Dark Pedro Pascal - Blog Posts
꒰ 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒's works for 𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋'S CHARACTERS. ꒰ main m. / characters list ꒰ ꒱ PROMPTS ⒈ & ⒉ for requests / ... MY 'READERS' PALETTE / ABOUT 𝐌𝐄 ... ꒱ "where art thou, why not uponeth me?..." | DARK CONTENT |
꒰ drabbles ꒱
₁ DO NOT BLAME THE WIND ꒰ 𝓙 OEL 𝓜 ILLER -- ONESHOT ꒱
₂ CORIANDER UNDER THE FIG TREE ꒰ 𝓜 ARCUS 𝓐 CACIUS ꒱
𝓓AVE 𝓨 ORK ꒰ COMING SOON.... ꒱
𝓙AVIER 𝒫EÑA ꒰ COMING SOON... ꒱
© THEHYDRAETHEREAL COPYRIGHTS. DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR REWRITE MY WORKS. INTERACT USING YOUR COMMON SENSE. THIS CONTENT IS TRIGGERING.
thank you SO MUCH, ahhh
"You flinch like that again in public, and I’ll give you a real reason to." (1)
Character: General Marcus Acacius.
Trigger warnings: age gap (maybe reader is the daughter of someone from the Senate), power dynamic (he's the General a.k.a HOT), physical abuse, harassment, threats, fear kink, manhandling, manipulation maybe ?
I was honestly just thinking of Acacius putting on the facade of a caring, loving and dotting husband when he's scorting reader to the market to buy some food for dinner and at some point she does something he does not like and she flinches at his reaction. He's an abusive man close doors because he's obsessed with reader and deep down fears she's going to run away from him or something like that, I leave it to you obviously, I read your work and god, breathtaking to say the least
CORIANDER UNDER THE FIG TREE ههههه
senator's daughter.ᐟ reader && dark.ᐟgeneral acacius
.ᐟ trigger warnings: My work contains dark themes such as physical abuse, power imbalance, age gap, harassment, threats, phsyhological terror and other possible triggering elements. Proceed with caution. If these warnings trigger you, DO NOT INTERACT. 𝒜cces my DARK PROMPTS, my WHEEL OF INSPIRATION, my MASTERLIST and send in more REQUESTS.
ههههه
A shaky breath leaves your chest as you stroll next to the aged fig tree which marked the beginning of the market. And then, the scent hits you—coriander. Its citrusy and spicy aroma was the characteristic, consoling element that marked your childhood.
Whenever you touch the darkened green leaves, sadness overflows you.
Your father, Ghauccus, often let you stand among the servants. You were much beloved due to your father’s kindness, everybody loved to see his sweet child growing up so gorgeously. The maids often let you ground spices in the bronze mortar—an activity you loved doing, especially during summer evenings, after you had tired yourself running after fireflies and the moths that gathered around flames that illuminated the garden and vines. Notwithstanding their chuckles at how heavy the pestle was for your infant hands, you were still encouraged and strength was manifested over you ever since you were a youngster.
A custom you and your father honorated religiously was the first quarters of the moon, spent within the folds of forgotten stories or legends about women that shaped their own fate and destiny—no matter how darkened it seemed. You still felt your father’s fingertips grazing your lower back, showing you his deep affection and cherishment whenever you shared a walk in the open.
You flinch hard as you feel the general’s —your husband's— fingers gripping your hip and pulling you nearer his grander body. Your ribs are adorned by burgundy marks and a tiny whimper escapes your throat as the bruised flesh is pressed against the gilded armor with drops of gold which poke your skin mercilessly.
People bow their heads as he passes by with you on his arm, even though a couple of elders eye him with a disgusted glare and you...with pity. As they remember who your father was and who your husband is. They all view his as a tyrant for serving the twin Emperors so respectfully but you are the one that knows he certainly wants the throne somehow. You know about the plots and about his aspirations of becoming the Emperor of Rome soon. And the thought terrifies you.
You can already tell, by the way the muscles in his jaw clench and tick, that your "stunt" has maddened him. Fear constricts your throat and you feel your chest burning, so you try your best to brush the event off your husband's mind.
"W-we should buy more herbs, and I will have the maids prepare you the dish you l-like so much—", you try to speak, but Acacius lowers his head to speak in your ear and the words die on your tongue.
"We will return home, my love.", he growls and you already feel tears burning in your eyes. Home? You don't want to go "home". You know how rarely he lets you out and you know what will happen to you when you arrive back to the villa so you try to delay the inevitable by lingering in this moment.
"P-please, my lord, please...", your eyes bore pleadingly in his coal black ones as you try to steady your whispering voice. "Please, no, let's stay a little longer—".
"No?", he cuts you off again, and you feel his grip tightening. The deep chuckle that erupts from his broad chest sounds more like a growl and again, you feel small, powerless, you feel like a lamb to the slaughter. "When I command something, you have no say in it, haven't I taught you that, my little lamb?", he continues, as if he heard your thoughts.
You nod your head weakly, as you graze your eyes over the marketplace one more time. The coriander you willed to buy lies now forgotten on a wooden table as fear curses through your veins.
As soon as your feet hit the marble floors, and Acacius knows he is not under people's gaze anymore, you feel his hands on you. He grips the back of your neck and drags you to himself. You don't have time to scream, plead, beg—only to whimper—, as his lips press to your ear. "Tell me, you like when I put my hands on you?"
When you only move your head in a silent no, too choked by your own sobs and tears, he shakes your body harshly. "Answer me!", he says, trying to keep his voice down, inhaling and exhaling, visibly overly angered.
"N-no...", you cry out in the silence of the house.
The general grabs your waist next and he slams your body in the wall. You fell the copper of the blood in your mouth as he presses himself against your back. "Then why you make me do this?"
Both of his massive, calloused hands that killed so many, wrap around your wrists, pushing them next to your head. The general's massive figure makes your lungs burn, air simply not reaching them.
"My queen, why do you have to be so diffucult? ", he asks you again, and even under the heavy robes, you feel his hard member poking at your lower back. A sob escapes your lips and you feel a warm, thin trace of blood running down your chin, along with fresh tears. He always gets disgustingly excited whenever he feels your muscles tensing with fear. Another thing you loathe about him.
"I give you everything, don't I? I am a good husband, I am wealthy and I will make you my queen one day, and you still act so ungratefully."
He retreats from you all of a sudden and your knees give up on your weight, making your body collapse on the ground on your palms and the skin tears open on them. Teardrops fall, wetting the expensive marble carved with bronze. Acacius's hand fists itself in your hair and he slowly pushes your head up. His eyes scan your terrified features and the blood that starts to dry on your face and he licks his lips at the sight. You feel like you are nothing but a pile of broken limbs at the general's feet.
He runs his thumb over your lips that are trembling, and pushes it in your mouth, letting it rest heavily on your hot tongue.
You screw your eyes shut as he pushes it further, almost touching the back of your throat with it. "Look at me.", he commands and you obey immediately when he grips your jaw harshly with the other fingers. "You are mine by right. If you shame me one more time, I will ruin you so thoroughly that even the crows will pity what is left."
You flinch at the threat, and terror settles deep in your bones.
The general retreats the finger from your mouth and grips your cheeks with his entire hand. The look in his eyes was, for a brief moment, vulnerable. The only vulnerable thing in him.
Another tear slipped down your face and, combined with your blood, it painted his hand in a powdered pink stripe.
"You flinch like that again in public, and I'll give you a real reason to.", the man finished, standing up high.
"I expect you in the bedroom. You have wife duties to attend. And if you refuse, I will fuck the disobedience out of you under the sun’s gaze — and when everyone will spit on you as a whore, you’ll know you earned it."
You choked on a sob as he left, and your blurry vision caught one of your servants, one of the servants that let you ground the coriander in your father's home, look at you with tears in her eyes. There was nothing you could do but stand up and join your husband.
⋆↝ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: So, when I saw your request in my inbox, I was literally SO. HAPPY. because I've been seeing your reblogs and you read good stuff and it was really encouraging that you are reading MY shit 😭 ♡ Thank you, my love and I really hope this reaches your expectations. I LOVED WRITING THISSS
⋆↝ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @highonmarvel @pedrosyouknowwhat @essraxi ♡
「 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐒 & 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ෴۵✵ 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 」
⁎༊෴ 「 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 」 : 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | MY OTHER 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 | 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
PLEASE SEND IN THE NUMBER OF THE PROMPT AND THE CHARACTER YOU WANT TO SEE WITH IT WHEN YOU REQUEST. REQUEST VIA MY 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗. SEND IN A SHORT PLOT WITH THE CHARACTER AND NUMBERS OF PROMPTS.
IF YOU WANT TO USE THESE IN YOUR WRITING, PLEASE TAG ME IN YOUR WORKS AND REBLOG THIS POST.
⒈ Wiping off droplets of your blood from the floor, knowing he hates the mess.
⒉ Not hitting you when you anger him, waiting until he calms down and you detense.
⒊ Saying you don't want it because you're tired, and he says you're easier to handle then.
⒋ You crying and him kissing you harder.
⒌ Him wiping your tears, saying that you need him.
⒍ Locking the door again after bringing you food.
⒎ Making you pick your own restraints.
⒏ You passing out, but he keeps going.
⒐ Saying you made him do this while cleaning your bruises.
⒑ Telling all your friends and family you are just too dramatic.
⒒ Choking you with the necklace he gifted you.
⒓ Feeding you from his plate while your legs are tied to the floor.
⒔ Making you confess to him while being naked.
⒕ Him slapping the "modern culture" out of your head.
⒖ Gifting you right after an argument, while you're shaking on the bed.
⒗ Making you delete and block all your contacts in front of him.
⒘ Handcuffing you to the bed, you knowing he has to leave for a few days.
⒙ Him finding your "escape" bag and burning it in front of you.
⒚ Beating up your friends for trying to "take you away" from him.
⒛ Him telling you your terrified face makes him hard.
"You flinch like that again in public, and I’ll give you a real reason to." (1)
Character: General Marcus Acacius.
Trigger warnings: age gap (maybe reader is the daughter of someone from the Senate), power dynamic (he's the General a.k.a HOT), physical abuse, harassment, threats, fear kink, manhandling, manipulation maybe ?
I was honestly just thinking of Acacius putting on the facade of a caring, loving and dotting husband when he's scorting reader to the market to buy some food for dinner and at some point she does something he does not like and she flinches at his reaction. He's an abusive man close doors because he's obsessed with reader and deep down fears she's going to run away from him or something like that, I leave it to you obviously, I read your work and god, breathtaking to say the least
CORIANDER UNDER THE FIG TREE ههههه
senator's daughter.ᐟ reader && dark.ᐟgeneral acacius
.ᐟ trigger warnings: My work contains dark themes such as physical abuse, power imbalance, age gap, harassment, threats, phsyhological terror and other possible triggering elements. Proceed with caution. If these warnings trigger you, DO NOT INTERACT. 𝒜cces my DARK PROMPTS, my WHEEL OF INSPIRATION, my MASTERLIST and send in more REQUESTS.
ههههه
A shaky breath leaves your chest as you stroll next to the aged fig tree which marked the beginning of the market. And then, the scent hits you—coriander. Its citrusy and spicy aroma was the characteristic, consoling element that marked your childhood.
Whenever you touch the darkened green leaves, sadness overflows you.
Your father, Ghauccus, often let you stand among the servants. You were much beloved due to your father’s kindness, everybody loved to see his sweet child growing up so gorgeously. The maids often let you ground spices in the bronze mortar—an activity you loved doing, especially during summer evenings, after you had tired yourself running after fireflies and the moths that gathered around flames that illuminated the garden and vines. Notwithstanding their chuckles at how heavy the pestle was for your infant hands, you were still encouraged and strength was manifested over you ever since you were a youngster.
A custom you and your father honorated religiously was the first quarters of the moon, spent within the folds of forgotten stories or legends about women that shaped their own fate and destiny—no matter how darkened it seemed. You still felt your father’s fingertips grazing your lower back, showing you his deep affection and cherishment whenever you shared a walk in the open.
You flinch hard as you feel the general’s —your husband's— fingers gripping your hip and pulling you nearer his grander body. Your ribs are adorned by burgundy marks and a tiny whimper escapes your throat as the bruised flesh is pressed against the gilded armor with drops of gold which poke your skin mercilessly.
People bow their heads as he passes by with you on his arm, even though a couple of elders eye him with a disgusted glare and you...with pity. As they remember who your father was and who your husband is. They all view his as a tyrant for serving the twin Emperors so respectfully but you are the one that knows he certainly wants the throne somehow. You know about the plots and about his aspirations of becoming the Emperor of Rome soon. And the thought terrifies you.
You can already tell, by the way the muscles in his jaw clench and tick, that your "stunt" has maddened him. Fear constricts your throat and you feel your chest burning, so you try your best to brush the event off your husband's mind.
"W-we should buy more herbs, and I will have the maids prepare you the dish you l-like so much—", you try to speak, but Acacius lowers his head to speak in your ear and the words die on your tongue.
"We will return home, my love.", he growls and you already feel tears burning in your eyes. Home? You don't want to go "home". You know how rarely he lets you out and you know what will happen to you when you arrive back to the villa so you try to delay the inevitable by lingering in this moment.
"P-please, my lord, please...", your eyes bore pleadingly in his coal black ones as you try to steady your whispering voice. "Please, no, let's stay a little longer—".
"No?", he cuts you off again, and you feel his grip tightening. The deep chuckle that erupts from his broad chest sounds more like a growl and again, you feel small, powerless, you feel like a lamb to the slaughter. "When I command something, you have no say in it, haven't I taught you that, my little lamb?", he continues, as if he heard your thoughts.
You nod your head weakly, as you graze your eyes over the marketplace one more time. The coriander you willed to buy lies now forgotten on a wooden table as fear curses through your veins.
As soon as your feet hit the marble floors, and Acacius knows he is not under people's gaze anymore, you feel his hands on you. He grips the back of your neck and drags you to himself. You don't have time to scream, plead, beg—only to whimper—, as his lips press to your ear. "Tell me, you like when I put my hands on you?"
When you only move your head in a silent no, too choked by your own sobs and tears, he shakes your body harshly. "Answer me!", he says, trying to keep his voice down, inhaling and exhaling, visibly overly angered.
"N-no...", you cry out in the silence of the house.
The general grabs your waist next and he slams your body in the wall. You fell the copper of the blood in your mouth as he presses himself against your back. "Then why you make me do this?"
Both of his massive, calloused hands that killed so many, wrap around your wrists, pushing them next to your head. The general's massive figure makes your lungs burn, air simply not reaching them.
"My queen, why do you have to be so diffucult? ", he asks you again, and even under the heavy robes, you feel his hard member poking at your lower back. A sob escapes your lips and you feel a warm, thin trace of blood running down your chin, along with fresh tears. He always gets disgustingly excited whenever he feels your muscles tensing with fear. Another thing you loathe about him.
"I give you everything, don't I? I am a good husband, I am wealthy and I will make you my queen one day, and you still act so ungratefully."
He retreats from you all of a sudden and your knees give up on your weight, making your body collapse on the ground on your palms and the skin tears open on them. Teardrops fall, wetting the expensive marble carved with bronze. Acacius's hand fists itself in your hair and he slowly pushes your head up. His eyes scan your terrified features and the blood that starts to dry on your face and he licks his lips at the sight. You feel like you are nothing but a pile of broken limbs at the general's feet.
He runs his thumb over your lips that are trembling, and pushes it in your mouth, letting it rest heavily on your hot tongue.
You screw your eyes shut as he pushes it further, almost touching the back of your throat with it. "Look at me.", he commands and you obey immediately when he grips your jaw harshly with the other fingers. "You are mine by right. If you shame me one more time, I will ruin you so thoroughly that even the crows will pity what is left."
You flinch at the threat, and terror settles deep in your bones.
The general retreats the finger from your mouth and grips your cheeks with his entire hand. The look in his eyes was, for a brief moment, vulnerable. The only vulnerable thing in him.
Another tear slipped down your face and, combined with your blood, it painted his hand in a powdered pink stripe.
"You flinch like that again in public, and I'll give you a real reason to.", the man finished, standing up high.
"I expect you in the bedroom. You have wife duties to attend. And if you refuse, I will fuck the disobedience out of you under the sun’s gaze — and when everyone will spit on you as a whore, you’ll know you earned it."
You choked on a sob as he left, and your blurry vision caught one of your servants, one of the servants that let you ground the coriander in your father's home, look at you with tears in her eyes. There was nothing you could do but stand up and join your husband.
⋆↝ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: So, when I saw your request in my inbox, I was literally SO. HAPPY. because I've been seeing your reblogs and you read good stuff and it was really encouraging that you are reading MY shit 😭 ♡ Thank you, my love and I really hope this reaches your expectations. I LOVED WRITING THISSS
⋆↝ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @highonmarvel @pedrosyouknowwhat @essraxi ♡
I am genuinely tweaking, the waiting for a new chapter is OVER, but it was SO WORTH IT. I loved seeing more of their non-horny state of mind and the unnoticed effect reader has on each and every one of their minds, it is simply delicioussss. Catfish and Joel are my MEN, I am so serious, and their contrast is eating at me.
ATE THIS UP BABE!
surrender
Summary: Catfish is made to choose.
Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOOOOT EATTTT. Noncon, dark dark themes, sexual slavery, reader is in pain and exhausted, heed all previous warnings, threatening, Dark Joel, forced drinking, manipulation, mentions of noncon, idk what else to tag
Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader
Joel felt over aware. As he sat down on the brittle wooden chair, fingerprints drawing circles on the table, the whiskey slid easily down his throat. Something he had gotten from trading with Jackson.
Your image dwindled on his mind, growing weaker by each passing minute. Naked, battered and bruised. He knew you were in pain, pretty cunt gaping obscenely. He knew that he could just crawl over you and fuck you once again if he wished it. You still laid in his bed, bathed and draped in new sheets, awaiting.
The door creaked open, the afternoon breeze accompanying the intruder of his thoughts. Whiskey’s shoulders squared with pride and his chest puffed, closing the door with a cocky kick of his heel.
Joel observed him as he strutted towards the table. His arm stretched under the thick denim of his jacket, and he presented his palm with a cocky grin.
The metal was tarnished, coppery, but the outline was clear. A tiny helicopter pin, Whiskey offered.
Joel felt amusement tug at his lips, but he schooled his expression. The pin clattered against the table, Joel’s eyes glued to it.
Sweet fucking Bingo.
The key to make you finally un-cling to Catfish right in his hands. He took it in his pointer and thumb, observing the way the kitchen light caught onto it.
Whiskey hummed, snapping him out of his thoughts once more.
“I think this settles for a good hour…” He drawled, eyebrow cocking teasingly. A part of him was joking, and the other part of him created a prominent bulge in his pants.
Joel avoided a disgusted scrunch of his face, fighting twitching muscles.
“She’ll need a break for tonight.” He declared, a solemn order that wiped the smirk off his man’s face. "But you'll be rewarded for this, that I promise."
Joel would he lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the way Catfish flinched as the refrigerator door slammed closed under his grip. The cool, condensed bottle sent jolts along his hands. He was buzzing with excitement as he twirled on his feet and planted the bottle on the table with a slight thump.
He ignored the hollers of enjoyment of his fellow men, kicking the chair and taking a seat. Catfish froze under his stare, the all consuming guilt, he pondered.
He grabbed the tumblers on the table, filling them up. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. He poured more onto the last one, and pushed the glass to his designated driver.
Catfish’s brows furrowed under the baseball cap, shaking his head slightly. Joel could see the circles under his eyes, could feel the tenseness of his tanned skin; all a result of you. Your stay in the house was driving him mad.
“Not drinking tonight.” Catfish grumbled, but Joel tapped the glass in front of him.
“You’ll need it.” He muttered, enough to make the others cast side eyed glances at him, with sneaky intrigue. An order.
Javier cleared his throat, flicking ashes into the tray. “How’s the bitch?”
Bitch. Joel liked the ring of that nickname.
Joel’s lips curled into a sloppy smirk. “Fucked out.” He responded casually. “Giving her some damn rest, she took it like a champ.”
Javier smiled in agreement, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Catfish’s hand tense around the condensed glass. Of course he wouldn't enjoy the way they talked about her.
“Gonna bring some ‘plan b’s tomorrow.” He informed, gingerly. “no need to knock her up.”
Joel felt his muscles turn taut, and he grounded his teeth.
“Definitely.” Dieter added, with an air of authority he shouldn’t have. “No need for a little fucker here.”
Some laughed, Oberyn tsked, eyes dreamy as always. “She’d look nice, all round, those tits would be something I’d die for.”
The chair screeched as Catfish rose to his feet, still clutching the tumbler in his hand. Eyes shot at him.
“Where ya going?” Joel barked, a bit more forceful than he would wanted to. God, adrenaline was nibbling at him.
Hatred.
It spread all around Catfish’s face as he looked at them. As if he was any more worthy than they were, any more good. A look he had from the very first time, when Joel recruited him, that told him he thought he was far above them.
“I’m going to bed.” He answered, though his feet stayed stuck to the ground, awaiting.
“No, you’re not.” Joel nudged to the chair. Catfish sat down with a sigh. Good boy.
“What’s the matter?” Acacius frowned, leaning back into the wooden seat. “Don’t like us talking about her like that?”
Catfish’s jaw twitched.
“You never had an issue before.” Whiskey added, the thick smoke of his cigar curling around him in the air. "you even fucked some bitches back then."
Catfish took a sip of whatever was in his cup, perhaps to deter the questioning, perhaps because of the way Joel burnt holes into his skull with his eyes was making him uneasy.
And they persisted.
“You are too soft on her,” Javier deemed between curls of smoke. "that's why she clings so much to ya."
They agreed silently, and Joel felt the flames of jealousy licking at his spine. Each time you mumbled his name softly, he could almost feel the need in your voice for it to be him. To be Catfish the man that was pleasuring you.
As if he was the only man that could do it.
"What were you talking about in the shower?"
Catfish's face paled, but he still cleared his throat. "Nothin'."
"Didn't sound like nothing." Joel bit, studying carefully the nervous flicker of Catfish's hands. "She wants ya to fuck her?"
Catfish grimaced at the crassness of his words, untouched by the way Joel dipped his hand onto the pocket of his shirt.
"She's loosing her mind." He cleared, voice a plea, an excuse, whatever. It didn't matter to Joel.
He shrugged before dropping the pin onto the table; Catfish's eyes flickered from the dark onyx pools that gazed slowly up at him and the tarnished metal that clattered against the table.
His lips parted.
Bingo.
"How's your boy?" Joel drawled, tapping his big, imposing fingers on the wooden table. For a mere moment, he was alone with Catfish, just them under the warm lamp light. "What was his name, Tyler?"
"Joel." Catfish groaned, eyes glued to the silver helicopter.
"When was the last time you saw him, huh?"
Hands curled onto fists, and they slammed against the table. Enough.
Perhaps Joel was blissfully ignorant of the men around them, but Catfish was painfully aware. They were the only thing deterring him from pouncing on top of him.
"What have you done?" He spat, voice shivering.
Joel chuckled darkly, "Nothin'." He retorted.
He could see the way silence clawed at his ears, oh so begging for an answer.
"I haven't done anything, yet." Joel punctuated, slowly feeding him. "Just like you haven't fucked our little bitch yet."
Realization casted on Catfish features, and he shook his head on instinct.
"Joel, this is serious-"
"You know what is serious to me?" He cut him short. "That I cannot possibly trust one of my men anymore, just because he is pussy-whipped with a pussy he doesn't even fuck."
Joel's glare was intense, diminishing Catfish with his sharp tongue.
"And if I can't trust ya, then I have no reason to keep evading that little camp were your son is at."
His final jab made Catfish's eyes cloud with frustration, tears almost brimming. Fear bubbled in his throat as he spoke.
"What do you want from me?"
Cracked.
"You have to fuck her."
Catfish let out a dry, humorless laugh. Panic was nipping at him.
"What do you win from that?"
Joel's brows furrowed. "I miss the times were you just obeyed."
But as his hand reached over to the pin, Catfish spoke again. "Fine, Joel, fine."
Sweat beaded at his forehead just below his baseball cap, and his puppy dog eyes were wide, fearful.
A smug grin tugged at Joel's lips, triumphant in all it's glory. He downed the glass and rose to his feet in anticipation.
"You don't mean-"
"Yes, now. Finish your drink."
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@puduvallee @pedrofan @rant-throw-away @jalepp @lumpatto @miragens-para-uma-vitoria
DO NOT BLAME THE WIND
࿐ 𝒲arnings: MY CONTENT IS DARK AND MY WARNINGS ARE NOT EXHAUSTIVE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. MY WORK CONTAINS TRIGGERING ELEMENTS SUCH AS MENTIONS OF RAPE; RESTRAINS; AGE GAP; CAPTIVITY; STOCKHOLM SYNDROME; MENTIONS OF BLOOD; FEAR; TORTURE THEMES AND POSSIBLY OTHERS. MDNI, 18+.
࿐ CATEGORY: JOEL MILLER ONE-SHOT
࿐ PAIRINGS: dark!captor!joel miller x reader
࿐ MY NOTES: finallyyy managed to write some pedro pascal. Exam sessions are over for now, so I'll be yours, my babies. Enjoy reading my shit. REBLOGS, ASKS, LIKES AND COMMENTS ARE MUCH LOVED AND DESIRED. REQUESTS ARE OPENED FOR MORE DARK FIC IDEAS.
࿐ TAGS: @pedrosyouknowwhat enjoy, my beloved. @highonmarvel my sister and soulmate xxx @katwriteshardy JUST IN CASE U WANNA READ THIS TOO
The weathered bark of the pine was splinting the flesh of your back and the cold was leaving sharp bites up your arms. The wind was unforgivingly harsh, and it whipped at your face, making more tears run down your numb cheeks. The rope was secured tightly and you felt like an animal, tied and bound to take your punishment. Your throat felt hoarse from all the weeping and pleading after him. But, apparently, when Joel Miller wanted to teach someone something, there was no opposition or protests — all you could do was watch his broad figure ride towards the woods, while you were left prey to the storm outside.
Your wrists were all bloodied, the result of your struggle. The dizziness and agony made your retina blur, disorting everything in your sight. You only prayed that Joel would come get you and you promised yourself you will never spit at his face ever again, no matter how hard he backhanded you or thrusted in your core.
As if your prayers were finally heard, a rugged movement beside you made your body instinctively flinch. “J-Joel?”, you asked, heavy eyes looking up at the older man. His jaw was clenched as his gloved hand came up and rested itself on your jaw. “I’m so s-sorry—”, you choked out, hot tears now cascading freely. Your whole body was shaking from the pain of standing with your back glued to the tree, restrained, all in the iciness of the howling tempests.
“You’re shivering…”, he growled, as if your plea fell on deaf ears. You nodded and looked up at him through your wet lashes. “I’m s-so cold…”, you whimpered, melting into the hardness of his body.
His calloused hand came to your back, where your wrists were secured, and ran his fingertips over the dried blood. You yelped. “I want to know—”, he started, and your heart jumped. You were ready to say anything just so he would take you back inside. “—if you know why you’re in this position…”
You looked into the darkness of his orbs and swallowed, looking for permission to speak. You absolutely did not want him to believe you were talking back, even though he asked you something.
The click of his tongue in the inside of his cheek was showing off that he was expecting your answer.
“J-just as you s-say…Do not blame the wind for destroyal if you were the one that o-opened the window.”, you whispered, eyes falling to the frozen mud around your feet. “I-I was di-disrespectful and it w-was right of you to p-punish me.”
Joel smirked, pleased with your answer. “There’s my good girl…”, he praised, cutting off the rope. You wrapped your weakened arms around his neck…You were clinging for dear life at the man that made you suffer the most. How ironic.
“Let’s get you back home, where you’ll show me if you’re actually sorry or not.”, he finished as your eyes darted to the pylon of your torture, wrapped in fog, and the crimson-stained rope lying forgotten in the dirt. Your face buried itself into his neck, and his warmth gave you an odd comfort.
Terror does funny things to mankind.
nah, I'm a little too obsessed with this. Read the other part too, but this one was purely delicious! Oh, the talent is killing me softly, really --
Clean
Summary: They are everywhere, at all times.
Warnings: Dead dove do not eat, noncon, kidnapping, fingering, manhandling.
Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader
Series Masterlist
You hadn't recollected yourself when Joel spoke once again, Texan drawl lighter after the relief he had taken on your body. Your shivering hands attempted to paw at scraps of your clothes, using your previously discarded jean jacket to cover your naked form.
"Might as well bathe her if she's sleeping in my bed," He asserted casually, looking down at your disheveled state. "had a long day, didn't you, puppy?"
You stared at him wide eyed, not knowing what to possibly say. The nickname rolled out of his tongue with satisfaction, towering over your kneeling form, as if you actually were a dog. His shoulder flexed under his worn navy sweater, and he shifted to the rest of the men, tucking their still-hard erections away. You sensed the power Joel held over them, taming their savage desire with a simple command.
"Call dibs on that." Dieter proclaimed, a chuckle and a growl mixing in his tone as the rest cackled slightly. Joel tutted, cutting through the sounds charismatic-ally.
"Want her squeaky clean, Catfish it's on you."
Your Savior slammed the toy helicopter on the kitchen table, standing up with a torn, dutiful look on his face. The rest begun rumbling, and Joel simply looked up at them through his eyebrows, silencing them.
Catfish's dark and dirty boots stumped on the floorboards, short lived protests in their wake. His eyes glared at Joel from beneath the visor of his cap, hands twitching at his sides, but softened when he came down to his knees before you.
His hands reached for the over sized jean jacket that you had a white-knuckled grip on, and he gave it a wavering tug. Your eyes pleaded at him, and he nodded, still reaching for the jacket; his eyes reassured you, but you had seen the bulge protruding at his zipper, he was no better than the rest of them.
Burning holes into your head was Joel's stare, so you let go. It surprised you as Catfish straightened up the piece and showed you the arm hole. Slowly, you extended your limb and climbed into the jacket.
"Can you walk?" He whispered, and you tensed your muscles, skimming the possible pain. Your core felt like fire, but your legs felt enough as you pushed yourself onto the soles of your feet. You breathed out, eyes on him as he lifted you around your waist, hands warm through the denim.
As you came onto your feet, you realized the other men had possibly lost interest, fidgeting around with random objects you couldn't place through blurry eyes. Some sat down on the tattered couch, other's perched upon the counter.
A reassuring step after the other, with Catfish's arm supporting your back and waist, palm not fully pressing against you, you walked past the fireplace, and the couch and almost reached the hallway before your muscles turned taut, stretching and pulling at the fiber of your flesh. His careful grip wasn't enough to hold you as your knees slammed against the floor, crevices and lines sinking into your flesh and eliciting a sharp hiss.
"Need help?" One of them asked, and you hand shot to pull the only item of clothing down your bare ass. Preserving some dignity.
His hands were more stubborn, pulling you hastily from the floor to your feet and into the shadowy hallway. You felt cold marble digging against your back as he propped you against the bathroom counter, turning on the yellowed light.
The bathroom was well kept, but it didn't compare in the slightest to your back at home. You scanned for similarities, washbowl, mirror, toilet and tub. Although the porcelain looked stained, and the mirror was barely enough to see you face and some of your neck, it was spacey enough for the two of you to stand with some distance.
He crouched by your legs, hands reaching into the cabinets before pulling out some essentials; soap, a towel and bottle of shampoo which's label had rubbed off. After placing them on the counter, he silently kneeled over the bath tub, turning the rusty faucet on.
You peeked at him through wild strands of hair, debating onto what to do next. Your whole body was ravaged in shock, and you barely processed the situation. The men were speaking on the other room, you heard it as low whispers, along with the water splashed onto the porcelain, intercepted by Catfish's thick fingers.
His dark brown t-shirt expanded over his large back, material so thin you could trace the outline of each bulging muscle; as he leaned over the edge of the filling tub, a peak of flesh showed from the space between the shirt and his worn out boxers. He smelled musky, hidden under a layer of what you could tell was cheaper version of your father's perfume.
The sole idea brought tears into your eyes, stinging their way down your cheeks as you sniffled lightly. He pushed his shoulders back, tensing at the sound, but didn't say anything.
They were dead, that you were almost sure about, bodies were scattered everywhere and guns were going off madly as you ran away. You didn't even get to say goodbye, slipping out of your comfy bed that very own morning to go get coffee down the street before the alarms went off. You ran, because you knew the alarm meant you had to.
The bathtub creaked as Catfish used it to leverage himself up. He dried himself on the itchy hand towel, and turned to face you, but his eyes didn't meet yours.
"Water's cold, sorry for that." He muttered, sincerely. He stepped aside, showing you the half filled bathtub. Your thighs pressed together, sticky mess pooling and drying flaky upon your damp skin; your hands clutched onto the jean jacket as you pressed it as closed as possibly.
Catfish scanned the room, as if checking everything was in place before he moved to the door. "Gonna see if I can give you something to change onto."
Not because of finding something, but if he was allowed to. That went unsaid, and you kept silent as the door creaked shut. For some seconds, you froze, testing the strength of your strained legs or expecting something else to happen. But the more you looked at the tub, you knew you had to get this done with.
What could happen if you took too much time?
You slipped your jacket off, biding goodbye to the last trace of your scent as the cold autumn air bit at your exposed skin. The soap felt greasy and thick against your hand, and your mind dumbly wondered if it could cause any bad reaction against your skin, but the idea of being dirty disgusted you more.
You bit a hiss as you stepped onto the cold water, sinking in quickly to avoid further discomfort. The icy water aching at any pain in your body, but it took away any dirt and sweat as you lathered the soap against your body. You didn't dare to look between your thighs as you rubbed at them underneath the water.
And then you dropped the soap, letting it sink to the bottom as your fingers ghosted over your core. You still felt him, deep inside you, and you hesitated to rub there, to try and clean any trace.
Your mind clawed towards the inevitable future as your shoulders slumped against the cool porcelain, as you scratched the shampoo into the knotted hair, careful on the spots that had been tugged. Some stray hairs tied around your fingers as you attempted to comb it. Once you believed you had finished, you let your eyes closed.
Would they be mad if you stayed here?
For a brief second you allowed yourself to relax, finding comfort in momentary stillness. The door creaked open, making you jump and slosh the water around. It had turned grayish, and you felt your hands shot to cover your bare chest.
Big, puppy dog eyes peeked through the door. He had taken of his cap, and his dark brown hair curled almost in shape. He held a dark bunch of fabric in his hand, and he stretched his upper body to settle it in the toilet lid.
"I'll be waiting outside, no hurry." He mumbled, softly, eyes reassuring and voice barely above a whisper. "Joel's already in bed, told me to bring you once you are done."
You nodded. You heard more talking outside the door, but his words had assured you at least some brief respite of the situation. It had brought everything crashing back, your vulnerability, and you took a deep breathe as you begun emptying the tub.
As the water swirled, you realized you didn't felt clean enough. With shaking fingers you popped the stopper back in and turned the faucet back on.
It pooled around your feet, cold no longer bothering you as you pulled your knees onto your chest, pressing your under eyes against the scratched skin.
Some seconds more, some more seconds of ignoring what was happening to you, you wondered if this was going to become an usual occurrence before the door hinges cried in protest.
You sighed, knowing you had possibly exceded your time in peace as you begun to rise.
"F-fuck you!" Was bellowed, and your head snapped to the door.
A sharp cackle followed that, and the scene unfolded.
Catfish's face was red as it bulged beneath Marcus' imposing bicep, knees folding under the pressure. Whiskey limited your view, body connected the door frame and the knob as he stepped in, too busy laughing at his fellow Raider to look at you. Beside him, Javier leaned against said frame, Cheshire cat grin pulling under his mustache as his eyes narrowed at you.
He pushed the laughing Whiskey into the bathroom, not before shooting Marcus' a smile over his shoulder as Catfish struggled against his confines. A hand was clamped over his mouth, keeping his gaze forcefully fixed upon you.
They neared the tub, eyeing the streaming faucet with intrigue. As you stared at them, slotting your body as far as possible into the tub, you realized they had changed into night clothes.
It gave you a small reminder of your guy friends back into the community, pijama pants and old t-shirts, though their eyes told a different story. Dark and blown out.
You felt Whiskey's breath against your back, making you jolt forward, coming face to face with Javier. Your hands came to grasp at the sides of the tub, knuckles turning white.
"Easy there," Javier commanded, voice stern. His hand dipped into the puddle forming by hour feet, fingers swirling on the water. "It's cold baby, want me to warm it up for you?"
Your head shook on itself, rapidly, frantically. He shifted, jaw ticking to Whiskey behind you. His arms slithered slowly around your collarbones, pulling your crouched back straight against the flannel of his pijama shirt. Your arms stuck to your sides at the armpits, incapacitating you as the heel of your feet kicked splashed water around.
"Can't fuck you without Joel's approval," Javier grunted, wet fingers tracing up your naked thigh as his eyes ransacked your form. Whiskey's grip pulled taught at your breasts, nipples erect and pruned from the freezing water, and you couldn't close your legs without slipping further into the bath and straining your neck. "Should have done it when I found you, you were already in all fours, recall?"
You slammed your head back in panic, Whiskey barely dodging it as he nosed along your neck; he growled at you. You clenched your thighs as best as you could, but Javier was stronger. Elbow pressed against one knee and his hand splayed against the other, forcing you an arm width open for him.
His other hand, the one that was previously tracing up your thigh, lowered dangerously, tracing two fingers through the seam of your sex.
You whined, Whiskey’s breathe fanning over your cheek as a single tear slid through it. It all felt tense, their hands on you, the faint noises of rustling behind you as Catfish attempted to escape Marcus’ grip, and their hot gazes upon you.
Two fingers pulled your lips apart, exposing you if possibly further to the cold air of the bathroom. Javier bit his lower lip, sighing as warmth spread up his neck.
Not even then, as you bathed yourself, you had peace.
His digits prodded at your hole, swollen and pink from Joel’s cock, yet they slipped in with some protest. A louder yelp escaped your lips, Javier giving Whiskey a warning through his knitted eyebrows. The man pressed a big, calloused hand to your lips, and you understood their boss possibly hadn’t given them permission for this.
Experimentally, Javier pushed his fingers to the last knuckle, pads pushing against your walls as they felt around. Searching, they were, along his eyes; searching for something in your expression.
“How is she?” Whiskey whispered, voice laced with amusement.
“Still fucking tight.” Javier growled ferociously, retrieving his fingers and working them back in slowly at first.
A small, hidden moan bounced against Whiskey’s palm, and your eyelids shut close. There was something about the way he was curling his fingers, against something just below your mound, that sent your legs shivering. Tears slipped into his hand, shame, breathing hard by his powerful grip upon your chest.
They shared a mischievous smile, almost juvenile in a way.
“Don’t cry, puppy.” He cooed, but the mockery made you cry harder. “Just gonna make this pussy cum.”
He leaned forward and spat, straining his shoulders from the position. His thumb scooped up the spit and pressed at the apex of your core, beginning to rub careful circles as his hand begun thrusting harder into you, curling quicker.
You felt the knot tighten at your stomach, toes curling and you tried, one last time, to get away. Useless.
“Make it quick.” Marcus hissed, a thin layer of sweat shining over his forehead. Catfish hadn’t stop struggling, vein popping at his forehead.
He didn’t answer, but his ministrations became more forceful, sending your eyes rolling back as you felt wetness spread, coat his fingers.
A sloppy kiss on your collarbone sent you spiraling, biting painfully on your lip as you exposed more of your neck to the man behind you. The knot snapped, walls clenching around Javier’s fingers as they fucked you through your high. Pride resounded in his chest.
The arm that was spreading you dislocated from your knees, curling around your quavering thigh as you squirmed away, ministrations becoming too much.
It hurt, though pleasure laced on the action you felt raw, vulnerable, small. You felt your breathe heaving, growing agitated with the passing seconds. Fear clouded your features, mind chanting please make it stop over and over.
As if hearing your thoughts, Javier slowly pulled out his fingers, cleaning them in the sloshing water and then his pijama pants. He relished in the way your eyes clouded with tears and how helpless you looked, the grin on his face told you so.
You felt the arms around you loosen, and sobs wrecked through your body as the hand came off. From the corner of your eyes, Marcus let Catfish go, but the man just ticked his jaw at him, unable to say more.
A grip on your chin stopped you from casting your eyes downwards, and Javier studied how red your lips looked, puffy from crying.
“Give me a kiss.” He ordered, though his voice was sultry. You swallowed hard, shame tinting your cheeks as you blinked at him.
Cocking his head, he grinned even wider. “Have you never…?”
The threat lingered in the air, Whiskey’s stubble rubbing against your neck.
The hand on your chin rose to cup your cheek, keeping you still as he rolled on the balls of his feet, mouth parted before smashing his lips onto yours.
You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue entering your mouth, taking a claim. Teeth clashing against teeth, Javier coating your mouth with his own saliva, and how the bathtub dug into your back as you tried to escape away, just falling deeper into Whiskey’s spread arms.
He pulled away, leaving a string attached as he revisited for a quick peck, enamored with the taste of your lips. His hand smoothed over your cheek, wiping tears carelessly.
He stood up, and Whiskey followed him, knees cracking. You balled up, face hidden in your knees as muscles tensed and ached.
You heard their chuckles as they left, only one pair of eyes on you now. Catfish groaned into his hand, fist slamming against the counter, sending you flinching.
He softened as he turned on his heel, spreading the towel for you. He could tell you were scared, your eyes looking up at him through your wet lashes, but he just turned his head to the side.
You stood up, droplets cascading from your body as he draped the thick, coarse material over your form. You stepped out of the tub, breathe hitching as you waited for his next move.
He shook the hairbrush in your face for you to take it, and rested the t-shirt and a new toothbrush on the counter as he turned around, head planted to the door.
You stole glances of his broad form as you brushed your hair as best you could, and as you slipped into the y-shirt; it was old and stretched out, yet smelled good. You could tell it was Catfish’s, by the perfume.
You spat out the remaining toothpaste and propped the toothbrush on the empty holder, hand daring to tap at his back.
He gave an off the shoulder glance before fully turning around, quickly scanning your form. How silent you were irked him.
“Gonna take you to Joel’s room.” He grunted, jaw tensing. Though his eyes told a different story; sad and puppy like, warm brown.
You nodded, in defeat. He stopped in his tracks, hand resting at the door knob.
“What’s your name?” He asked.
You felt it slip out of your tongue almost uncharacteristically, just your first name. What good could your surname do at this point?
“Pretty.”
He opened the door, hand once again finding your hip. The lights outside the corridor were off, and the house was silent.
You passed through doors and doors, realizing the state of the house as you stepped in front of the last one. It wasn't like your house, but it was big, not dirty but time had taken its toll. You wondered if they had found it like this, dilapidated wall paper and humidity splattered on the ceilings, or if they had been there for long enough.
Catching you gawking, Catfish murmured over his shoulder. "If you are looking for a way out, I'll tell ya now, they won't allow it."
You swallowed, the idea hadn't even crossed your mind. In all honesty, most of the thoughts you were having were blank.
Catfish knocked on the door, and you heard a faint “come in” grunted.
Inside the room, Joel lay in a king size bed, silk navy sheets carefully done beneath him. You recognized them from the shop back in your community. His thighs were strapped in flannel, and his muscles bulged through a thin tank top. The dim light of a bedside light illuminated his marred skin, shining lightly. At the other end of the room was a door and a window. Through the curtains you saw the deep, treacherous forest, a pool of black and green.
He looked up from the book he had dwarfed in his hands, and his brows furrowed.
“Didn’t tell you to dress her.” He commented, voice sharp.
Catfish sighed. “It’s just a t-shirt.”
Joel let the book on his nightstand, arms crossing as he glared at the defiance. “You can take it, she won’t be needing it.”
Your adverted gaze rose to look at Catfish, but his fingers still wrapped around the hem of the shirt. He peeled it off, gently, before looking once more at Joel.
“That’s it, thank you, Frankie.”
Your mind buzzed, lips parting as Catfish turned on his heel and closed the door behind him.
“Come here.” You heard, forcing you to face once more the man in the bed.
Your legs wouldn’t budge. His eyebrow shifted, threateningly. You felt your lower lip jut out, swallowing a sob.
His muscles tensed, and you forced yourself to take a step closer in fear he was going to stand up. Another, and another, your naked knees grazed the bed.
He nudged to the space of the bed beside him.
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MY BELOVED GHOST AND ME...
...SITTING IN A TREE.
MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE
꧁༺ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍
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✦ I will put the warnings ahead of each piece of fanfiction. Keep in mind that my work contains triggering elements such as nonconsensual sex; abusive relationships; sexual/mental/physical abuse; violence; harassment; sex trafficking; abduction; age gap; power dynamics and possible other dark themes. Proceed with caution. This blog is not for minors. You are responsible for your own media consumption.
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©THEHYDRAETHEREAL 2025. My work might contain triggering elements. You are responsible for your media consumption. Do not translate or repost my work without my consent.
༊ ⁎۵࿔࿐ MASTERPOST AND BLOG INSPIRED BY @highonmarvel
ℐ am DECEASED. You amaze me, really. I am stuck at the same scene in my drafts while you write these so seemingly effortless but they turn out SO GOOD, the plot lines up and the darknesssss ugh. And him>>> thank you for writing this!
nena mala
Summary: After the fall of the godfathers, Peña takes his personally desired target.
Pairings: Dark! Javier Peña x Dark! Reader
Warnings: consensual turns to noncon, hate fucking, drug trafficker reader, probably very uncannon because I am in the first season but I needed to write this, reader is veeery horny, un protected sex (p in v), oral sex (f receiving), choking, slapping, arresting (?, fingering, creampie, if you dont know Spanish i can translate it for you, degradation, tell me if I missed anything.
You celebrated the fall of the godfathers; finally achieving a monopoly of the cocaine trafficking into USA. Your club boomed with people, some friends, some willing to change sides after events and some clueless of what was being celebrated.
You pulled the hem of your dress down as you slithered through the crowd, a bottle of expensive whiskey in one hand as men dragged their eyes over you; if only they knew how dangerous it would be for them to even try something. Escobar and those guys may be upfront, but you slipped through shadows and actually fucking knew how to launder money.
A gentle tap on your shoulder made you twirl on your heels, almost slipping due to the alcohol in your veins, and you came face to face with one of your guys. He leaned in to your ear, whispering discretely.
"Hay un chancho acá; del DEA."
Your eyes scanned the venue, squinting to see through the party lights until your gaze fell on him. Thick shoulders bulging from a thin shirt, tan skin and tell tale porn star mustache. Javier Peña, your darkest dream. He stood by the bar, dark eyes scanning around. Oh, how you wished that he would chase you too.
"Gracias." You whispered back, patting his back, before making your way to the bar. Smoothly, your perched yourself beside him, as if pretending to order.
"Gabriel," You called your bar tender, perhaps louder than you should. "Un caipi porfa."
It must had worked, because you felt him settle beside you.
"Isn't that bottle enough?" He teased, thick accent sending shivers down your spine. You realized you still had the bottle clenched in your hand, embarrassment slightly rose your cheeks.
"This goes back to the bar;" You lied through your teeth, placing the bottle in some confused bar tender's hand. "Gotta keep my establishment running."
You looked over your shoulder to him, towering over your back. A glimpse of understandment flashed through his eyes, and you could almost eat him up right there.
"Ah, so you work here?" He questioned, but it felt teasingly. His forearm propped itself next to yours.
"I am the owner." You clarified, grabbing the Caipirinha that was served to you as your voice slurred. The cold glass wet your hand, almost as much as he was wetting your thong. "La mujer de la noche."
You gave him the name of the bar in a singsong voice, shoulder gently nudging against his chest. Almost as if it was a signal, his free hand fell on your lower back.
"Then congratulation on the business," He chuckled, taking the drink from your hand confidently and sipping it. "Celebrating anything tonight?"
He nodded to your extravagant outfit, the little black dress that clung to your body and the golden jewelry. True gold, not anything the other girls around you had. A smile forced itself in your lips drunkenly, but you couldn't actually tell a DEA what you were celebrating, despite how your intoxicated and excited mind wanted to.
"Nothing special; I could dress up like this to do my gardening."
You felt so hot flirting like this; you wanted Javier Peña to notice you for years. You almost got jealous seeing him running around the Godfathers, and seeing his veiny hands up close made you wish he would bend you over and cuff you up.
"Then I'd really like to have you as a neighbor." He joked and you laughed, as if his DEA salary could ever afford a house next to your fucking Villa.
"You surely are better than the ones I have." You retorted. Your only neighbors were now in jail.
"They give you a hard time?" He asked, and you were devouring the amount of attention he was placing on you. You leaned in closer, chest now perked barely grazing under his pecs through the thin clothing between you, and you smelled his perfume; whiskey, cigarettes and eucalyptus.
"I'd probably say I give them a hard time, considering how they look at me." You bit, using the excuse of the loud music to get as close as possible. He looked down at you, and you almost could see his mind hesitating his response.
"Then why don't you take me back to your place and give them something else to look at?"
You almost squealed, but you had to kept your cool. You bit your lip, because you possibly couldn't take him home. It was a one way ticket to a tax evasion fine, and if he searched hard enough, you'd probably end up in the same place as your neighbors.
"Can't leave the club like this," You said, painfully, seeing disappointment in his eyes made you panic; you spoke quickly, fearing he could take it the wrong way. "but my office is free, and right upstairs."
You didn't play along the game, you had faltered, but Javier was so close to you, you couldn't even think properly. He looked surprised at your crassness, but the smile didn't falter from his lips, tucked beneath that dreamy mustache you wanted to feel scratch your skin.
"Lead the way then." He muttered, eyes dangerous. As you turned around, draping his hand over your shoulder, a grin plastered on your face.
You barely reached the stairs when he had spun your around and slammed you to the wall, lips pushing against yours. An arm slithered around your back as a hand gripped your ass, hard. You melted like jelly into his arms as he pressed his hard onto you.
"Come on," You whined, the second his lips left yours and begun sucking your neck. "I wanna sit on that big nose of yours."
You felt your cheeks blush instantly, but words spilled out of your mouth carelessly. He roared in laughter, so you just pulled him into your office.
He ferociously pushed you into your zebra print couch, falling along you. The fabric of his jeans dragged against your open thighs, zipper falling almost like a puzzle piece against your panty clad slit. You moaned at the feeling, soaking through so much you wouldn't be surprised if you had left a spot. A hand hiking up your dress, your tangling in his curls while the other dig your claws into his shoulder.
He pulled away and you almost whined at the loss of his body heat. However, as he slipped off your underwear you couldn't be less bothered. He eyed your cunt, hungrily as he spread your thighs further apart. Leaning over, he placed a kiss over your dripping slit before licking a stripe along. Your eyes rolled all the way back as a breathy, needy moan erupted through your stained lips.
He ate you like a man starved, playfully dragging his curved nose over your clit, as if making you remember your words. His tongue fucked into you, lips wrapped around your soft point, the alternation of events making you buck your hips wildly and his fucking mustache just rubbed perfectly against your mount. He brought you to the edge only to drag himself away from you and observe how you kicked your heels against the couch, clenching his hair tightly, attempting perhaps to get him closer.
"Gonna give you the good thing," He groaned darkly, fingers now working your heels off you, hastily. Once he got them off, he plunged two fingers into your weeping cunt, making your gasp at the sudden intrusion as a small sting formed around the stretch of his fingers. "Can't believe a fucking club owner has this tight of a pussy."
You ignored the sexism and stereotype in his words, eyes clenched shut as you babbled to his fingers scissoring in you. You heard faintly the sound of a zipper, and peered open to see. The well trimmed patch of pubic hair, the red big tip point angrily to the sky, a vein that traveled down his shaft. "Javi, please."
Javi; the nickname you had given him since you saw his handsome face on the TV, it made you giggle like a teenager every time you discussed him with your girl friends.
"I'm going, sweetheart." He hushed, and your heart swelled at the nickname. He took his fingers out with a faint pop from your wetness and you spread your thighs even further apart, if possibly. He smeared your wetness across his dick, giving it a few good-luck pumps. Your mouth salivated at the sight, and your hands slipped to undo the buttons of his shirt, desperate to touch more of him.
He slipped the tip in and your eyes watered, pleasure shooting through your core.
"Just fucking ram it in, Javier." You demanded impatiently. He snickered, hands gripping your hips before he shot you menacing look. Propping himself in his knees, he slammed into you.
You moaned loudly, head rolling over the edge as you stretched around him. No thick fingers could have prepared you for this; he grunted, letting you know he hadn't expected it either. In your brief glory, he leaned over your body, mouth slotting against your ear, nibbling in your lobe and whispering, seductively.
"Never told you my name, honey."
You felt as if a bucket of icy water had been thrown over you as shivers ran your spine and your eyes burst open. You attempted to laugh, mind thinking of an excuse as he dragged his cock achingly slow in and out.
"I-I know," You sputtered, hands perhaps holding so tight into his shoulder as if measuring your strength. "I have every-" he had plunged into you more deeper than he had done before, forcing a stutter. "everyone who comes into-into my club registered."
He hummed, continuing his tortuously slow pace. You felt your thighs clench against his hips, waiting his response. You felt slightly more relieved as he begun thrusting quicker.
"And the name of your club is so intriguing." He spoke through his groans, although his words were so concise they felt rehearsed. "The lady of the night; I heard that name in my job."
Fuck. No. Stop. Red flags bloomed in your temple as you froze.
"Care to hear the story?" He asked, but his tone wasn't like the questions he had asked down in the bar. He stopped his ministrations, perchance attempting to concentrate himself. "She's a drug trafficker that currently has two million pounds entering the United States from, guess where, Colombia."
Yeah. He had you. Panic took control as your body begun shivering, violently. You managed to push him off your ear, seeing his face. Your juices glistened against his mustache as his teeth formed an almost casual smirk; lit by the dim warm light of your office, his face was contorted into the most pleasured expression. You panicked, hands pushing against shoulders which barely budged. He tutted, lips still stretched as he easily overpowered your wrists in his clasp.
He called your name, in full, not even the name you had on the club paper and the people around you knew you by; your actual fucking name. "You lied to me, bebita."
His cock was still kissing your uterus, you were sure you were so tense you had clenched around him like a vice.
"You lied to me," He repeated. "you actually are fucking celebrating your competition's downfall."
Yep. Correct, Perhaps if you agreed he'd let you go.
"Get off me," You snapped, teeth bared. "I'll scream."
He cackled almost childishly, before letting his free hand cradle your cheek. The sudden tenderness felt off.
"You can scream all you want, got the fucking police outside." He muttered. "all I needed was a quick arrest; but you presented yourself so easily," He begun rocking his hips once again. "So I thought, why don't I take my commission for the head ache you have caused me?"
His hand left your cheek and fell to cover your mouth, seizing your your shaking jaw in the process. You closed your eyes, thoughts rushing to your now sober head. The air was filled with the squelching noise of his dick ramming in and out and his heavy pleasure groans. He suddenly sighted, as if savoring the moment, and his hands blindly turned your body around, pressing his barely dressed chest to you damp back. Your chest spilled from the armrest, and you took the opportunity as he held your hip with one hand and aligned his cock.
"HELP-"
His forearm slapped against your neck, bicep bulging against your cheek as he choked words out of your mouth.
"Careful there," He rasped, sheathing himself in. You whimpered at the new angle. "Don't make me do anything you wouldn't like, at least not so fast."
He began curling his hips into you, allowing you some breathe. Not that you could breathe well, his pace had become brutal, as if punishing you from every fucking gram you sold. The couch creaked as he placed all his hip strength in his thrusts. He panted like a dog, allowing thick moans to fill your ears.
"Nena mala, muy mala," He howled, pulling the straps of your dress down to grip your tits. Rough, calloused hands fidgeting with your nipples. "Just need some good cock to put you on your place, huh? un buen pito para esta putita?"
Hand on your tit, bicep choking you and dick all the way down to your abdomen, and you felt yourself clenching around him. As if he knew- he probably did, given by the short breaths he took- his hand fell down to between your legs. He found your clit easily, as if he had learned were it was, and rubbed it with the same pressure he was imprinting his cock into you. Too hard for your taste, but he was barely giving your the luxury of not choking your lights out.
No no no no, you though as you felt it. Sparking down from your chest to your core, forcing your muscles taut, sending more and more dampness around your bodies. With a wail you came around his cock, tears of humiliation spilling down your cheek and onto his tan skin.
It drove him wild, wild enough to stop choking you and hoisting your bodies up into the air, the hand that was pleasuring you rising to slap against your ass cheek as he rutted in wildly.
"Nena mala," He grunted as if that was the only thing running through his brain, punctuating his words with messy thrusts and sharp slaps to the side of your cheek. "gonna fucking teach you to behave."
Three final hits and he was holding down your lower stomach, pressing into you as hot ropes of cum painted your insides. He kept you like that for a while, and you felt crushed as he propped his weight in your shaky knees. His head came to lay on your shoulder and he suddenly was pressing kisses into your neck as a faux action of love. Your breathe hitched, sobs unable to properly escape as you hyperventilated. He produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, probably you had felt them when you groped his ass but chose to ignore it. He clanked them around your wrists, and you allowed him to before dropping you face first into the couch, with your dress still ridden up to your back and neckline still pulled down and cum still dripping into your legs and ass still stinging. He placed a cigarette over his lips as he zipped his pants up, shirt still torn apart.
"It's a pity;" He spoke, muffled as he lit the tip of the cigarette dangling from his mouth. "You are really pretty."
You craned your neck to look at him, taking a drag. Smoke circled around him as his body shined with sweat, your lipstick stained along his face and neck.
"But hey, the justice system is rigged; could get you out early if you behave for me."