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residences-of-the-darkforest · 3 months

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Dark Forest Resident: Blackclover

TW: This story will contain strong mention of drug addiction.

Aliases / Nicknames: Herb-stealer

Gender: tom

Sexuality: homosexual

Family: Icelily (mother), Pondheart (father), Whistlespring, Firstripe (sisters), Flintarch (mate, formerly)

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, Sandburn (apprentice)

Clan: ShadowClan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: optimistic (formerly), likes random fun facts, pessimistic, in constant pain

Motive to Harm: to stop his pain

Number of Victims: 2+

Number of Murders: 0

Murder Method: N/A

Method of Harm: clawing in blind rage, destroying herbs

Known Victims: Flintarch, unnamed medicine cat, unnamed Clanmates, unnamed WindClan cats

Victim Profile: his mate, the medicine cat, ShadowClanners, WindClanners

Cause of Death: poppy seed overdose

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

His life was good.

His mother loved him, and though his father rarely visited, that didn't affect Blackkit much. He spent enough time preoccupied with nuzzling with Icelily or playing with his sisters or visiting the elders to really notice.

But as an apprentice, he began to see little things. Like how Flintpaw's father cheered just as loud as his mother at his ceremony, and how he always asked his son how his day was. Was that how it was supposed to be like? Or was Flintpaw's family strange?

Blackpaw decided to try it out. After one training session, he approached his father and asked if they could share a sparrow. Pondheart was open to it, but any form of conversation was utterly dull. Anything Blackpaw said, he would only get 'mmms' and 'uh-huhs' in response.

When they were done eating, Blackpaw padded away dejectedly--and walked into Flintpaw, who sympathised, having seen what happened. Blackpaw was on-edge at first, after all Flintpaw had just beaten him quite humiliatingly in training, but it turned out that the older apprentice was really nice!

He asked about the things Blackpaw had mentioned to his father, allowing Blackpaw to talk about them with someone. He wasn't Pondheart, but maybe he was better--after all, he actually listened and talked back. So more and more, Blackpaw would go to him. And Flintpaw would go to him in turn if he had something he wanted to talk about.

They spent more time together. First to talk, then to also play, then to talk and play and patrol together, then it was whatever they wanted to do.

By the time they were young warriors, it was clear that they were the most important cat in each other's lives. Becoming mates felt like the next natural step....though Blackclover was near sweating his fur off at the prospect of Flintarch saying no. He proposed while the two were alone on a dusk patrol, and they slept in a shared nest the following night.

For moons, everything was perfect. Pondheart may be indifferent, but Blackclover cared less and less. He had a wonderful mother, he had the best annoying sisters, and he had the love of his life who he woke to curled around him every morning.

His mentor, too, had been a wonderful guide, and his apprentice had been energetic enough to make him feel as young as a kit.

Then it rained, over and over again until the streams became fast-flowing rivers that swept anything that entered it away.

Sandpaw had been too confident. She thought she could catch a frog that sat on a rock by the shore, but she ended up slipping into the water. Instantly, it began to drag her below to surface and away.

Blackclover ran after her without thinking, not caring about his own safety. He told--practically ordered--Flintarch, who had been with them, to get help while he went after Sandpaw.

He ran and ran until his paw pads bleed and burned, and ran more, then leaped along the stones dotted along the rushing water until at last he could reach Sandpaw's scruff and help swing her to the shore--but she was heavy, the rock was slippery, and the effort of the swing caused him to fall and slam his chest into the ragged edge of the stone.

He was lucky enough to be rescued by the patrol his mate had fetched. But that's as far as his luck would go.

The pain was unbearable.

The medicine cat suspected that he broke three ribs at most, but other than that, she couldn't tell what was happening inside of him. She could only offer him medicine.

Horsetail was applied all around his chest as a precaution to rid of infection and clean the wounds.

There was bindweed and comfrey root, which was wrapped around his chest and the spine behind it so that his bones could heal undisturbed.

He was given coltsfoot once a day to ease his breathing.

But his best friend became the poppy seeds.

The poppy seeds soothed his pain. Even better, they eased his distress.

When he didn't have them, the pain felt as though it was digging in more and more, spreading throughout his body.

His apprentice, who had to be trained under another warrior while he healed, couldn't cheer him up, not even when she received her full name.

His loving mate couldn't distract him against the intense ache, even when they lay wrapped together.

Only the poppy seeds could keep the agony at bay. But the more he ate, the less affective it was. He needed them in higher and higher doses, doses so high that the medicine cat refused to give him what he needed, stating that it was dangerous.

Frustrated and in pain, Blackclover swung his claws in a fit of fury, scratching the healer's muzzle and earning him the ire of his Clanmates.

They didn't understand.

Neither did Flintarch or Sandburn, who tried to help him heal in other ways--stretching his front legs, massaging his chest, breathing deeply. But none of what they tried helped at all.

With each passing day, the pain only dug deeper and sharper, and his only comfort were the poppy seeds that he wasn't even able to take that much of. And now, they didn't relieve him like they did before. It took care of the pain, but only slightly, and their effect fell quickly.

He became desperate. When convincing the medicine cat to give him more failed, he broke into the herb stores himself while she was away. But as he searched, the pain got worse, and he became frustrated again. Near crazed, he threw any herb he came across that weren't the poppy seeds.

The ruckus caught the attention of Flintarch, who attempted to pull him away.

He was angry.

He was so desperate.

In a fit, he swung blindly, and struck his mate.

They had stared at each other in shock. Flintarch's ear was split, dripping blood down the side of his face. He told Blackclover that he had a choice: him or the herbs.

Why couldn't anyone understand?

The medicine cat said that his ribs had healed, there was no reason to continue taking medication.

But the pain was still there. And when the poppy seeds were stored in a hidden area, he only suffered more. He was unable to sleep, he trembled from the anxiety that crashed through his entire body and had sweat through his fur until his nest soaked, the nest that most of the time he was too depressed to rise just to clean it.

Flintarch tried to support him. Blackclover knew it, but he was suffering too much for it to matter.

Then he was put on a battle patrol that was to attack the WindClan camp. The other Clan's medicine den caught his eye...

His leader was furious. The whole Clan was furious. He went too far, destroying their herbs.

They all thought that he wanted to weaken them, but Flintarch saw through that. He told Blackclover that he knew now was Blackclover's choice was, and that they were through.

Their rage, the break-up, it only made his anxiety worse. He was rocked by emotional turmoil at the same time pain stabbed through his chest with every passing second.

He knew what his body was telling him.

He needed the poppy seeds.

At the Half-moon meeting, when the den was unguarded, he snuck in. It took a long time, but at last he found the hidden treasure. He lapped them up, already feeling the relief, and lapped them up more and more. He became a bit confused, and then disoriented, but he shoved the feelings away and kept lapping.

He swallowed down so much, and some of it came back up again, coughed onto the floor in red vomit. Blackclover stared at it, dizzy, then turned his head when he heard his name called.

Silhouetted in the entrance with just enough light to see his features, Flintarch shook his head sadly, ear split and half of his face drenched with blood. He whispered to Blackclover that he made his choice.

Then everything went dark.

Additional Information:

--Another song resident! This one was from @liberhoe who suggested the number 148. The song is Wasted by 8 Graves (lyrics here).

Other songs I have that could connect to the story are When We Die by Yungblud (lyrics in video) and The Mystic by Adam Jensen (lyrics here).

--This took a while to write because 1) I was REALLY tired, 2) I had to write exams and 3) I wanted to have enough energy to really focus on the story and get it right.

--Flintarch in the very end here was just a hallucination. If it had really been him, he would have instantly tried to help.

--Blackclover DID break three ribs, but he had also damaged nerves around the same area that the medicine cat was not able to find, so not only was he in double pain, but when his ribs healed, everyone thought that the pain was in his head or just an excuse to get more medication, which was of course absolutely frustrating.

--Poppy seeds were chosen because they help with pain, help to calm, and can be deadly in high doses (which was why he was cut off).

--The poppy seeds lost their effect because his body became used to it.

--To put it short: Black got injured saving his apprentice. His pain was severe, and the only thing that could soothe him were poppy seeds. Literally nothing else helped his pain, 99-100% due to the actual source of his pain not being treated at all. But he could only have so much before it was dangerous, so the med cat cut him off. But that gave him withdrawal symptoms and that mixed with his physical pains made him feel even worse, to the point that he only cared about finding and taking poppy seeds. As well, others thought that he was faking or being dramatic because his bones healed but his nerves didn't (and they didn't know about the nerve issue). The physical pains, the withdrawal, and the lack of support all made it worse.

--Flintarch tried to help for a long time.

--In the Dark Forest, Blackclover felt incredibly guilty for how he had treated Flintarch, and refused for anyone else to get close to him, because he didn't want to hurt them. But there is a tom that will eventually find his way into his heart.

--For the record, I DO NOT believe that Black should be in the Dark Forest. He was condemned by StarClan, and we all know their way (and to clear up, he was condemned for stealing or destroying herbs which could have had terrible consequences for the sick or injured, attackingtwo of his Clanmates, and going against the orders of both his leader and healer).

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toxicanonymity · 3 months

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The Raid, Part 2.

panty-dropping javi art by @bonezone44

8k words | dark!javi x f!reader x dark!steve | The Raid SUMMARY: Javi and his partner get you settled in. WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon (captivity & more), kidnapping, drugs, mild withdrawal, manhandling, sharing, degradation, praise, homoerotic tension, thigh fucking, somnophilia (javi), p in v (steve, but Javi's involved), orgasm denial, cumplay, size kink if you squint, mfm adjacent, hillbilly cock. Javi & Steve RECS: Lie Still by @milla-frenchy , Crossing Lines by @lunitawrites , Helping Hands and Polaroids by @clawdee , You can be the boss by @girlboybug . TY all!! A/N: Could've been 2 parts (4.4k/3.6k) so there's a divider (ty @cafekitsune) if you want 2 reads. Ty @debbiequinn for your sleep thot and @ghoulettesinspace for your styling thots. Tagged people who asked for part 2 at the end.

✨NEXT: Javi isn't home - Steve PWP.

The DEA has left the scene, aside from Javi and his tall, blonde partner. The partner managed to catch your (ex) boyfriend while Javi was “supervising” you. Javi has given his men a talking-to and told them you were never there. With a strong grip on your arm, he's dragged you to a Ford Bronco where he's now forcing you into the back seat.

"My shirt," you beg.

Javi shrugs mercilessly. "Should've put it on before you ran." He glances at your bra before beginning to shut the car door.

He and his partner talk outside the car. Javi stands with his hands tucked into the top of his vest. The taller man leans with one hand just above the back seat window and his other hand on his hip. He ducks down to look at you, but doesn't acknowledge you. He asks Javi, "You sure we need to be drivin' around with her half dressed?"

"What'd I say?”

The blonde agent holds his hands up in mock defense. “No Carrillo, no questions." He walks around front to the driver's seat. You have a better view of him once he's seated. He's strong, like Javi. He has a thick mustache, too.

Javi gets in the passenger seat and puts on a voice like he's teaching a class and would rather be anywhere else. He addresses you by name, then says, "This is Steve Murphy."

Steve nods in the rear view mirror, and your eyes meet. Then he turns on the engine and asks Javi, "safe house?"

Javi tilts his head back and smooths his mustache. “Mm,” he contemplates.

Steve offers, "I'll head to the closest one."

Javi answers, "No. My place."

"Yours?"

"Yeah, you know, the place I live? Right downstairs?"

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Alright." After a few moments of silence, Steve asks, "informant?"

"Eh," Javi ponders. "We'll see." He puts a cigarette in his mouth, then takes the cigarette lighter out of its socket and lights up. Javi reaches down to crank the window open a little more, then exhales, aiming the smoke outside. He asks, "We need to worry about Romeo?" as he hands the cigarette to Steve.

“Nah,” Steve replies as he accepts the cigarette. He looks at the tip of the filter and takes one puff before handing it back to Javi. Steve exhales out the window, then reaches back and puts his hand behind Javi's seat to put the car in reverse.

"Nah,” Steve repeats. “Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that dumbass. . .Told him we'd fuck her in front of him, know what he said?”

“What?” Javi asks, bemused.

“He said go ahead." You’re not surprised.

"Ouch," Javi pretends to sympathize, then looks back to check on you. "Sorry, sweetheart."

—-

Once they get you to the apartment, the first thing they do is take you to the bathroom. You have to walk through a bedroom to get there. In the middle of the bedroom, there's a bed with leather restraints. It makes your stomach turn to look at.

Steve’s eyes fixate on it and he asks Javi, "You kept this stuff?"

Javi retorts, "Where'd you think it went, the Salvation Army?”

Javi pauses to take off his tactical vest. “Let’s wash that place off her.”

“C’mon,” Steve gently urges you by the arm toward the bathroom. You go in the restroom and stand, awkwardly awaiting instructions. You lean your back against the wall and the handcuffs drag.

Steve plugs the drain and turns on the water. Javi walks in, takes out the keys and uncuffs you. Steve retires to the doorway and leans against it, tucking his hands into the top of his tactical vest and watching. He seems to take up the whole frame.

There's a toilet next to the bathtub/shower combo. Javi closes the lid and sits down, facing you, and manspreads in his tight jeans. His shirt is stained with sweat, and the glimmer of a gold chain catches your eye on his tan chest. Javi pats his thigh closest to the tub. You sit on his thigh, facing the door and Steve. Javi strokes your face, and you look down at the floor, cheeks warm, heart racing.

“It’s okay,” Javi tells you, “Vamos a ponerte limpia y lista para una vida nueva.” (We’re gonna get you clean and ready for a new life). He unclasps your bra and you let it fall off into your lap. Javi tosses it to Steve, saying, “Check the closet out there.”

Javi reaches over to feel the water, then rests his large hand between your shoulder blades. “Now take off your pants.” He gives you a gentle push out of his lap.

You stand again and remove your pants. Javi stays seated.

You’re cowering with your arms in front of you, but Javi beckons you with a hooked finger. You come to stand between his knees. He nudges your inner elbows and you let your arms fall out of the way.

“Good girl,” he mutters, not taking his eyes off your tits. His hands come to your chest without even a glance to your face. He lightly massages your breasts until both nipples are erect. He slots both his hands under your armpits and thumbs your nipples, then slides his palms down to your hips where he hooks his thumbs into your panties and keeps going, bringing them down to the floor.

Steve comes back from the closet and sets some clothes on the bathroom counter.

Javi looks over and tells him, “Keep Carillo off my back for a while.”

Steve nods and leaves. “Hasta luego!” he shouts with an American accent on his way out.

Javi chuckles and shakes his head.

Javi eyes the water level of the tub and turns off the faucet. “How do you feel?” he asks you with kind eyes.

“Fine,” you mutter without meeting his gaze.

He extends his hand for you, and you hold it for balance. You dip a toe in and it’s lukewarm. “Get in.” He nods toward the bath and you do. He takes off his shoes and socks and puts them outside the door, then cuffs his jeans.

“How’s the water?” He asks then reaches under the sink, and you watch his ass strain his pants as he gets a bath poof.

“Uh, good.” Your answer echoes off the tile.

He sits on the side of the tub and uses a light orange bar of soap to make some lather, then scrubs you. He holds you with one hand for leverage while he scrubs you with the other. He starts with your arms, and your neck. He's not gentle.

“Ow,” you mutter at one point.

“Ay, pobrecita” (poor little girl). “You're going to feel so clean,” he reassures you. He makes you lift your arms. Then each leg. The tub squeaks under you as you scoot forward. He scrubs your legs and between your thighs. He does your breasts and your back. His arm muscles flex with his effort. When he leans over you to reach your other side, his back muscles strain his shirt and his gold chain escapes from his collar, revealing a little cross on it.

“You’re bottoming out,” he mutters.

“Huh?”

“In life.” He pauses and makes sure you're looking at him as he explains this. “It’s a good thing. Know why?”

You stare at him vacantly.

“Once you hit rock bottom, you go back up.”

You look away, and your cheeks burn. You get it, he found you at a low point, he doesn’t have to rub it in. It doesn't feel great.

Javi washes your stomach and downward. He gets close to your intimate parts, but he's clinical about it. He gets you up on your knees and scrubs your bottom. He flattens his hand and slides the side of it down your crack, making you gasp with an unexpected rush of warmth to your core.

Your skin feels almost numb in some areas by the time he's done bathing you. Then he lathers a softer sponge and washes you more gently. He drains the tub and takes his time lazily rinsing you. When he's finished, he turns on the shower and tells you to make sure he got it all.

Once you’re squeaky clean, he dries you off with a pale, yellow, threadbare towel. He inspects the clothes on the counter. It’s a Hawaiian shirt much too large to be Javi’s. Some pants, too, but he only puts the Hawaiians shirt on you. You eye your underwear on the floor, but Javi bends down and snatches it up before you have the chance to collect it.

“I’ll start some laundry,” he offers.

—. . .----

Javi makes pork and beans for dinner. While you’re eating, someone jogs up the stairs outside. “Steve’s right upstairs,” Javi tells you. “Ever need anything and I’m not here, just yell.” He takes a bite of his beans. “He’s a better cook, too,” he smiles with his eyes.

During a quiet moment, you’re startled by the sound of a woman moaning from upstairs. You look up at the ceiling.

[ohhhh, she whines. give it to me.]

“Just a porno,” Javi tells you with a smirk.

“So,” He studies your face. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“You make it sound like my life is over.”

“No, there’s still time,” he shrugs.

You refuse to answer.

[upstairs, a man’s voice joins in. oh yeah, take it, baby.]

Javi tries, “Favorite color?”

You don’t answer that either.

[yeah, just like that]

“That’s okay,” he says. “We’ve got all the time in the world to get to know each other.”

“You can't keep me here forever, if that's what you're trying to do.”

Javi’s eyebrows knit in concern. "Oh, sweetheart.” With sad eyes, he asks, “You really think someone will report you missing?"

"I have a job," you protest.

“Oh,” he sounds fakely impressed. “Well. . . Be a good girl, and I'll get you a better one.”

Upstairs, a deeper, clearer voice sighs, “Ohh, fuck,” making you squeeze your thighs together. That has to be Steve. It sounds like him.

[Steve sighs and grunts over the faint sounds from the television.]

You bite your lip and look away.

Javi lowers his head and raises his eyebrows at you. He reaches for your face and smirks as he makes you look at him. “Like what ya hear?” Blood rushes to your face. He chuckles as he lowers his hand.

[A long groan from Steve.]

Oh, wow. You wonder if Javi will notice the wet spot under you. You take a deep breath. When you regain your focus, he’s studying your eyes with an amused sparkle in his. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he nods, then pats your cheek.

“He’s a good guy,” Javi adds, then looks upward in thought. He tilts his head back and forth as though debating himself. “Kind of.” He pushes a glass of water toward you. “Drink.”

—-

When it’s time to sleep, Javi takes you to the bedroom you walked through on the way in. He watches your face as you eye the bed with its restraints.

“You’ve been pretty good so far,” Javi muses. “Maybe we don’t need this yet.”

“Please,” you beg. “I promise I’ll behave.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Alright, then. I’m not sure if you’ll like the other option much better, though.”

He brings you to his room and heads toward the closet, which rolls open with a four-panel door. you wouldn’t really mind sleeping in Javi’s bed with him, but that’s not what he has in mind. He pulls out an old futon mattress with a striped fitted blanket and throws it on the floor. “You can choose where to sleep, how’s that?”

“Here,” you answer without hesitation and he chuckles.

“Muy bien, pobrecita. But I *am* going to have to secure you.” He takes his handcuffs out and cuffs one to a radiator under the window. Then, with his foot, he pushes the futon mattress over to it.

“Really?” You ask. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“I believe you. But you need protection from yourself right now.”

His bed has plenty of room for both of you. He’s just being an ass.

Javi lets you watch television, sitting side by side with him on his sofa. He periodically looks at you skeptically, as though wondering if you’ll make a run for the door, but you don’t. It sure has been a long day. You yawn.

“Ready for bed?” Javi asks.

You nod.

There’s a knock at the door.

It’s Steve. He’s come by to drop off a couple of bags. One is from the grocery store. Javi steps into the breezeway to talk for a couple of minutes. When he comes back in, he brings the grocery bag to the table and puts the others aside. In the grocery bag, there are brand new toiletries for you, including a toothbrush.

Javi takes you to the bathroom and watches you while you brush your teeth, then he brings one of the other shopping bags into the bedroom. There’s a nightgown. The material is thin and it’s on the shorter side. Not exactly modest. Javi puts it on you, and at least it’s more comfortable than whomever’s shirt you were wearing.

He gives you a thin pillow and pats the mattress for you to lie down. He cuffs you to the radiator. Then he goes to another room and comes back with a blanket. He tucks you in.

“If you need to go to the bathroom or anything, just wake me up, okay?” He moves your wrist to clank the handcuffs on the radiator in demonstration. “I hope tonight won’t be bad, but you might start to feel sick, or get chills. That’s normal okay?”

You nod.

He pats your head affectionately and bids you goodnight. “Sweet dreams, mi pobrecita.” He goes to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. When he comes back in the room, you try not to watch him, but you hear him rustling around near the bed. You tilt your head up enough to steal a quick glance, and he’s taking off his shirt. He doesn’t get in his bed right away, but eventually you hear the mattress creak.

—--

You wake up in the middle of the night feeling a little queasy, but you’re unsure if it’s the circumstances, the beans, or the detox. You can’t tell if you’re hot or cold, but this sleeping arrangement is not doing you any favors. You don’t want to wake Javi up, but the night feels like it might last forever otherwise. You rattle the cuffs against the metal.

“Ay, pobrecita,” he whispers. “Okay, I’m coming.” He gets out of bed.

He approaches you, barefoot. As soon as he kneels down, he mutters, “Ay, cabrón” (oh, bastard) under his breath and returns to his nightstand for the key.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you when he comes back. He uncuffs you. As you sit up, he helps you with a warm hand on your back. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, of course,” Javi responds as if he didn’t handcuff you to a radiator.

As he helps you up from the floor, something brushes your thigh and makes you tingle. Your body knows what it is before you do. When you register what grazed your leg through his sleep shorts, your face heats up and the tingle turns into a throb. Javi walks you to his bathroom with one arm around you in case you have trouble. He takes you all the way to the toilet. “You good?” he asks.

“Yeah, do you mind if I?”

“Sure.” He backs up into the doorframe, but he doesn’t close it. You glance over, and he’s not hiding the massive tent in his shorts. He’s not shy about it at all. He’s also not trying to do anything about it. “Alright, I’ll be right here.” He closes the door halfway and stands outside. You sit there for a few minutes on the cool tile in front of the toilet. The urge to be sick has passed. He peeks his head in to check on you. “How about some water?”

“Okay,” you nod. He comes in and helps you up, hard-on still blazing. He takes an empty, upside-down glass from his clean bathroom counter, fills it up, and hands it to you. You’re aching at the silhouette of his length just casually standing at attention. It takes all your energy not to look right at his shorts.

“Good girl,” he gently palms the back of your head.

You try to look anywhere but down. You focus on his bare chest. His chain drapes over his collar bone and sits above his strong, golden pecs. There’s a light smattering of dark, soft hair. And then, lower, a happy trail. You yank your eyes away. You look at the counter: A brush, a comb. Maybe he does his mustache with that. You look at his hair. It’s messy, out of place. Bedhead looks good on him. He casually rakes his hand through it when he sees you looking. Your gaze drifts back to his body. It’s really a beautiful torso you’re looking at. Broad shoulders, strong arms, narrow waist. A hint of abs under the light padding of his flesh.

“You okay?” he asks with his puppy dog eyes, which gives you an idea.

“Yeah.” You look up at him, widen your eyes, and let your face fall.

He nods. “Back to bed?”

You hold your wrist as if it hurts from the cuff and nod sadly. You check his shorts in the corner of your eye–yeah, it’s still there, as commanding as ever. The tent bobs as he walks. He walks you back into the bedroom and pauses at your futon mattress on the floor. He reaches for your hand and holds it as his other thumb brushes the indentation on your wrist.

“You’re sure you don’t want the bed?” He nods toward the other room with the restraints.

“I’d love a bed, but no. That one’ll give me nightmares, I’m sure.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Are you asking to sleep in *my* bed?” His thumb continues to brush the indentation from the cuffs. His light touch gives you butterflies.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him and your hand joins his, on your wrist. His thumb freezes. Your fingers rest lightly on top of his. “I guess I’m okay down there.” You glance at the mattress on the floor.

His bare chest rises with a deep breath. “You’re being such a good girl,” he marvels with your hand on his. “Come on. It’s okay.” He guides you to his bed and pauses when you’re right in front of it. He faces you and puts his hands on your shoulders. He dips his head and his tone darkens. “But if you leave this bed, things are going to change here,” he warns. “And you’re not going to like it.” He shakes his head. The gentleness of his voice and the look on his face sends a chill down your spine.

Javi gets into his bed, under the covers. He lays on his side and makes room for you, albeit not much. “I still have to restrain you,” he informs you as you lie down. “Do you want the cuffs or my arm?”

“Your arm.”

“Good girl.” He extends one arm and raises the other, making room for you.

You scoot back against him, mentally bracing yourself for what awaits under the covers. You're already twitching before you feel it. He inhales sharply as the hardness in his shorts hits you. With a hand on your lower abdomen, he pulls you into him, and his stiff length presses against you.

“I’m sure that’s not going to bother you, is it?” he asks and your breath hitches. You shake your head just barely on the off chance he wanted a real answer. But it is, it's going to bother you as long as he won't put it in you. You’re human, you can’t help it. He’s a bad person but you can only imagine what a good lay. He curls his strong, lean body around you like a big spoon, and he nestles the warm rod in his shorts against your crack.

One bicep is under your neck. His other arm settles over your waist. You don’t need to test his strength to know his arm is solid. Heavy. There’s no escaping as long as he holds this position.

He inhales your hair, and the hand in front of you cups your breast through your thin nightgown. He slowly palms your breast, and lightly grinds against you. You can’t help but push back on him. The shape of his arousal against you makes you salivate.

He whispers just above your ear. “Sure do love cock, don’t you?”

As he thrusts against you at a slow, steady rhythm, his hand slides off your breast, down your gown, sliding over your stomach and down to the fleshy triangle where your thighs meet. His hand stays flat. He doesn’t dig between your legs. He gently presses your mound, bringing you back against him harder as his cock throbs even harder against you.

“That can be a good thing for recovery,” he offers. “You need something to replace that high.”

He thrusts against you slower, lighter. It’s excruiating. “Mmm.” He begins to gather the nightgown’s fabric into a fist, raising the hem of the gown and exposing more of you to the air between the sheets. No underwear.

His hand rests on the bare skin of your lower abdomen, then slides down just low enough that his middle finger can tease your most sensitive place. He slides further down until his middle finger reaches the pool between your legs and he growls almost silently. He begins to move his fingers between your legs. Slowly, expertly, leaving his thumb and pinky braced on your front. The movement is just enough to drive you crazy. His index and middle fingers slide through your dripping folds and apply pressure to your swollen bud, moving to the rhythm of his gentle thrusts against your crack.

“Mm,” your moan is barely audible.

“Ohh, I know,” Javi coos reassuringly. “I know.” He ruts against you slowly. He sighs as he moves against you. The heft of his arousal pushing against both asscheeks makes you weak. If only he’d just stuff your pussy. You can hardly stand it. He must feel you gush on his fingers. “Oh, yeah,” he whispers into your hair. His throbbing erection grinds against you. His hand leaves your cunt and you feel cold, exposed. He pulls down the waistband of his shorts, then his hand–wet fingers and all–slightly lifts your thigh, making your heart skip a beat.

He wedges his naked cock between your thighs, right against your cunt, and you gasp. His swollen tip glides through your wetness and you moan, “Ohh.” He slowly slides forward and back through the warm, wet pocket made by your thighs and cunt. You push back against him. “Mm,” he grunts softly as his tip reaches your clit.

His hand returns to your breast. He massages your breast as his cock keeps sliding between your thighs and nudging your sensitive bud just right. “Javi,” you whisper. “Please.” His cock hesitates at your entrance, and you tilt your hips.

“Not today, sweetheart.”

With a small thrust, he bypasses your wet little hole again.

Then he stops moving. You push your ass back into him, and he does nothing but tighten his arm over you. He cradles your breast gently. You’re throbbing, aching to have him inside you. It feels like an eternity you’re lying like this with his arousal throbbing against your naked heat. You begin to feel a chill again and reach for the blanket to wrap yourself tighter. He helps you, then murmurs. “Good night” into your hair.

The comfort of his arms and rhythm of his breath lulls you to sleep sooner than you expect.

—-...------

Just after daybreak, you awake to the sound of Javi breathing heavily as his cock slides against your wet cunt again. Your chest is hot and fluttering. He’s aggressively groping one breast, then shifts to the other with a grunt and harsh thrust. Your body shifts as you wake up. He pants, “Morning sunshine,” and you push your ass back against him.

“Was I good?” you ask.

“Ohh,” he moans, “You were good.”

His hand comes between your legs and you gasp at the pressure of his thick fingers on your clit. He doesn’t move them, just rests his hand there, then asks “Would you like to cum?”

You nod, “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” you whine as his cock glides against you.

He slows way down. “Because I’m only giving you one today. You sure you want it already?”

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“It’s not even seven a.m.”

“Please, Javi.”

He begins to move his thick fingers, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re seeing stars.

“Ohh,” you moan as the waves of pleasure begin to overtake you. Your body spasms, and your walls clench around nothing.

“Mmmm, mi putita. . .por supuesto ahorita” (My little slut. Of course right now), Javi purrs into your hair. “That’s the–ohhh–thing with addicts,” he pants as he chases his own orgasm. “You want everything right–mmm—now–ohhhh.” As Javi begins to cum, he moves his hand from your clit to his cock. His cock pulses against you, and it’s too easy to imagine it inside you. He cups his hand and seals it over his tip and your front. He slowly thrusts as he cums. He slides against you, coating your folds and clit with his warm spend as your own climax fades.

When Javi is empty, he withdraws his cock, but keeps his hand in place. He rubs his spend over your oversensitive parts, making you flinch and moan.

“Ohh, I know it sweetheart.”

A thick digit breaches your entrance, pushing some cum into you, and he sighs.

“One day, pobrecita. One day.” He adds another finger. “Voy a llenar esta concha con leche” (I’m gonna fill this pastry/cunt with milk/cum).

Your first morning waking up at Javi’s place, he lets you sit at the kitchen counter and watch him make huevos rancheros and cactus.

Over breakfast, he asks, “What do you like to do?”

You shrug.

“Because getting high replaced all your hobbies,” he concludes.

“That's not true.”

“It's not? Then what do you do? Draw? Write? Do you read?”

You scoff. “Yes, I read,” you say with an eye roll and can’t help but add, “Did kidnapping replace all your hobbies?”

There's an instant surge of regret in your chest, but Javi chuckles and lets it slide. “What kind of books? I could pick one up for you.”

You swallow, rest your fork, and ask, “really?”

“Sure,” He nods.

“Okay. Maybe a mystery,” you offer, only because you know you'll need the distraction.

“Good,” he nods. “A mystery.”

Later that day, Javi has to go into the office. He leaves a glass of water for you, a bucket just in case, and he cuffs you to the radiator. He reassures you Steve will come check on you as soon as he gets home. You try your best to get comfortable on the futon mattress.

As soon as Javi leaves, things go somewhat downhill. You have a headache, then your stomach begins to bother you, and the handcuffs are driving you crazy. You’re anxious. You're horny. You’re cold. Why are you horny? After about an hour, you rattle the cuffs on the radiator. When nothing happens, you yell for Steve, then hear movement upstairs.

When Steve comes into Javi’s apartment, you hear him open the door, but it doesn’t sound like it shuts all the way. His footsteps are loud as they approach through the living room. Steve unlocks Javi’s bedroom and pauses in the doorframe. “There she is.” He rests his hands on the top of the doorframe and leans forward, stretching his back as he takes in the scene. “Damn,” he mutters. “You alright?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, darlin’.” He digs into Javi’s nightstand for the key. “Hold on.” He comes over and crouches down on the floor. He smells like cigarettes, and he must smoke the same brand as Javi.

You're mildly surprised by the way your body reacts to Steve’s proximity. You squeeze your legs together, self conscious that you’re gushing. The day before, you were so focused on Javi that you didn’t think much of Steve at the time. But after overhearing him jack off. . .There’s something about hearing a man make those primal noises. It changes his whole face, his whole presence in your eyes.

“C’mere,” Steve offers and extends his massive hands, looming over you. You sit up on your knees, careful not to expose yourself with no panties. He slots his hands under your arms and helps you to your feet. He checks you out and raises an eyebrow. You wonder if he can see through your nightgown. “He’s still got ya in your PJs, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s alright.”

“Looks good on ya, anyway.”

Steve ushers you to the restroom and waits outside. You’re starting to feel a little better already, just having someone around again. His presence distracts your body from its woes.

When you’re out of the restroom, Steve asks if you need anything else. You ask for a glass of juice. He brings you to the kitchen to get some. The sound of children playing outside echoes from the breezeway and you notice the door isn’t shut flush. Before you can really think about it, you begin to walk toward the door, heart pounding. You’re barefoot, and realistically, you’re not going to try to flee, but you want to know you could. You’re not running, you’re walking slowly, curiously as though pulled by a weak magnet toward a chance at freedom.

Steve crosses the room in two strides and steps right into your path. His massive arm wraps around you, halting you dead in your tracks. “Wouldn't do that.” His face is stone. Instinctively, you begin to struggle, not to escape, but to get out of his strong grip. His body overwhelms yours.

His arm tightens, and you whine, “Ow.”

He shakes you once, then loosens his grip. He brings his mouth to your hair and lowers his voice. “Don't make me hurt ya, sugar.” He wraps his arm around your middle and begins to drag you toward the bedroom with the creepy bed. He wrangles you over to the bed with the straps. You don’t resist much, but he’s rough with you anyway.

“Okay, okay,” you tell him. “I’m sorry.”

He throws you down on the bed and pins you with his weight, then begins to strap you in, limb by limb. Your heart is racing. But you don’t feel sick at all anymore. All you feel is the rush.

“Ya know, I should tell Agent Peña ‘bout this,” Steve mutters as he buckles your wrist.

“No, don’t. Tell him I was good. Please. I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

“Yeah, alright. We’ll see.” The bed is probably full sized. Wider than a twin. The leg restraints are spaced out enough that you feel like you’re spread eagle.

Once you’re all strapped down, Steve slowly paces next to the bed looking at you like a piece of meat.

He asks, “True you were beggin’ for cock?”

“No,” you answer as a gut reaction.

“Ya weren't? Huh. Peña’s a liar?”

“He–he got me all worked up on purpose.”

Steve freezes near the foot of the bed and cracks a smile. “So it is true. . .Hmm.” He tilts his head contemplatively. “How'd he do that? Get ya all worked up.” He dangles his fingers to graze your bare ankle. Then he walks back up toward your head, dragging his fingertips over your shin. His fingers lightly circles your kneec twice, then continue up your thigh. He pauses and strokes an abstract pattern on your inner thigh.

You don’t answer him. You don’t have to. He’s already having an effect on you.

“Well, don't worry. I'm not gonna hold out on ya. Want somethin’ from me, sugar? Just ask.”

“Thanks.”

“It's ok, baby.” He lowers his voice. “Really don't mind one bit.” He looks at you hungrily and wets his lips. His fingers get closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. When his fingers graze your outer lip, he peeks under the gown. “He left the door open for me. That was nice,” Steve smiles. “Said ya got a gorgeous pussy, too.” Your legs tense, and his hand returns to your thigh. “Nothin’ to be afraid of, darlin’.”

The leather that’s holding you down is what scares you. It’s the most unsettling feeling.

Steve adjusts himself, and when you follow his hand, you can't pull your eyes away from the bulge in his pants. Wow. He doesn't wear his pants nearly as tight on his ass as Javi, so you hadn't even thought about Steve’s dick. Now it's all you can think about. You're studying the shape his pants are struggling to contain. Never would’ve thought. And, balls. You’re pretty sure he’s got big balls. You wet your lips and realize you're staring.

“Attagirl,” he mutters. “See, that's where my partner and I have different philosophies,” Steve explains. “I could care less if you're drunk, high, outta your mind.” The hand on your thigh slides all the way up to where your thigh meets your torso. “Good pussy’s good pussy.” He traces the crease, right next to your outer lips, and his light touch makes you tingle. “I think a pretty girl deserves all the dick she wants.” He sighs, then raises his eyebrows. “And then some,” he says with a short nod.

“His heart’s in the right place,” Steve says unconvincingly. “Hurts though, don’t it?” He pouts at you as he keeps tracing the crease of your inner thigh. “Never met a whore he didn’t fuck. . .n’ can’t be bothered to give ya just an inch.

He follows your eyes back to his crotch and chuckles darkly. “Boy, you got your eye on the prize, don't ya?” He looks down at himself.

“Mmm,” he grunts when he meets your eyes again. The humor is gone from his face.

He looks at the leather strap around your arm. “I’ll take mercy on ya,” he mutters and takes his hand out from between your legs. He pauses with his hands on the strap. “Gonna be good for me?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

He unbuckles the strap. The metal of the buckle flicks against your inner arm. You don’t move your arm, making good on your promise to be good. Then the mattress creaks and groans as he gets up on the bed with you. He straddles one of your knees and leans forward, bracing his right hand on the mattress near your torso. His left hand returns between your legs. This time, he goes straight for your cunt. He smiles when he feels how wet you are. He lightly rubs you, teasing your dripping folds up and down. He falls into a trance. He gathers your slick and brings it to your clit. He scoots up on the bed so his head is above yours and his crotch is at your hip. He looks into your eyes as he circles your most sensitive spot. A knot is already forming in your stomach, making your pelvis lift into his hand. He wets his bottom lip, then bites it as he adds more pressure. Then speed. Your mouth falls open and a moan slips out.

His lips form a small ‘o’. “Ooh,” he marvels. “Oh, you’re a real sweet thing, I can tell.” His fingertips slide down, and one of them teases your entrance, making an audible, rhythmic smacking sound. Then he slowly pushes the finger inside. His eyes roll up toward the ceiling, and his head tilts up too. You watch his neck veins. There’s some faded tattoo ink barely visible on his chest, poking up from his collar when the angle is right. He presses his hard bulge against your hip and you gasp with a bolt of arousal.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and you moan. “Yeah, ya want that, don’t ya?” He gives you another slow thrust against the hip. “You want it right here.” He pushes another finger into you. “Ohh, yeah.” His upper palm massages your clit as his fingers pump into you.

“You’ll get it, don’t worry.” You twitch at the thought. “But you’re gonna cum on these fingers first. Hear me?”

You nod and take a deep breath. Your back arches. You reach for his pants.

“There ya go,” he nods as if that’s why he unbuckled you in the first place. “Ohh, you’re gonna go wild.”

You grab his bulge–it’s more than a handful–and massage him through his pants.

“Mmm. Yeah,” he whispers. Your nipples harden with his practiced touch, and you sigh, unable to take any more tension. His fingers curl inside you and he whispers, “C’mon, now.” The deep whisper is enough.

“Ohh,” you moan. He nods in encouragement and his upper palm bears down on your clit. You close your eyes and let yourself unravel. Your spasming walls squeeze and soak his fingers.

“Yeahh, attagirl.”

As your climax fades, he withdraws his fingers and feverishly unbuckles his belt. You throb in anticipation. It won't take much to tease another one out of you. Your core twitches as he shoves down his briefs and his thick cock springs free, taking your breath away. He gets between your legs and holds his stiff manhood loosely as he lines himself up. He shakes it heavily up and down, teasing your clit with the head of his cock. Oh, God it feels so–you’re already about to–

–Steve hesitates.

In the driveway, a car pulls up and stops.

Steve stops what he’s doing. “Alright, let's see what the boss wants,” he says with an air of inconvenience as he tucks his erection into his briefs.

“Thought you were partners,” you say and hope you don't sound too disappointed.

“On paper, sure. “ He buttons and zips up his pants. “On paper I'm a good cop, too,” he winks.

Steve pats your cheek and says, “hang in there.” He gets off the bed, then leans in close and whispers, “give it to ya next chance I get. . .skip the preamble, how's that?”

You bite your lip. Just as the front door begins to unlock, Steve sits down in a chair next to the bed, with his hands clasped in his lap.

—--

Javi opens the door.

“All good at the office?” Steve asks.

“All good,” Javi reports, and he surveys you with his eyes as he approaches. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, she just wanted a change of scenery,” Steve reports, mercifully. Javi looks at him skeptically for a moment, then shrugs it off.

“How are you feeling?” Javi asks you with a hand on his hip and a serious look. He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you and Steve, who’s on the same side.

“Okay,” you reply.

Javi clenches his jaw and furrows his brow. His hand frames your jaw and he looks at your eyes. Then he lets go of you.

"Good," Javi nods. Then squints and asks, "He touch you?"

You look at Steve. Steve raises his eyebrows curiously. He doesn't deny touching you, but his face also doesn't give you any clues about the right answer. He’s sitting in amused suspense. Javi raises his eyebrows at you like a challenge, waiting on you to speak. You look at Steve again, and Steve winks. Unsure what it means, you begin to slowly shake your head no.

Javi clenches his jaw and his eyes narrow. His head whips to Steve and he asks, "Why not?"

Steve sighs and uncrosses his arms. He extends his hand to Javi. Javi brings Steve's hand to his nose, takes a whiff of his fingers, and cracks a smile. "Don't lie to me, putita." Javi closes his eyes, draws in your scent again, then opens his eyes and mouth as he brings Steve's middle and index fingers to his lips. Javi locks eyes with you as he tastes you on Steve's fingers. Your heart races. You failed whatever test this was.

Javi drops Steve's hand and brings his own hand to cup your jaw. "Pobrecita. . ." His hand dwarfs your face. "What’s the matter? Te confunde?” (It confuses you)

You nod, and your voice is small. "You said it's yours."

"What's mine?"

You look down at yourself and swallow. "My body?"

Javi nods. "Say it."

Your eyes settle on what you can see of his gold chain under his shirt. "This pussy is yours."

"That's right," Javi nods condescendingly. "Good girl." He brings his hand from your cheek to your thigh and squeezes it. He nods toward Steve and says, "con mi permiso" (with my permission). "Still confused?"

You shake your head.

“That's all he did? Touch you?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

Javi addresses Steve. "Alright, c’mon.” He beckons him, and Steve stands up with his hands still clasped in front of himself.

“Show her your cock.”

Steve undoes his pants again. He slides them down over the bulge of his still-hard cock, then pauses.

“Pants off,” Javi adds matter-of-factly. Steve sits back down to unlace his shoes, then takes them off. He pulls off his pants, and he's left wearing black socks and white briefs with a red and blue stripe around the waistband. Thigh muscles are massive.

“Good news for you, putita.” Javi nods toward Steve. “This one’ll fuck anything.” Your cheeks heat up and Steve shakes his head in amusement at Javi.

“Says the guy who has his own room at a brothel.”

Javi looks at your body hungrily and crosses his arms. “Give it to her,” he mutters without looking at Steve.

When Steve stands up, Javi takes his place, manspreading with his hands tucked under his arms, straining his short-sleeve button-up.

Steve mounts the bed again, putting himself between your legs. He pulls his briefs down under his balls, and you let out a little gasp. His cock is even more engorged than it was before. It’s so thick, and the veins are beautiful. He looks even bigger than Javi, but it might be an effect of his lighter, finer pubic hair. He braces a hand on the mattress again, hovering over you.

You glance at Javi and he's watching intently as Steve lines up his cock between your legs. The touch of his tip at your dripping hole makes you shiver in arousal and your nipples pucker. Steve smiles to himself under his mustache. He notches his tip half inside your entrance, then looks at Javi.

Javi makes a subtle beckoning motion with one hand, and Steve begins to push into you. You gasp as his girth begins to spread you open. He pushes further, and you whimper.

Javi scoots closer and lays a big, warm hand on your tied-down arm. You look at him and he reassures you, “You can take it, I promise.”

Then, Steve plunges to the hilt, dividing your insides with a loud grunt. You moan and lock eyes with him as he looks up at you darkly. Your body rushes to accommodate the heft of him inside you.

“Good girl,” Javi mutters to himself with his eyes fixed where your bodies are joined.

Steve withdraws most of his length, then Javi raises his palm in a stop motion and Steve freezes, biting his lips together. Javi stands up, and walks toward Steve for a better point of view.

“Go,” Javi mutters, crossing his arms again. There's a bulge growing in Javi’s restrictive jeans, and he's not doing anything about it.

Steve pushes into you again, making you moan. He pauses for only an instant before backing out again, and right away he’s pushing back in. “Fuck,” he mutters as his thick cock disappears into your hole once more.

“How is it?” Javi asks him. “Juicy, right?”

“Nngh–yeah,” Steve answers as he brings his hips back, then slams into you harder and his balls slap against you. “Goddamn,” Steve mutters. “Tighter than ya’d think.”

“Hm,” Javi hums with a straight face, then raises his eyes to meet yours. “He's gonna break you in for me.” He looks at Steve's cock sliding out of you then at Steve's face, twisted with arousal. “Right, partner?”

“Goddamn right,” Steve breathes. He ramps up to a steady rhythm, fucking you gradually harder until the force is pushing you up on the bed.

“Hold on,” Javi mutters and the vein on Steve's forehead swells with effort as he stops with only his tip inside. Steve wets his lips and rubs them together. Javi tightens the restraints to hold you steady. While Javi is is busy with that, Steve rocks ever so slightly into you, moving less than an inch forward and back. It’s so subtle it could be an accident, but it must provide relief because he moans quietly. At the sound of his noise and the look of his face, you whimper and your cunt spasms once.

“Nngh,” Steve reacts.

“Okay,” Javi announces, then stands so he can roughly see things from Steve’s point of view again. Steve resumes with a slow, careful pace.

Javi wets his lips as he watches your cunt swallow Steve's cock. Steve's cock pulls at your pussy each time it withdraws, and the sight seems to darken Javi’s eyes with lust. You twitch again.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, then looks over his shoulder “Can I?”

“Don't let her come on your cock,” Javi answers.”

Hearing Javi talk about Steve’s cock is almost enough to do it.

Steve sighs and looks at the ceiling, in an almost eye-roll. His arms strain his shirt. His sweat wafts toward you and makes your knees weak. He draws in a deep breath as he slowly pushes in again.

You imagine if the situation was different, if you were just some slut they picked up at a bar, how much fun you could have with the two of them.

You twitch around him, and he pulls out in a hurry. “Sorry darlin’,” he mumbles. He sits back on his knees and pumps himself. “Where do you want it,” he asks, staring at your body.

“Uh,” you stammer, then realize he's not asking you.

Javi pulls the gown down under your tits. Steve strokes himself faster until his breath gets uneven. He pauses, scoots up your body to straddle your middle, then resumes. You admire his balls as his fist slides up and down his shaft. His hand is so large, yet it doesn’t dwarf his cock.

Steve’s eyes narrow at your tits. He pumps himself faster and his mouth drifts open until he points his cock at your chest and moans, “Ohhh—ohhhh, fuck,” painting your tits with his cum. Your nipples sharpen as the warm spend spreads. As the last of his cum dribbles out, Steve sighs.

“Good,” Javi mutters, then comes up toward the head of the bed again. Steve tucks his softening cock away and gets off the bed. He reaches down to the floor to get a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his jeans. Then he pulls the chair toward the foot of the bed, and manspreads in his briefs to watch Javi.

Javi dips two fingers into Steve’s cum on your chest. He spreads it around slowly. He circles each of your nipples until they’re painfully erect.

Javi swipes up a bit of cum from between your breasts and brings his fingers to your lips. You take his thick digits into your mouth and taste the salt of Steve’s seed. Then you gently suck. Javi gets you to clean both fingers, one at a time, then he licks them himself.

Javi brushes your temple with his thumb. “Let’s hope this is rock bottom.”

—---

Thank you so much for reading. To help with the next ones, I would love to know what you liked most about it, and your thots are welcome, too 🖤

tagging people who asked for part 2 🖤

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ohheypedrito @weddingfairy @neobanguniberse @ladyscarlettdixon @zliteraturehoe @planet-marz1

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