#Bad Guy

[asteraceae-blue]

I’m obsessed 🤩

[theside-b]

BAD GUY (2024) EPISODE 1 - LIES

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can't seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: I'm going to a physio today for the first time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is quiet as you come out of your room. The single floor is just enough room for you and your mom. You’ve never needed much else and all your life, you’ve made do with what you have. It’s just the way it is.

You stretch your arms and arch your spine as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. You yawn. You fell asleep reading outdated discussions about your most recent syndicated obsession. You should know better by now, that thorn in your neck is only driving deeper. 

You bend at the elbows to rub your neck and drag your feet over the cold tile. Your nipple poke rigidly against your cropped tank top and goosebumps raze up your bare thighs. You open the fridge and pull out the bottle of orange juice, your panties riding up with your movement.  

Before you can stand straight, a sharp strikes snaps against your ass and radiates through your flesh. You yipe and grip the bottle by the neck as you jump and turn to face the culprit. The strange man stares back, his brows twitching. 

“Mm, you’re not Gail,” he mutters. 

“No, I’m not,” you press the juice to your chest, overly aware of your barely covered body.  

You don’t ask who he is. You stopped doing that in middle school. She’s another one of her ‘callers’. You don’t usually see them more than once, if at all. Most leave before you’re awake. 

“Was takin’ a piss, heard you skittering around, thought...” he trails off into a shrug. 

He’s shirtless too. He only wears a pair of briefs as he stands shameless before you. A dark tattoo covers half his chest and extends around his shoulder and down his arm. It’s the typical snake and skull aesthetic sported by men like him. 

“Nope,” you reach for the fridge door and step to the side as you close it.  

He doesn’t move. You go to dip around him and he moves with you. 

“Taking all that with you?” He points at the bottle. You look down and sigh. You push it towards him. “Here.” 

He puts his hand under it and you let go. You skirt around his other side and squeeze through the door behind him. You don’t look back as you flee to your room. You resist the urge to reach back and cover the bottom of your ass, not wanting to draw attention to it if he is watching. 

You shut your bedroom door and cringe. Great. You can’t really complain. Your mother hasn’t kicked you out. Yet. Not like half your friends’ parents. She just asks for half the rent and you can manage that. With the rent around here, you’d be on the street otherwise. 

You cross the room and flop on the bed. You pull out your phone and go back to scrolling the old discussion boards. It’s funny. The more recent posts are totally contrary to the ones when the show aired. You’re not sure who you agree with. 

You roll onto your back and drop your phone to the mattress. You have to work at noon. So much for a relaxing morning. You’ll just be hiding in your room until that man leaves. 

A knock jerks you up and you roll your eyes. You search the floor and pull on the wrinkly pajama bottoms. You go to the door and crack it open an inch. It’s him. 

“Uh, hi?” You utter dully. 

“Got you a glass,” he offers one of the cups in his hands. You squint at it then look him in the face. 

“Thanks?” You go to take it but he doesn’t let go as you wrap your fingers around the cold glass.  

“There a problem?” He asks. 

“Uh, no,” you scrunch your nose. “I said thanks.” 

“I don’t like your tone.” 

You let go of the glass and retract your hand. His eyes flick down and yours do too. The white tank does little for your modesty. You cross your arms. 

“Okay? Well, never mind,” you go to close the door and he steps forward, digging his elbow into the wood as he blocks you with his body. 

“Your mom said you’re a nice girl,” he looks you up and down again. “Coulda fooled me walking around like that.” 

You frown. It’s your house. Why should you worry about what you’re wearing? Besides, if you knew he was there, then you wouldn’t wander around in your panties. 

“Thanks for the orange juice but you should just give it to my mom. That’s why you’re here,” you shrug. 

He scoffs. “Got a smart mouth.” 

“No, I—I didn’t do anything.” 

“There you go again. Disrespectful.” 

“Huh?” You shake your head in confusion. 

“That way you talk. Low and flat, like you don’t give a fuck. Maybe you don’t. Would explain why you’re grown living in your mommy’s house,” he mockingly pouts. 

You blink, “you don’t know me.” 

“I know girls like you. Pretending like they don’t care. You care. We both know you do.” He moves a glass closer, “say thank you. Like you mean it.” 

“I don’t want it,” you insist. 

“Don’t want to waste it. Was it you or mommy who paid for the bottle?” He taunts. 

You grit your teeth. What is his problem? Why won’t he just leave you alone? 

You deflate. You really just want him to go. You look at the ceiling then back to him. He’s the kind of man you would avoid on the street. His blue eyes are as cold as ice and his hair is shaved, but a little longer on top, and he sports a goatee amid the short stubble on his jaw and cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you reach for the glass again. 

“Thank you, sir,” his voice grizzles as he corrects you. 

You steel yourself and your lips slant. You really just want him to tell him to fuck off but like you always do, you don’t say what you think. You keep it inside. Put on that face that keeps you safe. 

“Thank you, sir,” you repeat after him. 

“Now smile,” he demands. 

You flinch and look away. You take a breath. That’s you’re least favourite, when they tell you to smile. It happens often at your job and it always sours your day. 

You force a smile. 

“Come on, you can do better,” he snickers. 

Your cheeks tremble and your smile falls. You tuck your chin down. 

“Can you please just leave me alone?” You mumble. 

“Excuse me, girl? I can’t hear you.” 

“I said...” your throat locks up and your eyes singe. God! When you get angry, you don’t get bold, you just get teary. You hate it. “I said ‘thank you, sir’.” 

You grab the glass so abruptly that it sloshes over the side. You don’t stop, you just spin and throw your weight against the door. He lets it close and it slams. You spill most of the juice down your front. 

You hear the friction of his fingers dragging down the wood. It sends a chill through you. You slowly pull away and put the glass down, juice dripping down your arms and chest. 

He’ll be gone soon, just like the rest. 

💀

Your mom’s still asleep when you leave for work. As you sneak out of your room, you listen for any sign of life.  If the man’s there, he doesn’t make himself known. You step into your shoes and leave through the front door without looking back. 

You head down the street with your earbuds in, a podcast about an old show you watched in high school droning on, as you take the shortcut behind the house at the end of the street. It’s almost four blocks to work but you save money on bus fare. You try to only waste the change after dark. 

The ice cream shop is never very busy outside of the post-soccer game crowds. You take your vigil behind the cold counter and bob along with the radio station’s Top 10 countdown. Miley leans in the corner by the till as she chews gum and scrolls through her phone. 

You’re fidgety to do the same, but you hate just letting your eyes glaze over. You pace a bit back and forth until her shift is up. When she’s gone, you feel a little less on edge. You always prefer being alone, you don’t have to worry about performing. 

Customers come and go. You greet them with the usual ‘how can I help?’ You’ve never been very good at the customer service part but you’re not rude. You just do your job, which it to scoop ice cream and toss some sprinkles around. 

You’re entitled to one cone a shift. You rarely have it. You don’t need the extra sugar or the brain freeze. That day, as you close up, the chocolate peanut butter entices you to go outside your routine. You put the lids on all the canisters except for that flavour and do yourself up a waffle cone before you lock up. 

You lick the softening cream and turn to face the dark plaza, lit only by the overhead marquee. There’s a car idling just by the curb. You ignore it. A few neighbouring businesses close up around the same time. 

The engine revs, and it jolts forward. The horn nearly has you throwing your cone. You fall back into step and keep walking. The Trans Am continues to follow you and honks again. The window rolls down as someone whistles. Only your name stops you. 

You turn and bend to see through the window. What the heck? It’s him. The man that invaded your house and threatened you over orange juice. 

You exhale through your nose and stand up. You turn down the pavement and keep going. The bus will be there any moment. 

“Hey,” he barks, “get back here.” 

You keep going. Why is he there? Because of the orange juice? 

The car door opens and closes. You speed up as you hear him following you. 

“Your mom sent me to pick you up,” he says. 

You snort, “sure she did.” 

“Really,” he says as his footsteps echo yours. 

“She doesn’t even know when I work,” you keep going and he catches your arm, yanking you back. 

You spin to face him and yelp. Your scoop shifts precariously in the cone. You try to pull away but not too hard as you selfishly want to keep your treat intact. 

“Alright. I offered. I heard you leave. Figured you could use a lift.” He squeezes and you whimper. “I can be a nice guy.” 

Can be. 

You wince and flutter your lashes, “can you let me go... please?” 

He opens his fingers sharply and lifts his hand, showing his palm. “Since you said please...” 

You look over your shoulder then back at him. Finally, you glance at your cone. You weigh your options. You’re not a quick runner. 

“I appreciate the ride but--” 

“I appreciate the ride, sir. Like I said, I can be nice, but respect is earned, girl.” 

You swallow tightly, cheeks pinching. 

“Sir, I appreciate the ride but I have money for the bus--” 

He clucks and points over your shoulder, “that bus?” 

You turn and watch the headlights blow by the stop. You flick your eyes to the sky and face him again. “Mmhmm.”” 

“So, is that a ‘thank you, sir’ on your lips?” He challenges. 

You slant your lips back and forth. You fight back a wave of hot frustration. You’re used to feeling powerless but he is suffocating. You nod. 

“Thank you, sir,” you choke out. 

“See, not that hard to be a good girl.” 

He waits until you move. You head back towards his car, and he gets in the driver side. As you claim the passenger seat, he huffs. He looks at you as you try not to acknowledge him. 

“Don’t like food in the car. Try not to get it all over,” he snarls. 

“I can--” 

“Just be careful,” he snips. 

Just be quiet, you tell yourself. You pull the seatbelt down and stare through the windshield. You lick around the cone as the cream threatens to melt onto your fingers. The car idles and you glance over. He watches your tongue as you lap up the trickle.  

You sit back as his eyes cling to your lips. He lifts his chin and turns straight. He grips the wheel and cranks the volume on the stereo. He speeds off and you struggle to keep from doing just what he warned you not to. You’d tell him to slow down but not only will he not listen, but the sooner you’re home, the better. 

[aranzi-aronzo-wisdom]

[soninandknucklesuniverse]

Hedgehog Dream Team.

[tempelbeast]

Renders of Stars like Toa Mata an custom matoran with extra readers. We have:

1. Jaller, Tahu and Kapura

2. Hahli, Gali and Macku

3. Nuparu, Onua and Taipu

4. Kongu, Lewa and Tamaru

5. Hewkii, Pohatu and Hafu

6. Matoro, Kopaka and Kopeke

7. Takua, Kotu, Pewku and Onepu

8. Akhmou, Krakua and Zemya

9. Good guy, Voriki and Bad guy

[irradiated-imp]

GOOD GUYS VS. BAD GUYS

06

Good Guy A Heroic being of unknown origin. He fights to protect all innocents from the evils of the Bad Guys. Bad Guy The ultimate evil. Bad Guy and Good Guy were once allies, until Bad Guy decided to hoard the power of Duracell Batteries for himself. Duracell Bad Guy In a climactic battle with Good Guy, Bad Guy absorbed the full power of the Duracell Batteries, becoming DURACELL BAD GUY! His power was too great for Good Guy alone.

Golden Good Guy An ancient hero who wields the incredible power of the Duracell Batteries. He was awakened by the Good Guys to help battle the evils of Duracell Bad Guy. Likeness of Turaga Lhikan used legally.

Quick Good Guys: Red and White A pair of brothers who rose to challenge the evils of Duracell Bad Guy and to aid Good Guy in his search for Golden Good Guy.

Quick Bad Guys: Yellow and Green Monstrous minions created through the power of the Duracell Batteries by Duracell Bad Guy. They were created to stop the Good Guys from finding and awakening Golden Good Guy, the only being with the power to challenge Duracell Bad Guy.

07

Good Guy Mahri Deep beneath the waves, the battle of good and evil for the power of the Duracell Batteries continues. Good Guy Mahri is a hero of the waves, a former sailor whose crew were killed by a Sea Beast empowered by the batteries. He set out to find and slay this beast to keep the seas safe for all travelers.

Bad Guy Mahri The Sea Beast responsible for killing Good Guy Mahri's crew. His power has waned noticeably since that fateful night, and he has become smaller since. Despite this, he is still a dangerous threat, and searches for more Duracell Batteries to further empower himself.

08

Good Guy Phantoka A Hero of legend who wields the powerful weapon, Function. He once battled, and destroyed a monstrous evil. He continues to patrol the skies to this day protecting the innocent from whatever evils may threaten them.

Bad Guy Phantoka An ancient evil, possibly even the source of it all. He was slain by Good Guy Phantoka, but his spirit lingered after his destruction. Bad Guy Phantoka went on to corrupt Bad Guy, convincing him to steal the pwoer of the batteries for himself, using the unknowing fool as a pawn for his own resurrection.

I imagine these characters exist in universe as stories told by Matoran and Agori alike.

[jumpyj3st3r]

Western District Fanart

[stonedrunkwizard]

General Darkness.

[e-matt93]

Another Bad Guy MOC, This version with the large hook hand.

[ellsieee]

How to seduce your ex, a guide by Jiwoon.

1. "Accidently" spill liquid on their pants.

2. Innocently say you'll help wipe up.

3. Take the chance to feel them up.

4. Cry.

Congrats. Mission accomplished.

Do you want to change your pants? may be my new favorite pick up line.

[cardigan-bay]

So fun to draw the horrible moth man

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can’t seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: we can't be ready for this man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Chris sits at the table, his phone in one hand, his other resting latently on the denim stretched around his thigh. You approach and resist the vision that flashes through your mind. If you were braver, you might just dump the mac and cheese all over him. The scalding sting in your ass keeps you compliant. 

You put the plate in front of him with a fork. You say nothing and back up. He huffs and drops his phone heavily. 

“Not gonna offer me something to drink?” He snarls. “Know your ma, it isn’t any surprise you don’t got any manners.” 

You flinch and stop. You just want to go to your room and for him to leave you alone. Why is he even here? 

“Do you want a drink?” 

He sighs and clucks. “Yea, I want a drink.” He says each word with emphasis. “You think you can handle it?” 

“Yes... sir,” you utter. 

“Beer. I know your ma got at least a can left.” He demands. 

You nod and go to the fridge. Your mom won’t be happy. She counts her alcohol, not her money. Still, you don’t care. You just need him to leave you alone. 

You take out a beer and return to him. You put it down as he scoops up a forkful. He leans forward and shovels it into his mouth. He sits back and chews, swallowing tightly. “Open it.” 

You grab the can and crack the tab. You put it back down. He reaches for it and guzzles half of it in a gulp. You go to retreat and he snaps his fingers at you. You stop. Again. 

“Whatcha tryna run away for?” He growls. 

“I’m not. I’m going to clean the pot.” It’s a lie but a convenient one that sounds true. 

“Mm, fine,” he shoos you with his finger. “Ya think you’re gonna keep a husband making boxed noodles? Gonna have to at least learn to make a meatloaf or something.” 

“Yes, sir,” you go to the sink and turn on the water. You scrub at the scratched pot as you try to tune out his chewing. 

You finish and dry it off. You put it back in the cupboard and cross your arms. You turn slowly and reach for the wooden spoon. You try not to react as your flesh speckles with the shadow of his assault. You wash that too and put it in the dishrack. 

You turn and he clears his throat. 

“I didn’t dismiss you,” he sneers as his fork clanks onto the plate. 

You face him, “I was just going to grab my phone--” 

“Why?” He asks. 

You flinch, “I don’t... know?” 

“You ask me first.” 

“But...” you squint at him. 

“Don’t you put that face on or I’ll wipe it off,” he warns with a jab of his thick finger. 

You frown and chew on your agitation. You don’t know why you’re putting up with this. He’s an intruder. 

You shake your head and spin. You don’t have to do this. Your mom brought him home, she can deal with him. You storm off and hear him grunt. You speed up as the chair scrapes on the floor. 

You run to your room and slam the door behind you. You flip the lock behind the handle as he hits the outside. You scour the room in search of your cell. It’s on your pillow. You swipe it up and dial your mom’s number. 

You put the phone to your ear and cover your other as Chris pounds on the door. “What’re ya doing? Don’t you be a little bitch now! Let me in.” He thumps on the wood. “Listen here, girl. I’m giving you one chance to open up or you’re in for it.” 

Your mom doesn’t pick up. Of course, she doesn’t. You know she’s probably too drunk to care. You huff and hang up. You face the door. 

“I’m calling the cops,” you holler at the door. “So you better go.” 

“Go ahead,” he hits the door again, “I dare ya.” 

Your lashes flutter and your hand quakes. You get a grip on the phone and tap 9. The whole door jars in the frame as he throws his weight against it. You whimper as the wood cracks and he does it again. The clasp snaps loudly and the door flies open.  

You cry out and hit one. He storms towards you and knocks the cell from your hand before you can tap again. You swing your arms out to ward him off but he catches you around your waist. He hauls you off your feet. You claw at him as he grunts and growls. 

“Every mark you leave on me, I’ll give ya double,” he barks and as you try to scratch him again, he bites down on the vee of your thumb and index. You shriek and he pinches until you can’t bear it. He finally releases and you shake your hand out with a whimper. “Try me, girl.” 

He drags you out of the room, your feet barely scuffing the floor, as he keeps you locked in his arms. You wriggle as you try to get free. He gets you to the kitchen and hurls you away from him. You hit the counter and bounce off. 

You land on the floor and roll onto your stomach. You wheeze from the impact. You plant your elbows and knees and try to lift yourself. He stomps over as you hear a clatter on the counter and he steps over your body. He drops down to straddle you. 

He grabs your neck and pushes your flat. He pins you, your cheek to the tile, and he moves off of you, kneeling at your side. You get a glimpse of the same wooden spoon as it descends and he batters your ass again. 

“Ow! Please!” 

“Too late, girl,” he grits. “I warned ya but you just can’t behave.” 

“No, no, please. I’m just... why are you doing this?” You whine. 

“’Cause you just can’t help yourself,” he stills the spoon and tugs up your shorts, exposing you. “I’m gonna teach you what happens to bad girls.” 

He hooks his leg over yours and forces your thighs apart. He prods around with the handle of the wooden spoon. You twitch and tense as he pokes down your ass and between your legs. He presses the end against your cunt and you spasm. 

“No--” 

He wiggles the spoon, pushing it against your clenched lips, until he breaks past your resistance. You shriek and slap the floor at the dry intrusion of the spoon. Your disbelief is underlined with horror. This can’t be happening but the arid pain assures you it’s all too real. 

He jerks his wrist and pushes it deeper. You holler and scratch at the tile helpless. His grip tightens on your neck and he thrusts the spoon in and out, deeper and deeper, as your eyes spill over with tears. 

As agonizing as it is, it’s degrading. You are nothing. He’s defiling you as if you deserve it. As if you are his very own plaything. 

“Please-- stop,” you gurgle, “ow, ow, ow,” you heave between your whimper, “ow, it hurts.” 

“Damn right, it hurts.” He rams the spoon into you again and you wail. “Remember this the next time you wanna fuck around, huh?” 

“I wasn’t--” you wheeze and grab onto his arm, trying to shove him off. “Please, please,” you beg. “Owwww, I’ll be good--” 

He rips the spoon out and you cry out again. But there isn’t a moment of relief. He shoves two fingers into you, rocking his hand as you wriggle and whine. He dips in, deeper, deeper, harder, harder, until you’re trembling and weak. 

You pant and lay limply as he demeans your body. It’s only when you’re completely still, almost dissonant, that he relents. He drags his fingers out of you and wipes them on your shorts. He moves his leg off of yours and sits back on his heels. 

“Now you know what the fuck happens to snitches,” he growls. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you babble dumbly as you hide behind your eyelids. “Sorry, please, no more. No more.” 

“Better be no more,” he swats the back of your head. “Got it.” 

“Yes,” you sniffle, “yes... sir.” 

“Mm,” his soles scuff as he gets his footing and stands. He grabs the back of your shirt and wrenches you up, strangling you as you struggle to find an ounce of strength. “You wanna be good? You gonna dress like a good girl.” 

He twists your shirt around his fist and forces you across the kitchen. Your legs are wobbly as you nearly fall against him. You get your balance, barely, and he marches you onward. He shoves you into your room and you hit the floor again. 

He goes to your dresser as you lay on the floor. You cup between your legs as your insides throb hotly. You watch him as your tears dry up. He digs through your drawer and pulls out a pair of your panties. 

“What’s this?” He stretches the boy shorts. “Ain’t no ladies’ clothes.” 

He tosses them to the floor and continues to search. In the next drawer, he takes out a flowered dress with cap sleeves. You don’t wear it very often. You have no reason too. 

“Here,” he throws it at you and it shrouds your face. You pull if off your head and sit up. “Get fucking dressed.” 

You look down at the dress then back at him. He stomps around and bends to pick up your phone. He turns back to you. 

“Do I gotta repeat myself?” 

“N-no,” you murmur and climb to your feet. 

“Damn right,” he goes to your bed and flops down, adjusting himself to recline against your pillows. 

You look down and gingerly move around to put the dress on the foot of the bed. You undress, skin on fire as you strip down in front of him. You feel him watching your every move. You pull the dress on before you shimmy out of your shorts, hoping not to expose yourself entirely. 

You hiccup and sway back and forth. He rumbles, “what d’ya think? Get over here.” 

You waver and clutch the sides of the short skirt. You don’t know how much worse he can do but you don’t want to find out. You obey in hopes that he won’t hurt you again but you don’t think there’s anything you can do to avoid that. 

You go up the side of the bed and stop close to him. He reaches to toy with the short hem of your dress. He clucks as he pokes his finger against the fabric. 

“You fucked anything but that spoon before?” He taunts. 

You flinch and stare at the floor. You shake your head. He chuckle. 

“Course you ain’t. You don’t know what to do with a man. Well, I’m about to teach you, girl,” he yanks on your skirt and you stumble against the bed. “You wanna get mouthy with me, well, then we’ll put your mouth to use.” 

He spreads his legs and snaps his fingers. He points between his knees and you follow the gesture with your eyes. A new well of tears springs forth. He laughs again. 

As you crawl onto the bed and over his leg, he opens the button of his fly. Your lip trembles and you dare to look him in the face. His zipper splits the thick air and he reaches into his jeans with a smirk. 

“Open up, girl. I’m about to show you what a woman’s for,” he pulls himself through his fly and strokes himself. You bow your head and close your eyes, mortified. 

You want to scream and run but you know better. It’s already, you can’t make it any worse. You open your eyes and look up at him, mopping your cheeks as he plays with himself. 

“You’re kinda cute when you cry,” he snickers. 

[one-time-i-dreamt]

My dad’s boss was murdered by his wife. When I confronted her about it, she turned into Billie Eilish and started singing Bad Guy.

[umbellis]

alien 👽