here ;u; Sorry

Lucifer

He realises all too late that things are probably tough. Initially Lucifer is distant, and whilst he notices how tired you look sometimes at RAD, he decides to ignore it - you were probably distressed because you had been pulled into the Devildom out of nowhere, you’d just have to adapt because nothing else could be done. In his mind it was pointless worrying about it.

However, as he begins to pay more and more attention to you, he realises its more than that. You frown in class, your grades jump around and you don’t leave your room regularly, probably too busy focusing on studying. The few times you’ve accepted his offer of help, you seem to be on edge.

He decides one night to check in on you, and he hears a harsh thud from a few paces down the hall. He throws the door open without knocking, convincing himself that he was just worried you might be hurt because they needed you for the exchange programme and it would be a pain replacing you now, months into the whole endeavour.

You whirl around, arm still raised, your grip tight on your textbook. He looks about and sees other books scattered about, the room a mess.

Lucifer makes a low growling noise in the back of his throat, raising a hand to press against his temples before he freezes, finally taking in the look on your face. Your eyes are wide, having been essentially caught by the one person you really, really wouldn’t want to see you right now. You lower your arm slowly as he approaches, taking your face in his hands before you can duck away from him.

His tone and expression are impossible to place as he silently examines you, gloved hands wiping across your cheeks to get rid of any traces of your tears. You don’t have the time to process any of it before he pulls you against his chest, wrapping his arms carefully around your shoulders.

Lucifer is silent, almost eerily so, and he holds you there without moving until you either push him away or until you stop sniffling and drop the book. Even when he does speak again, he’s quiet, deep in thought as he looks around the room and tells you simply to head over to his - he’ll bring you something to eat shortly, get some rest in the meantime. You mumble something about a test, and he waves a hand. He’ll bring the textbook, its fine, go rest.

It takes him a half hour to get to his room, carrying a tray with some tea and snacks. Your textbook is tucked under one arm, and he gently invites you to eat before he starts talking things out. He asks if classes are too difficult, asks if there’s anything in particular you’re struggling with. He makes a lot of offers - Luci is a busy guy, but he can free up a time slot if you want to study with him, or he can get you a tutor, or you can simply text him your concerns and he’ll respond as soon as he’s available. His advice is simple and realistic.

Once you’re done eating and drinking, he opens the textbook and goes over the things that are most likely to be on the test. He gives tips, explains the things that confuse you in a clear and concise manner. He’s a good teacher, and he’s a lot more patient than you’ve seen him before.

Overall, Lucifer is a quiet comfort, but a determined one. He works to make things easier for you in the background, marking out important parts of the textbook so you know what to focus on, and offering a hand whenever you need it. Also, when you get back to your room later, your books are neatly organised on your desk.

[Other brothers under the read more]

Mammon

Mammon randomly pops into your room quite often, making excuses about how he’s absolutely entitled to because he’s in charge of taking care of you. On this particular evening, you have absolutely no warning as per usual and he doesn’t bother knocking, because this boy only has good manners when it benefits him.

He freezes instantly, and he’s over to you in a second before you can throw whatever’s in your hand. His grip is careful but tight on your wrist and he squeezes until you let it go, tossing whatever it was onto your bed without looking and wrapping you up in his arms. You might feel trapped for a second, but he has this fear that you’re Going To Get Hurt and so he just holds onto you until you settle and start sobbing against his chest. (Mammon is panicking too much to think about it, and he’ll definitely apologise after and try not to do it again if he scared you.)

He pulls you over to the bed and sits you down, a hand smoothing through your hair. His grip remains on you at all times, and you can feel his hands shaking when he asks what’s wrong, MC? Did something happen?

Mammon listens carefully, swallowing and smoothing a hand over your hair when you tell him its because the work here is just too damn hard and you can’t do it, you can’t, you can’t remember all the dates for the history or recall the right Latin to say for this one course and its not like it matters anyway because you’re human, why would you need this?

He mumbles back “I know, I know,” and runs his hands down your arms, back, along your hair. Wherever he can to comfort you, wherever makes your breathing slow back to a normal pace and takes away the hiccups left from sobbing. He doesn’t force you to look at him, almost doesn’t want you to as he bites back sniffles and sobs and wipes his face against his sleeve because crying right now won’t fix anything for you.

When you’re both calmer again, he starts rambling about something or other to take your mind off it. Mammon isn’t one to offer any immediate solutions, and rather tries to distract you with stories until you fall asleep and he can lay you down and march straight to Lucifer and demand he talk to Diavolo about this, as fearless as if he were defending Belphie or Levi for accidentally breaking something.

You’re assigned a tutor, and have tutoring sessions with each of the brothers for things they’re good at, with Lucifer and Satan covering any areas the others don’t particularly excel in. Mammon himself helps you with maths, and although he isn’t always the best at explaining it, his presence along is comforting and helps makes working through a little easier, and he’s good for taking your mind away from any stress so that you can focus without worry holding you back.

Leviathan

He had just wanted to get something back that he loaned you, a book or DVD. He can’t remember what it was the second he hears a crash and throws open your door, and finds you in a ball on the floor, the room a mess around you. You don’t even look up as the door opens, and the two of you stay in place for a few moments.

Levi doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know where to start, but he can do one thing. Quietly and carefully, he tiptoes around your room and starts putting things back where they belong. He tidies your desk, faintly organises whatever notes he finds by subject and piles them up together. He doesn’t touch you, because he’s worried you wouldn’t want him to right now, that he might scare you, and so he just tidies until the room looks a little more normal again.

When you finally look up, he’s sitting a few feet in front of you, headphones on as he stares at his D.D.D., either playing a game or watching a video or scrolling through Wikis as he waits patiently for you to start the conversation or ask for whatever comforts you need. You move over to sit beside him, and he blushes but takes off his headphones and holds an arm out so you can rest against his shoulder.

He lets you watch whatever is on his phone for a beat before asking in a hushed voice if you need anything, if something was wrong, or if someone (maybe him?) upset you. When you tell him it’s about schoolwork, he sighs and pulls you closer without thinking about it. He hands you his D.D.D. and puts his headphones on you, tells you to stay there for a bit and keep watching until he gets back.

Levi returns a few minutes later with Satan in tow, each of them carrying a bag with their own textbooks in them. Levi kneels down to take back his D.D.D. and headphones and to help you up, and tells you you’re all going to start studying together in the library. If you’d be okay with it, he means... he could use the help too, and maybe it wouldn’t feel so bad if you were there. Not for any reason in particular!

Study sessions are added to your schedule after that. Even on days where Satan is off doing something else, Levi will tutor you on whatever he finds easiest - usually history, and oftentimes its history involving the navy. His shyness melts away into confidence as he talks about all the things he’s done, about how he was appointed head thousands of years ago and he thinks he’s yet to let Diavolo down.

After study sessions you go and get a drink together, something like bubble tea or smoothies or whatever, and then play games together to relax and let the info sink in instead of obsessing over it. If you ever start to get stressed out again, Levi gently puts his headphones on you and the two of you wait it out together, and he smiles at you every time you take the headphones off and take a deep breath, ready to keep working. He’s proud.

Satan

Satan is observant enough to notice ahead of time that something is about to happen. You seem horribly stressed and unfocused in your classes one day in particular, and he decides to stop by your room the second he gets home to find out what was wrong.

He knocks and waits for a while, but you don’t answer, and he was sure he heard noise before but now your room is deathly silent. He carefully creaks the door open a bit to call in and see if you’re there, and hears paper crumpling against the door. Deciding to investigate, he opens it a little more and slides in through the gap.

The room is a mess of books and paper and pillows, and you’re at your desk, hands clamped hard over your ears. You’re making some kind of whimpering noise every now and then, and Satan starts to piece things together as he gathers up books in one arm and smooths out paper. He taps you on the back before moving back a pace or two, just in case.

You freeze before turning around to look at him, seeming almost guilty, and he doesn’t really get why you’d feel that way but he holds up your books and clears his throat. “Do you want some help?”

Satan is more practical than emotional and, whilst he isn’t sure what kind of comfort he can offer you right now, he knows he can help with the work, help make it easier. He pulls a chair over beside you, motioning for you to scoot over, and leans against you as he opens the first book and asks where you were struggling. He keeps a constant connection between the two of you, either has his leg against yours or his entire side against you so that you know he’s there, so that you’re permanently aware of his presence.

He doesn’t look at you too often, not when you can see him do it. Even then, there’s no judgement in his gaze, just his brows furrowing slightly out of concern until your breathing in alright and you start to smile in little bursts again. He smiles then as well, scribbling down some notes for you.

After that, Satan regularly pulls you aside after class and asks if you want to come out with him to a cafe or to the library, or he’ll call you to his room in the house and ask if you’ll let him teach you this set of notes so that he can remember it better. He’s subtle, never really brings up what happened and never asks you about it because he’s already got it all figured out in his mind. Instead, he just works on moving on from it and making sure it doesn’t happen again, and if it does, he’ll be ready to be there for you again.

Asmodeus

Asmo had decided to visit your room because you weren’t responding to his messages asking if you wanted to go out shopping with him. Majolish had new season wear and he absolutely needed to go get first pickings at it, and he wanted you there by his side.

He knocks but opens your door immediately after anyway, not giving you time to do much more than turn to face the door, bringing the pillow you were about to throw up over your face instead so he can’t read too much of your expression. He sees the tears, anyway, and without thinking walks over to you and holds your face in his hands.

His voice is laced with concern as he asks what’s wrong, and he immediately looks like he’s going to cry as well, but he just did his makeup and he’s not going to risk ruining it right now. Instead he moves over to the bed and pulls you down onto his lap, holding you tight against his chest. He keeps asking, every few moments, if something was wrong and if there’s anything he can do, and his eyes dart around the room to try to piece it all together. Your books were still out on your desk, pillows a mess around the room, and you... You were curled up against him, shaking and choking down sobs.

Asmo pouts and holds you in silence until you calm down and start talking to him, start telling him what was wrong, what subject you’d been struggling with over the past hour and you were still stuck on the same damn page and not making any progress and the test was only a few days away and everyone was expecting so much from you, you who never even asked to be here. Obviously you weren’t good enough for this, obviously they should’ve chosen someone better-

Asmo cuts you off there, pushes against your shoulders until he can see your expression and cup your face in his hands. He’s not having you put yourself down because you’re struggling with work that the centuries-old demons also had a hard time with, not on his watch, and he tells you just as much. When he’s done half-scolding you, his expression softens and he offers whatever help he can. He’s sure he can rope Satan or Lucifer into helping out, and if not he can charm the examiners into giving you a better score... he keeps going until some of his silly advice gets you to snort out a little laugh, and then he relaxes.

He lays back and pulls you down with him, sighing as he instructs you to take a nap, and then after you two can go out shopping and you’ll figure everything out as you strip Majolish bare of its new wonderful outfits. And Asmo keeps to his word. As you’re trying things on he talks through the stall walls, proposing different ideas to you whilst simultaneously boosting your confidence as he compliments you and finds the perfect outfits for you.

Asmo makes it clear that if ever you should need a distraction, just give him a call - there’s always something better to do than reading over textbooks, and he’ll throw in study sessions so long as you’re there to spend time with him. Anything to make you feel better.

Beelzebub

Beel was in the kitchen, clearing out the fridge as usual when he heard a muffled thud against the wall. He pauses, turning to look in that direction, and realises that its the wall attached to your room.

He’s outside your door in no time, and taps nervously against it with his fingertips before opening the door slightly and calling in to ask if you were okay, and could he come in please? He hesitates when you don’t respond, but decides to head in anyway, because you might be hurt and any embarrassments he’s sure the two of you could live with, but with an injury there was no guarantee, not for a human.

There are books everywhere, the room as messy as he’s ever seen it, and you’re... nowhere to be seen. Not until he hears a sniffle and rounds the corner into the dining room section, and finds you curled up in a ball against the wall, face against your knees. He’s quick to back away, worried that he’ll upset you more, but then Beel kneels down a few paces in front of you and leans forward to tap your arm.

You flinch and look up immediately, pulling your knees closer to your chest until you realise its him, and then you just look guilty. Beel’s chest hurts, he feels horrible - what happened to make you feel like this? Could he help, or should he go get someone else? He asks just as much, voice somewhat broken over the questions as he hesitates. He doesn’t get this anxious often, but right now you remind him of Belphie a few thousand years ago, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

He pushes the thought away and slides closer, sitting against the wall beside you. His presence might not help, and he waits for you to tell him to leave, but after a while you press against his side and he opens his arms to you and holds you as tight as he can until you feel a little bit okay again. And then he asks, again, what’s wrong, and he waits for you to tell him, shaking but as patient as can be. You open up to him slowly, and he listens.

Beel doesn’t know how to help, doesn’t think he’d be a good tutor for you, doesn’t know how to relieve the stress really. But, he promises his arms are always there if you want a warm hug, and... he is sure that there is some resolution to be found, but for now you should just do your best and that’s all anyone could expect from you, and if anyone doesn’t like that then... he’ll be your bodyguard, ready to defend you at any moment. He was good at that, sometimes.

Beel smiles at you and gives you the warmest smile he can manage before tucking your head back against his shoulder or chest. He tells you to rest for a little while, and then you can try working again later. Whilst you’re asleep, he pulls out his D.D.D. and messages Belphie asking for advice, and then Lucifer. By the time you wake up, he’s got a few tips from the brothers and a tutoring timetable is being organised by Lucifer for the two of you, so that you wouldn’t be alone.

Belphegor

Belphie doesn’t know why he was on his way to your room, and he stops thinking about it the second he throws the door open and sees you crying. He’s too tired to put the pieces together as he looks around, too tired to really take in the room, but he’s on high alert when he runs over and wraps you in his arms, looking around properly to see if anyone was there, if anyone had hurt you.

You can hear him growling in the back of his throat until he slowly relaxes, shoulders lowering as he takes in how messy your room is. It must’ve been you, he decides, holding you closer to him. A demon would’ve left this place in a horrible state. But nothing was torn, just scattered around.

He’s more awake when he pulls you over to the bed and immediately lays down with you on his chest. He doesn’t get what’s wrong yet, but he’ll figure it out. He wills his powers, his sin’s influence, over you until you’re drowsy and fall asleep, still sniffling occasionally, and then he starts to work things out.

By the time you wake up, Belphie apologises for how disorientated you might feel. He probably should’ve talked to you first before making you fall asleep. He smiles sheepishly at you, but the concern in his eyes is only thinly veiled, and you can see through to it.

“So, school, huh?” he asks, lopsided smile almost teasing. He wants to make you smile, or laugh if he’s lucky. Instead you make a frustrated noise and press your face into his chest again, and he pats your head to comfort you. You hear him swallow before he pushes against your shoulders to get you to look at him again.

He’s not hiding so much when he asks what’s wrong, and he listens as you stumble through an explanation before sighing and asking if you want to take another nap. He grins when you glare at him, before adjusting you both so you’re sitting up again. “Let’s get to work, then. What subject is first?”

Belphie isn’t the best at a lot of the work, and he’s missed a lot of classes, but he’s a decent help and he keeps your stress down by cracking jokes and patting your head when you do well. He’s a comforting presence, and if you get overwhelmed again he leans his elbows against the desk, head in hands, and suggests you take another nap with him because he could really use one right now. He laughs when you swat at him and tell him to focus, and then looks at you and tells you that you can come to him if you need help, anytime. Don’t wake him up if he’s deep asleep, though - get Mammon or someone stupid to do that, he jokes, just in case he lashes out.

In future, Belphie will tap on your door when he knows you’re studying and, although he often falls asleep at your desk or just immediately heads over to your bed to nap, he gives off a comforting aura that makes the work a bit bearable for longer.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #fluff #breakdown mention #ask to tag #food mention #no beta reading as usual #time to queue #school

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actuallysaiyan · 4 years ago

Note

Kiba nsfw alphabet!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Kiba is a little tired after sex, but he’s going to make sure you’re okay and not too thirsty or anything before he passes out. He’s just expended a lot of energy and he needs to rest before he can do anything else. He loves you lots, though.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kiba probably likes his face the best. He knows he’s good looking, and he thinks it attracts everyone. So his good looks are a key component to who he is. Besides that, he doesn’t have a favorite.

On you, it’s gotta be your ass. He loves rutting against your ass when he’s feeling really horny. He loves spanking you when you’re being a brat and he loves to grab it when you bend down.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Kiba is messy when he cums. He loves painting you with his seed, so he prefers giving you ‘facials’ and cumming all over your ass and tits. Like most men, he will enjoy cumming deep inside of you whenever he gets the chance.

Kiba enjoys making you cum a lot. He’s big on overstimulation cause it’s just so sexy to see and hear you whine and beg for him to stop stimulating you. He’s a little overly eager about it, but trust me, he’s going to make up for it by being sweet and soft afterwards.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kiba stole a pair of your underwear one time, and he uses it to masturbate from time to time. He’s not proud of it, but it really helps him go over the edge. He’ll just use it any way he can, and sometimes he sniffs it while jerking himself off.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh boy, Kiba is not experienced. He’s eager and energetic, but he needs to be taught a few things before you could say he was good at sex. That’s fine, not everyone is a pro at it from the beginning. Sometimes, you need to learn and you were very happy to show Kiba how to please you. Ever since then, he’s been getting progressively better.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Kiba loves doggy style. This is most definitely a given, but it just makes him snap. He needs to be raw and feral with you, and he loves being a little dominant. He’ll fuck you roughly, and he’ll shove your face into the pillow as he slams himself in and out of you. He just loves the way he can pull your hair in this position...and how deep his cock reaches inside of you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Kiba is super goofy. He loves to make sexual jokes and say degrading things, but it’s all in good fun. It’s very much in the moment sometimes, and he’ll call you pet names too. He just loves how fun sex is, and if you can handle his demeanor, he’ll be very happy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Kiba is very hairy down below. He’ll keep it clean trimmed, but sometimes it gets wild. He likes being au natural, and if you don’t mind, he’d like it if you were willing to do the same. The carpet matches the drapes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Kiba is rough and raw, and he can be dominating sometimes. He’s not the most romantic, but when he’s feeling needy and vulnerable, he’ll fuck you nice and slow. He can be sensual, but it just drives him crazy how badly he needs you. He loves fucking fast and hard, it’s just his prefered way.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Kiba masturbates a healthy amount. If you aren’t around to help him, he’s going to jack off and he’s got some toys to help him get there. If he’s got a nice moment alone, rest assured he’s taking care of his little problem. This is when your panties come into play ;)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Kiba has a few kinks. He loves to be dominant, and he adores collaring and leading you around with a leash. He’s also into spanking and biting, and he loves marking you so that people will know you belong to him. He loves lingerie, specifically g-string and thongs so he can see your ass better that way. He’s into exhibition as well, as he doesn’t care about getting caught fucking.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Kiba is into doing it anywhere. He is not fussy. He’ll get caught and be okay with it too. He’s proud of showing off how good he can fuck you. He likes it at home on the floor where you can get a carpet burn. He loves it on the bed, so he can fuck you so hard. He loves it in the forest where you can scream so loud and nobody will be able to hear you...or maybe they will.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You just need to bat your eyelashes, rub his inner thigh and bite your lower lip. It doesn’t take much for Kiba to get super turned on. If you want to turn him on even more, just wear a short skirt and a low cut top and he knows you’re interested in doing something sexual with him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Despite spending time with Akamaru all the time and they’ve got that one move with the dog piss...Kiba isn’t into urine play whatsoever. He doesn’t do scat either. Anything else, he’s going to run it by you and see if you like it before he does anything. He wants you to have fun too.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He absolutely loves blow jobs. Get on your knees with your pretty little collar on, and he’s going to be weak. He’ll use the leash to guide your mouth in the way that he needs when he face fucks you. He’s big on face fucking you.

He also loves going down on you. He’s sloppy and clumsy, but it feels really good. He uses his fingers a lot to stimulate your g-spot and that gets you over the edge so quickly.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Kiba is almost exclusively fast and rough. He loves fucking you hard and making you cry out and squirt all over him. He needs it fast and rough to make himself cum too. It’s just his prefered pace, and he has very high energy. Sometimes, he’ll be needy and fuck you so slowly...

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He loves quickies. They are fun, quick and messy. If you come up to him and ask him to fuck you while he’s busy doing something, he’s going to bring you somewhere semi-private and go right to fucking you. He likes them a lot.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Kiba is a huge risk taker. He loves to experiment as much as he can as long as you are open to it as well. He doesn’t care if he gets caught fucking you either. He has a bit of an exhibitionist kink, but he doesn’t want to expose you to it unless you are into it as much as he is.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Kiba usually cums pretty quickly, but he has a very short refractory period. He can do many rounds, but they can be short. That’s why he loves eating you out and making you cum over and over again before he starts to fuck you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Kiba has a ton of toys! He has collars, handcuffs, vibrators, whips, crops, fleshlights...he enjoys pushing your limits with his toys if you allow him too. He’s big on having his cock teased with a vibrator as well, and that’ll make him cum so damn hard.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves teasing! The way you look when you’re so desperate to cum and the pathetic little noises you make when you whine and plead, it really drives him crazy. It makes his cock so damn hard when you beg him to let you cum. It makes him want to edge you even more.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Kiba is very loud. He’s grunting and groaning and praising you or calling you pet names. If you blow him, he’s crying out and panting and whining. It’s a big thing for him to have you suck his cock. When he cums, he growls almost. It’s very loud.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Kiba is quite jealous of a lover, but he wouldn’t be against having a threesome with you and another person if you were interested. He wants to fuck another person with you helping. He just wants to make that person cum hard with the help of his lover. It’s something that turns him on a lot.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Kiba has a well-toned body, and his cock is pretty damn thick. It’s about 6 and a half inches, and it has no curves. It’s thick though and has some nice veins that rub up against your walls very nicely.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Kiba is very horny, and his sex drive is very high. He needs to pace himself with you sometimes otherwise he’s going to fuck you for hours and just won’t stop himself. He needs to prioritize before getting into sex sometimes, but those thoughts are thrown out the window and he just starts fucking you even if he needs to be doing something else.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Kiba is very quick to fall asleep. He’s expended so much energy and he needs to rest. His eyes are basically closing on their own as he asks you if you need anything after sex, but you just cuddle up against him.

#writing #reader requested #anon requested #kiba inuzuka #kiba inuzuka x you #kiba inuzuka x reader #kiba inuzuka x y/n #kiba inuzuka spicy alphabet #spicy alphabet #kiba inuzuka smut #kiba inuzka lemon #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto imagine

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ssahotchhner · 4 years ago

Text

i’ll crawl home to her (LRPD part two)

PART ONE

hello again! thank u all again for paying attention to my first work! this has been a lot of fun for me to write the last few days. please feel free to send me any requests. if anyone was curious, the title of the first part was the title of a song by hozier, the title of this part is taken from another hozier song: work song (: i hope you guys like it and thank you again for reading!! pairing: hotch x reader

words: 7k

warnings: again, usual cm stuff, rape mention, kidnapping, knives, guns, bombs, cursing, some smut

chat with me!

You’ve been laying on your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling for hours. You thought you’d be sad, upset with yourself, but instead you’re angry. After you’d been stewing in it for a while, you stand and leave your room, ignoring the digital clock at your bedside that tries to remind you it’s nearly 2AM.

You storm all the way down the hallway until you’re outside Aaron’s door, knocking aggressively with no reprieve until the door opens. You ignore the feeling in your stomach at seeing him shirtless with pajama bottoms hanging low at his hips, his hair mussed from sleep. You feel a pang of guilt at waking him. You storm past him before he can invite you inside.

“Take back the suspension, now.” You demand, spinning to face him.

He slowly closes the door, “Agent, it’s 2AM. Have you slept?” He looks you over, answering his own question, “You haven’t slept in over 48 hours, we can talk about this in the morning.”

“Why are you punishing me for something I didn’t do?” Angry tears entered your eyes.

Hotch looks exhausted as he pulls a shirt over his head and sits on the edge of the bed, “I’m not punishing you--”

“Well it sure feels that way. What, you couldn’t stand to be around me, working with me anymore because of the other night so this is how you get rid of me?” The tears overflow, pouring down your cheeks, “Is that it then?”

He shakes his head sadly, “You know that’s not true.”

“Then what?!”

He takes a breath, “I can’t have you working in the field right now knowing you lied during your psych eval and you know that. You put yourself and the team at risk when you’re out in the field, keeping things from all of us.” You start to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop you, “When we get back, you can go through another evaluation without lying. And then, if you pass, you can have your gun and badge back, no questions asked.” You’re quiet and he has to ask, “Why did you lie?” He can’t hide the hurt in his voice, “You could’ve told me.”

Your face crumples, “I lied because I didn’t want you to look at me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like a victim. Like damaged goods. Broken.”

He finally stands to come over to you, “I’ve never thought that, not for a single moment. I think you’re incredibly brave, stronger than you know.” He takes your face in his hands and gently tilts it up until you’re looking at him and brushes away your tears with the pads of his thumbs, “This doesn’t change any of that.”

You push him away and his arms fall to his sides again, “Then why do you keep treating me like an inconvenience?”

He decides now he should finally be honest with you, “Because the way I feel about you scares me, it’s inappropriate and I don’t know how to handle it. Haley’s the only woman I’ve ever been with, I don’t know how… I didn’t know if you even wanted me.”

You manage the smallest of smiles, “Thought you were supposed to be a profiler.”

He smirks and looks down, relieved that you’re finally, finally not upset with him, “I’m not good at profiling when it comes to you.”

“Well?” You ask and he looks back up at you again.

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

You smile, “If I want you.”

He smirks again, his brown eyes looking you up and down as he walks to you until he has you backed against a wall, “Do you want me?” He whispers in your ear, his breath against your skin sends chills down your spine.

You can only nod as he pulls back to look at your face and then his mouth is on yours. Soft and gentle at first, but then as his hands explore your body, his lips become needier, more insistent. You moan softly when he begins kissing and biting your neck, hands traveling lower until he’s rubbing you over your pants, “Is this okay?” He sounds so calm and in control, unlike the breathy mess he’s made you.

“Yes,” You say and bring his face back to yours.

He pulls away to look in your eyes, “I can stop, if you want.”

“No.” You say quickly, “Don’t stop.”

So he carries you to the bed, carefully removing your clothing as he kisses you all over. Soon, you’re both naked and he lays on his side, pulling away a bit as his eyes roam over you. “What’s the matter?” You say.

He shakes his head and runs his fingers along your shoulders, “Nothing, you’re perfect. I just want to look at you.”

You smile and run your hands down his chest, then back up to his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him. “We can go slow,” You murmur and then slide a hand between his legs as he nearly gasps, “If you want.” You pump him once, twice, and he’s practically growling at you, quickly flipping the two of you so he’s kneeling between your legs.

He slowly pushes himself inside you, burying his face in your neck. You feel his smile against your skin when you moan with pleasure at being filled up. He thrusts slow and gentle, his eyes locking on yours, half to make sure you’re still okay and half for his own pleasure. It’s bliss watching how your mouth parts open that little bit, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head. Everything you do drives him absolutely crazy. Watching you and hearing the sound of your moans that he had imagined so often when he was alone is what sent him over the edge, and just like that you think it’s over. But just moments after finishing, he slides out of you and whispers, “Your turn” before his face disappears between your legs.

All you can really think as his mouth makes quick work of you, digging his fingers into your thighs and sneaking glances at you, is how you’re ever going to be able to work with him again without thinking of this. It’s that sight, the sight of your boss, normally so dominant, submissive to you now as he lays between your thighs, has that knot in your stomach unraveling as your back arches.

Once you’ve ridden out your high, he climbs back up next to you. You both lie on your backs, out of breath next to each other. When you both catch your breath, Aaron immediately pulls you to him until most of your body rests on his chest. He presses a kiss to your forehead, “I can’t tell you how long I’ve thought about doing that.” He says.

You smile, “Me too.”

“Really?” You can tell from his tone you’ve fueled his already inflated ego.

“Yeah, Aaron, everytime you roll up your sleeves, or shoot a gun, or wear a bulletproof vest,” You let out a low whistle and he laughs. You smile again, “I’ve missed making you do that.”

You’re both quiet for a while and you would think he was sleeping if not for the way his fingers kept stroking your arm, “Aaron?” You say after a while.

“Hm?”

You hesitate, knowing that once you say this you can never go back. But, you spit it out, “I love you.”

His hand stills on your arm and the silence feels so loud, you can hear your own heartbeat, “You should get some sleep.”

You’re glad for the darkness so he can’t see the pain on your face, or notice the way your heart shatters. You have no right to be upset, you know this, and yet… You turn away from him and you feel the bed shift as he does the same. And once his breathing evens out, you dress and sneak out to head back to your hotel room. You think he’s asleep, but he’s not. He’s too busy beating himself up for not saying it back to you when he knows he feels it.

Quickly, you pack your suitcase all while brushing tears from your eyes. You book your own flight home, not able to bear the jet ride home. Not only had you been suspended, but you’d been so vulnerable with your boss and he had rejected you.

You send a quick text to JJ to let the team know you won’t be on the jet and ignore all the texts that follow asking you what’s going on. Aaron doesn’t bother contacting you. Why would he? He knows why you’re not here.

He’s quiet and resentful the entire plane ride back and everyone knows better than to ask him what was wrong.

***

When you get back to your apartment you immediately head for your bar cart, pouring a heavy amount of tequila over ice and chugging it back. You knew halfway through you would regret it, but you finished anyway. Then, you carefully locked your door and headed to the shower.

***

“Maybe we should go check on her.” Penelope was telling JJ and Emily two days later at the bullpen. “She’s still not answering her phone.”

Aaron feels incredible guilt overhearing this conversation. He had eventually tried to call you as well to no avail. He was starting to get worried, but he wasn’t sure if he should be the one to go. It would be better if the rest of them went.

“What happened with the two of you that night?” Rossi comes to stand next to Aaron.

“Nothing,” He lies, “She’s still upset about the suspension I suppose.”

“I know she went to talk to you that night, Hotch.” He adds at Aaron’s look, “She’s not the only one on this team with insomnia. She didn’t leave again for hours and then she bought her own plane ticket. What did you say to her?”

He sighs, “It’s not so much what I said, but what I didn’t say.”

***

There’s a knocking at your door, you think. It’s hard to hear it over the record player that’s blasting the saddest songs you know of. But, sure enough, definitely knocking. You have half a mind to bury yourself under your weighted blanket and go back to sleep. You’re sure it’s Penelope’s voice you hear outside though, and how could you ignore her?

Reluctantly, you drag yourself out of bed and to the door. Swinging it open, you see Penelope, JJ, and Emily, standing at your door with takeout and several bottles of wine. There’s also a vase of red roses which causes you to frown, “Roses?”

“Oh, not from us,” Emily says quickly, “They were just sitting out here when we got here. Can we come in?”

You wish you could say no to them, but you know it’s your own fault that they’re here. After all, you hadn’t answered anyone’s calls or texts for two days. You step aside and they file in. You pick up the vase of flowers and bring them inside. They’re wilting a bit, meaning they had probably been waiting outside for you for at least a day. You set them on a table, knowing your colleagues are watching you closely and pluck a card from the flowers.

I’m sorry. -A

Wordlessly, you toss the card on the table, pick up all the roses and plop them in the trash. Nobody says anything and you pretend to ignore Penelope as she puts new water in the vase and then carefully takes the roses out of the trash and back in the vase. “Hotch?” JJ asks as you climb back in bed. Emily turns off the music.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You say quietly.

“That’s okay,” JJ says, sitting on the edge of your bed, “Can we talk about why you’re not at work, then?”

“I’m suspended, you guys know that.”

“Hotch said if you did another psych eval you could come back.” Emily says.

Penelope has scooched herself next to your head and tries to run her fingers through your hair, “Oh, honey, when was the last time you brushed your hair?”

You swat her hand away, “I won’t pass another psych eval.”

Penelope gets off the bed to find a hair brush. “If you tell us what really happened… with Bobby Tiller…” You flinch when JJ says his name, “We can help you through it.”

Penelope’s back and starts gently working her way through your tangles. You sigh, “Penelope can’t handle hearing about that kind of stuff.”

“If it’ll help you, yes I can.” She says quickly.

You frown, “Garcia--”

“I know what you guys deal with everyday. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t let you guys unload on me about it every now and then?”

You squeeze her hand, she was so good. “I’ll need some wine first, then.”

***

“A sexual sadist, where would he keep them?” You murmur to yourself, “He’s stayed in his comfort zone this whole time,” You make a circle on the map around the places where the victims were taken and then dumped, all within a five mile radius, “He needs somewhere no one would hear their screams…” You take out your phone and dial Penelope, “Garcia, can you triangulate the location of the last three body dumps and tell me if there’s any sort of abandoned building in the middle, maybe a church? A warehouse?”

“Can I?” The sound of her rapid typing fills your ears, “Y/N, you wound me so.”

You smile, waiting for her answer. “Bingo, you genius girl. There’s an abandoned factory right in the middle, sending you the address now.”

You’re already grabbing your coat, “Don’t tell anyone, Penelope, but you’re my favorite person on this team.”

She laughs, “Should I call you some backup?”

“No time,” You’re running to the SUV outside the police precinct now, “I’m the closest, everyone else is spread out. If I wait for them, the other girls will die.”

“Y/N, you can’t go there by yourself, I’ve seen those bodies, those victims--”

“Garcia, I’m fine, I can handle myself, just tell the team where I’m going.” You hang up before she can argue further, plugging in the address she gave you to the GPS in the car.

***

Aaron’s phone rings on his way back to the police department with Derek in the passenger seat, “Garcia, what’ve you got?”

“Sir, I’ve just sent an address to everyone, you have to go there now.” The panic in her voice has Hotch immediately making a U turn without question.

“What’s going on?” He demands as he drives, turning on his sirens.

“Y/N figured out where he’s keeping the girls, she left without backup,” Both Derek and Aaron visibly tensed at this news, “I told her I’d call backup and not to go without it, but she insisted there wasn’t time.” Garcia was nearly on the verge of tears.

“You did what you were supposed to do, baby girl, we’ll go get her.” Morgan reassures before Hotch hangs up and immediately calls you.

“Y/L/N.” You pick up on the third ring. You had considered letting it go to voicemail, knowing Hotch was going to order you not to do what you were about to do and knowing you were going to disobey him.

“I’m ordering you to wait for backup before you go in there.”

You sigh, “You know if I do that, they’ll die.”

“They might still die and you’ll just be another body to add to the pile.”

“Or I might get there in time.”

“This is not a request, it’s an order, agent. We’re on our way.”

“Would you wait?”

“Excuse me?”

“If it was you sitting outside where there might be two girls still alive inside, would you wait?”

He’s quiet for a moment, “I don’t fit his victimology the way you do.”

“I don’t recall ‘armed FBI agent’ being included in the victimology.”

“Don’t do this.” His voice is a desperate whisper and it’s almost enough to get you to stop.

“Just drive faster.” You say and take the phone away from your ear, hearing your boss yell your name until you hang up.

But you didn’t make it to the girls. He was waiting for you, you didn’t even have a chance. He came up behind you only moments after you hung up with Hotch and hit you hard enough on the head to knock you unconscious.

He had your hands tied and packed you away in his pickup truck, driving away long before Hotch and Morgan arrive on the scene.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, as Aaron’s running back from the building. You weren’t inside. Morgan shakes his head when Hotch meets his eyes, “He’s got her.” He says resolutely, pointing to your badge, gun, and cellphone that lay in the dirt by the tire of your SUV. “She didn’t even make it inside.”

Aaron’s head is spinning, only moments away from losing control. He has you. “Hotch, keep it together, we’ll find her, okay?” Morgan says quietly.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Morgan!” He shouts, “A sexual sadist has her right now--”

“And you’re wasting time letting your emotions get the best of you, man! Come on now, look-- LOOK!” Derek directs his attention to the dirt road, “He couldn’t have gotten far with her, look at the tire tracks. Let’s go, we’ll call the team on the way.”

They drove only two minutes before they couldn’t decipher the tire tracks anymore, Hotch bangs on the steering wheel, cursing before dialing Spencer, “Reid, where else would he go? He knew we were coming, where would he bring her?”

“I-- I don’t know, somewhere he’s familiar with, he could have had a backup location, it has to be nearby. If he knows we’re coming he knows he won’t have a lot of time with her, he’d want it to be close so he could--”

“That’s enough boy wonder, call us when you have an address.” Morgan says, taking the phone from Hotch and hanging it up. “She made the choice to go, she knew what she was doing. She’s smart, she’s resourceful, she’s gonna make it.”

Hotch ignores him, only drives further. His knuckles turn white with how he’s clenching the wheel, just barely keeping his anger in check. If he has to find your body, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

***

When you wake, you’re only aware that you’re being carried. You do a quick assessment while pretending to be unconscious and find your hands tied. The weight of your gun is missing from your hip. You’re still outside, you can tell from the wind and the sun, but you won’t be for long. Your guess is this will be your last shot to escape.

You count to ten and then you roll from his arms. You’ve surprised him and you’re able to kick up at him once you’ve fallen, hitting him in the groin. With your hands tied, you struggle to get to your feet, but you do and you run like hell, looking for a road.

Your head still hurts from where he hit you and you’re dizzier than you would like, so eventually he catches up to you again. You can no longer deny your human instincts and you scream, hysterical as he tackles you. “Aaron!” You yell, “I’m here! Help!”

To your horror, the unsub only laughs, “Will you shut the hell up?”

And then he chokes you, not to kill, but to get you unconscious. It works. And then he drags you to the bunker.

***

“If this call isn’t to tell me where she is, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hotch, we talked to the unsub’s parents, they talked about an abandoned bunker just a mile south of where he was holding the girls. He used to go there when he was a teenager, probably to do drugs or kill animals.”

Hotch is already swinging the car around, “Give me an address.”

***

When you wake again, first everything’s only white. Then, you see his face.

“I can smell the fear on you.” He smiles.

You manage to keep your face neutral. What would Emily do? Hotch? Spencer? “I’m not afraid of you.” You manage, and to your own surprise, your voice doesn’t shake.

“You know what I am,” He traces a knife along your face, “What I’ve done to those women. You more than anyone… You should be terrified of me.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart.” He rips the buttons of your shirt loose and you try not to flinch, “We’re just getting started.”

***

“Morgan, take the back, I’ll take the front.” Hotch orders, “Prentiss, you’re with Morgan, Reid you’re with me. Let’s go.”

From the profile, they all knew he was planning on being caught. He would come quietly. All they could hope was that they got to him before he finished his final job. You.

They entered quietly, but they could hear soft crying deeper in. Alive, you were alive. Hotch and Spencer carefully cleared each hallway until they got to the room you were in. The unsub had you pulled to his chest, your clothes ripped and barely covering you. You were whimpering, tears shining on your cheeks and it took Aaron absolutely everything not to abandon protocol and tackle him.

Instead, he points his gun steady, “Bobby Tiller, it’s over, drop the knife.”

“Why?” He says, smiling, “Why shouldn’t I kill her in front of you?” His smile widens, “You’re Aaron, aren’t you?” He laughs now, “She cried out for you. Outside. Where were you, Aaron?”

Aaron’s restraint is hanging by a thread, he tries not to let this information get to him. “I said put it down!” He yells.

At that moment, he sees Morgan and Prentiss coming in from behind, guns raised.

“I bet it would just destroy you to watch me kill her, I can see it in your eyes. Wouldn’t that be a fun way to go out? I would win.”

“You haven’t won anything, you either die here or you rot in jail.”

“Exactly, which means I have nothing to lose by killing her.” He was done talking, was about to slit your throat when a shot rang out from behind. It was Morgan and he had hit Bobby square in the back.

You fall forward, hyperventilating a bit as Spencer rushes to you, pulling you into his arms and telling you it’s going to be okay. Hotch watches you, but keeps his distance, careful not to let the enormous relief he feels show except in the way his shoulder slump forward. “I need a medic.” He relays to the backup that’s on its way here and then he walks out of the bunker, letting Morgan and Reid help you out.

On the plane ride back, he sits by you as you look out the window, “Are you alright?”

You spare him a glance and then gaze back out the window, “I’ll be fine.”

He’s quiet for another moment, not wanting to ask what he has to ask. “Did he…?”

“No.” You answer quickly. “He didn’t have time.”

A small victory, he knows, but a victory nonetheless, “You’ll have to undergo a psych evaluation before I can allow you back in the field.”

“I know.”

“Take at least a week off and then we’ll schedule the evaluation and if you’re cleared you’re welcome back whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, “Okay.”

He lets a few minutes pass before he says anything else, “Was he telling the truth? Did you call for me by name?”

You shrug indifferently, smiling, but he can hear the tears in your voice, “I knew you and Derek were probably nearby. We were still outside and I could see the road. So I tried. That’s all.”

He chews the inside of his cheek, fists clenched beneath the table between them, “I’m sorry.”

You’re already shaking your head, “Don’t do that. You got to me in time. It was my decision to go inside.”

He nods, “And if you hadn’t shown up, those girls would be dead.”

You manage a smaller smile. Bobby Tiller had had to abandon the other girls when you showed up so Morgan and Hotch were able to call them an ambulance before they left to find you. “I know.”

“I would have done it.”

“Hm?”

“You asked me before you went if I would’ve gone in alone. I would have.”

You smile again, but your eyes are sad, “I know.”

***

“But he did, rape you, didn’t he?” Emily said quietly.

There were silent tears streaming down both yours and Penelope’s faces. You nod, “Yeah. It didn’t last very long, but yes he did.”

“Did he… Did he torture you the way he did with the other women?” Emily has to ask, has to know if you’re hiding anything else from them.

You’re already shaking your head, “No,” And at Emily’s insistent stare, you repeat yourself, “No, I swear. He held me at knifepoint while he did it which, you know, cut me a little bit,” You rub at your chest, though the shallow cuts had long ago healed, “But I swear, he didn’t have time for much else before you guys found me.”

“I’m so sorry you went through that,” JJ reaches out and squeezes your arm.

You shrug, “It’s alright. It was my choice to go in there alone, I knew what might happen.”

“That doesn’t mean you deserve what happened.” Emily says.

“I know.” You nod.

Penelope’s been quiet since she finished brushing your hair, now just mindlessly running her hands through it, “How have you just been functioning as usual since you came back after that?” Her voice shakes and you feel terrible for exposing her to this.

You squeeze her hand and shrug, “You just… learn to adapt. I knew you were all watching my every move. I didn’t want anyone worried about me and so I made sure they had nothing to worry about. Until this case.”

“What happened in the interrogation room that had Hotch so shook up?”

“Well,” You sighed, “I played the role of potential victim, made him like me, forgot he was uncuffed and egged him on until he tried to strangle me.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Penelope chided.

“You could pass another psych eval.” Prentiss said, “You seem to be coping better than most people.”

“I have nightmares.” You admit, “It’s why I don’t sleep on the jet anymore. I don’t want any of you to see that.”

“We’ll help you through,” JJ says, “If you want to come back you should come back. The team needs you.”

You scoff, “You guys don’t need me.”

“Excuse me, fairy queen of the universe, but you don’t get a say in that.” Penelope tugs on a piece of your hair.

“We miss you.” JJ says sincerely.

You sigh, “Okay. I’ll, uh, go see Hotch tomorrow.”

“There will be black SUV parked here if you haven’t gotten your butt in the office by 10AM, understand?” Penelope teases.

“Yes, yes, now everybody out of my apartment so I can sleep.”

The girls laugh on their way out and when you close the door you sigh and lean your back against it, only to see the roses sitting on your table again. You chew on your lip for a moment before shutting off all the lights in the apartment and climbing into bed. You would deal with Hotch tomorrow.

***

You ignored the whispers of your colleagues as you walked into the bullpen, marching straight into Hotch’s office and closing the door behind you. The smell of his cologne filled your nose the farther you walked into his office. You tried to ignore the memories it triggered.

He looks up and for a moment he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Y/N.”

You smirk, “Bet you thought you got rid of me.”

“You cut your hair.”

It was true, you had decided to give yourself bangs in a fit of insomnia last night. You thought they looked cute, “Nothing gets by you, unit chief.”

He hasn’t cracked a smile this whole time and he still doesn’t, “If you want to transfer to a different unit, I can make that happen.”

You’re shaking your head before he can finish, “Regardless of whatever happened between us, this team is my family. I don’t want to work anywhere else.”

He watches you carefully, “Then it’s time for your psych eval, I can have someone meet with you in an hour. In the meantime, I’m sure the team’s missed you, you can go chat with them.” He looks back down at his work, not waiting for you to leave.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

He looks back up, “I thought you maybe threw them away.”

“I did, actually, Penelope took them out of the trash. So on my table, they stay.” He almost laughs. “What are you sorry for, Aaron?”

His jaw clenches when you say his name. “For your suspension, for humiliating you in front of your colleagues, for crossing a line with you that I never should have even toed.”

You nod slowly, “So you regret it. What we did.”

Hotch glances out the window of his office, making sure no one’s around, “I… regret hurting you. Not what we did.”

“Spencer thinks you’re in love with me, you know?”

He frowns, “Does he?”

“He said you lost your mind when I was taken. I told him you would act that way had any team member been taken, but he insisted that it was different.”

“Is that all, agent?” He says after staring at you for a moment, dismissing you.

“Yes, sir.” You swallow, “That’ll be all.”

And just like that he’s back to his paperwork. You try to tell yourself it doesn’t bother you, but your heart aches all the same as you leave his office and head towards your colleagues. Spencer is the first to run to you, making you smile as he crushes you into a hug and catches you up on everything you’ve missed. Everyone talks to you for a while, but then they soon get back to work. “Did you talk to Hotch?” Emily asked when everyone had gotten back to their work.

“Yeah. We talked.” You say flatly.

“I don’t like that tone.”

You shrug, “Maybe he doesn’t love me or maybe he’s not ready, but he won’t tell me which, so. It doesn’t matter, it’s probably better this way.”

Emily doesn’t tell you, but she’s noticed that since you left his office, SSA Aaron Hotchner hasn’t stopped watching you. He was definitely in love with you, it was just a matter of time before he admitted it.

***

You passed your psych eval and practically skipped to Hotch’s office to get your gun and badge back. When he saw you walk in, he immediately reached into his desk drawer to retrieve them for you and placed them on his desk. “I’m thinking about requesting a transfer.”

“Hotch, I already told you, I don’t want--”

“Not for you, for me.”

You pull your hand away from your gun and badge as if you’ve been burned, “You can’t.”

“It’s irresponsible for us to be working on the same team together like this.”

You shake your head, “If anything we make this team better for it, you can’t…” You let out a shaky breath, “I swear, Hotch, I’ll never cross that line again if it means you staying--”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

The world seems to sort of tip on its axis, “What are you talking about?”

“Do you even understand how difficult it is to be in this room with you right now and not touch you?”

You stare at him as if you’ve never seen him before. Slowly, you sink into the seat across from his desk, “Hotch, you can’t leave. The team needs you.”

“They’ll be just fine without me.”

“I need you.” You’re staring at his desk, unable to meet his eyes after the admission, “Please don’t take away one of the only things in this job that help me to cope with what we see everyday.”

He’s quiet and you risk a look at him. He’s watching you and you swear he’s looking at you tenderly, but it’s only for a moment before his usual stoic mask falls back into place, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, agent. JJ should be briefing us on a new case soon, you should go get resettled.”

You debate staying, arguing with him until he promises to stay, but you know from how vulnerable he’s been with you already that you’re on thin ice. Reluctantly, you take your badge and gun and leave his office.

***

You’ll admit it, you’re distracted as JJ debriefs you all in the conference room. This time, it’s a serial bomber and you hate to say it, but you’re relieved to not be dealing with a sexual sadist again. Bombs are Morgan’s specialty, so he speaks through most of the debriefing.

“Everyone, get your things together. Wheels up in twenty.” Hotch says before leaving the room.

“Y/N.” You look up to see Derek watching you, “What’s going on now?”

You tense at the hint of annoyance in his voice, but he should be annoyed. Yours and Hotch’s personal relationship has thrown this team for more than a week now. You clear your throat, “Hotch is thinking of transferring out of the BAU. Because of me.”

The room goes still, “He can’t.” Reid says first.

You can’t meet any of their eyes. This was all your fault.

“I’ll talk to him.” Rossi says quietly and leaves the room.

“If it comes to that, I’ll resign first.” You try to assure them, “I won’t let him step down.”

“We need both of you on this team.” JJ said firmly.

You nodded, but you knew it wasn’t true. Aaron was more essential to the BAU, it wasn’t a secret. He knew everyone’s strengths and weaknesses better than they did. His authority was able to demand respect and admiration, while also being a friend to everyone here. He couldn’t be replaced.

Rossi and Hotch sat in the back of the jet, voices low as they argued back and forth. The rest of the team pretended to not eavesdrop, but you were just watching Aaron. He was stressed, more than normal when working a case. You hated that you were the source of that. You wish you could drape your arms around the back of his shoulders, squeeze them, kiss his temple, promise him it would all be alright.

But he didn’t want that. You shift your focus to the window on the jet.

***

When the house exploded in front of you and Morgan, you kept running until he grabbed you, “Stop, stop! They’re gone!”

“They could still be in there!” You scream and fight against him, but he’s stronger than you.

“They’re gone, Y/N.”

You angrily push him off and walk in the other direction, feeling the need to break something. There were kids in that house.

“What the hell was that?” Hotch is fuming when you and Morgan come back to the precinct, but his anger is directed at you. The entire room goes silent, all eyes on the two of you.

“Hotch, back off.” Morgan warns.

“You should’ve gotten there in plenty of time, what happened?”

You glower at him, not in the mood to be humiliated again in front of everyone, “We got there as fast as we could, the bomb went off earlier than expected.”

“There were children in there.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” You yell now, your angry tears finally spilling over, “What, do you think I wanted this to happen?”

“Y/N, enough.” Morgan whispers harshly.

“You’re out of line, agent.” Hotch is calm again and it makes you feel crazy, how he can so quickly turn off his emotions.

You shake your head and walk by him, “This is bullshit.” You mutter.

You expect him to continue yelling at you, but instead he puts a forceful hand on your back and ushers you into a private room, “Is there a problem, agent?” He asks once he’s closed the door.

“Me?” You raise your eyebrows, “You want to know if I have a problem? You’re the one who attacked me for no reason as if I don’t feel shitty enough already for not getting to that family fast enough.”

“Why did you tell them about the transfer?”

“Oh,” You nearly laugh, “Oh, is that what this is about?”

“It wasn’t your place.”

“Oh, it wasn’t? What was it you said to me about keeping things from the team? It puts us all in danger.”

“This is not the same and you know it.”

You scoff and throw your hands up in the air, “Well, lesson learned, I guess you shouldn’t tell me things anymore. Can I go now?”

He’s watching you with his arms crossed. He knows he should apologize, but he can’t bring himself to. He nods and you leave the room, slamming the door on the way out. He watches Prentiss reach out to you and you brush her off as you storm out of the precinct. He wishes he would stop doing things to upset you, but for some reason he can’t seem to stop himself.

***

You avoid him the rest of the day and after finally calling it a day at nearly midnight, the team heads back to the hotel. You spend the night making coffee and going over the suspect list when there’s a knock on your door.

You open it without checking the peep hole, thinking it has to be Spencer or Emily, wanting to talk about the case. Instead, Aaron stands at your door. His suit jacket and tie are missing, but otherwise he’s still in his work clothes. “May I come in?”

You take a step back and wordlessly allow him inside before closing the door behind you. “You should really check who’s outside the door before answering.”

“Did you come here to lecture me, sir?”

He glances around the room, “You should be resting, not working on the case.”

“Yes, well, someone reminded me today what a terrible job I’ve been doing so I’m trying to make up for it.”

His eyes dart to yours and you think you see shame there, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, I’m sorry. I know you’re doing your best--”

“Well obviously, my best isn’t enough.” He opens his mouth to argue, but you stop him, “Do you need something, sir?”

He sighs and shakes his head, looking at the floor, “It’s… driving me insane being around you and knowing how we left things.”

You sigh and turn away from him, “I don’t want to talk about this, Hotch--”

“Please stop calling me that.” He says breathlessly.

The desperation in his voice makes you turn back to him, “Aaron,” You say slowly instead, “I shouldn’t have said what I said to you, I understand now that you don’t feel the same and that’s fine, I can deal with it--”

“The problem is that I do feel the same and I have felt that way for longer than I care to admit.”

You frown, “Then… why?”

“I don’t want to ruin your career and I worry that this would. You’re a woman in the FBI, there are men in the bureau who would… tear you apart for being romantically involved with a superior.”

“So what? I’ll prove them wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in the bureau underestimated me, but you know that.”

He sighs, “Yes, I remember when you applied to the BAU. You were from Hostage and Rescue, the only woman there at the time and they practically benched you. But you knew you were more than capable.”

“I’m not afraid of them, Aaron. Now say it to me.”

He steps close to you, his proximity overwhelming all of your senses, “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure.”

“In that case,” He brings a hand to your face and you lean into his palm, “I’m in love with you.” He gives you that small smile, the one where his eyebrows relax for once, out of their permanent scowl.

You smile, but you don’t answer, giggling a bit when he leans in to kiss you. “I like the new hair, by the way.” He says between kisses.

You hum contentedly as he runs his fingers through it, “I love you, too, Aaron.”

He stays in your hotel room all night and this time, neither of you sneak out in the middle of the night.

***

You and Aaron aren’t overly affectionate in front of your colleagues, but they notice the change between you immediately as you board the plane. When you sit next to him while still in discussion with Emily, he looks at you and smiles. And then, when you finally fall asleep on the jet, your head rests on Aaron’s shoulder. If your colleagues look under the table in front of you (they do) they’ll see Aaron’s hand resting on your thigh.

Emily is shaking her head at Aaron while you sleep, “What?” He asks without looking at her.

“Nothing, I’m just happy you guys finally figured it out.”

“Agreed,” Spencer interjected, “I was beginning to think you’d kill each other first.”

Aaron simply chuckles and kisses your forehead when he thinks no one’s looking. “Hotch,” Morgan says and Aaron looks over, “I know you’re my boss and all, but you ever hurt her we’re gonna have to fight it out, you understand?”

Hotch only smiles again, “I would expect nothing less.”

Nobody notices how you’re also smiling, quietly faking sleep as an excuse to cuddle up to Aaron.

#criminals minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch x reader #hotch imagine #hotch fluff #hotch angst #hotch smut #mine

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