#and was like let me manhandle you into doing splits. i would be like okay ❤️ yay❤️

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader Smut: Teasing will get you Somewhere

Gif found on Pinterest unknown credit

Warnings/Mentions: Blue balls, Dark/Rough!Daryl, sexual teasing (Daryl receiving) rough sex, spitting, choking, manhandling, biting, blood blisters, spanking, bruising, it might smell like dubcon but it's not

Summary: Reader wants to see Daryl at his breaking point, teasing and depriving him of release until he gets there. 

Notes: I loved writing this so much. While trying to think of a plot for dark!Daryl I remembered this idea/prompt someone had like 5 years ago where the reader teases a guy until he cracks and just goes crazy. I think it was a fanfiction, but I looked through my bookmarks and ao3 history and couldn't find anything like this so if you know what I'm talking about please let me know!!

All you wanted from the start was to see Daryl snap. He was such an aggressive loudmouthed man, but not in the way you wanted him to be. 

He'd started flirting with you to appease Merle, the man who'd instantly noticed how you swooned around Daryl. The younger Dixon didn't believe him, of course, but he approached you to avoid the harsh blows of Merle calling him a ‘belly-up pussy’ along with more distasteful slurs. 

His way of “flirting” was a lot like Merles at first. Offensive, inappropriate, you know the rest. You'd been patient enough to politely explain that you weren't like the type of women that would fuck Merle after he called them a 'sweet piece of Georgian ass', and he took the hint. 

Daryl was shockingly sweet after that. He was less verbal after learning vulgar compliments weren't the way to go, but it turned out alright for you in the end. He began looking after you like you were his full responsibility. Making sure you were fed first, bringing home clothes specifically for you, along with any other treats he thought you might like. 

It was great, aside from him never making a move on you. He gawked like you were an alien when you started dressing for his gaze, Bobby Brooks shorts, pretty tank tops, even shaving your legs once in a while. But he never made a move. 

That simply wouldn't do. 

It was late one night and you'd slipped into his tent. 

“The hell you doin'?” He cursed, wiping the sleep from his eyes as you zipped up the flap behind you. 

“Can't sleep, Carl won't stop coughing.” 

You'd been sharing a tent with Lori and Carl ever since you arrived with T-Dog. It wasn't a complete lie, Carl was coughing up a storm, sick with some chest cold, but that wasn't the reason for your lack of sleep.

“I got some earplugs.” He sat up and began shifting through his bags. 

“No, it's okay. Can I crash here tonight?” You asked innocently, kicking off your casual flip flops that you saved for night time piss breaks or trips to get water. 

Daryl tried hiding his surprise . The stutter in his voice gave him away. “Uh, sure, I guess. S’long as ya dun snore.”

You behaved for an impressive amount of time. Lying in silence, not moving an inch, waiting for him to loosen up before quietly shifting backwards until your back was pressed up against his chest. 

His heart felt seconds away from collapsing in on itself when he felt you. He'd popped a semi when you'd taken off that big T-shirt he'd given you, and now it was bordering on a full on erection.

You waited until you felt his body relax, which took longer than you originally estimated, and then wiggled your hips. 

The reaction was immediate. He sucked in a breath through his nose and made this choking sound. He grabbed your hips, only for a split second before yanking his hands away like he'd been burned. 

You wiggled again, pushing back until the feeling of the outline of his dick against your ass was ingrained into your memory. 

It didn't take long to wear him down, not at all. He let out a strangled groan and rocked into you, his self restraint long since thrown out the window.

And then you stopped.

He nearly gasped at the loss of friction. The feeling was so devastating that it sobered him, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

“Wha-” he panted. His fingers loosened their hold on your hips and twitched against the fabric of your pajama shorts. “Why'd ya stah- stop?”

“I'm sleepy.” You said plainly, pulling the thin sheet up to your shoulders in emphasis. 

Daryl caught his breath behind you, struggling to make sense of it all through his confusion and disappointment. He grumbled something that sounded like it held an attitude, though sadly that was the extent of his protests. 

You needed more. You needed him to tear your clothes off and ravish you like the animal you knew he was. The Daryl that feverishly humped you like his life depended on it was cute, but you needed the Daryl that he was in his daily life. 

The only way you could think of was to force it out of him, even if it did torture the poor man in the process. 

You kept up the innocent teasing for a while. You took a break after Merle went missing, you knew your limits and his. You weren't a total selfish piece of shit. Only when you arrived at the farm and he began talking to you again did you resume your game of “teasing Daryl until he cracks”.

“How's it look?” You gave a cheeky smile as you turned in a circle with your hands on your hips. 

You'd put on the pair of green cargo shorts he'd found you. They weren't very practical, holding only four pockets, which was less than normal cargo shorts, but they were scandalous. The fabric hugged your ass tight enough to look damn near pornographic. 

“Didn't realize they were that tiny. Christ.” Daryl muttered with pink cheeks. “Jus’ give ‘em ta Beth. 

“Oh god. Can you imagine her face? That girl is still wearing pants in late summer. Her daddy would kill me.” You snorted and turned back to face him. “I'm keeping these bad boys. The fabric is soft. Wanna feel?” 

“Already felt em when I took em.” Despite his words, he set down his knife to free up his hands. 

“Give me your hand.” 

The poor boy was so eager to feel you that he practically threw his hands in yours. When you placed his palms on the sides of your shorts he seemed to snap to life, dropping the nonchalant attitude to rub his thumbs over the fabric covering your hips and thighs. 

You tried to keep the smug smirk off your face, and failed miserably. He was turning himself on just by touching the clothing that covered your pelvis. 

Suddenly, you pulled away, feeling your heart lurch in your chest at the way his face dropped.

“Thanks again. I've been needing new shorts.” 

“Yeah. Uh-huh. S'nothin.”

It went on like that for a while. 

One night you climbed into his tent again with the ruse of being cold, and he didn't mention the fact it was a warm seventy degrees that night. You were wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties, and made sure to make Daryl aware of this when you slid your knee over his thigh. 

Nothing happened that night either, nothing other than pretending to sleep while he palmed himself through his jeans. 

Another time you put on those green cargo shorts and offered to tidy up his camp, an offer he was quick to accept just so he could watch you needlessly bend over to grab random objects to place somewhere else. 

Once you even made out with him. Late at night in his tent, things got hot and heavy and you straddled him, wearing the same oversized T-shirt and panties, washed since then, of course. 

He was nervous at first, you could tell by the way his hands trembled on their way up your sides. You kissed him slow and sweet, nothing too extreme, not until he pushed his hot tongue against your lips. 

You let him in and groaned at the enthusiasm he showed. He kissed you like you were still teenagers, up in the loft of some barn hiding away from Daddy. 

“Shit.” He panted against your lips. He moved his hands down to your waist and pulled you down hard, groaning when he got that first taste of friction he so desperately craved.

“Slow down.” You breathed. Your body betrayed your words, your hips rolling down gentle and slow, just enough to feel the outline of his aching cock through your clothing. 

“Why?” He muttered before pressing another kiss against your lips. “Wha's stoppin’ ya? I got condoms. Glenn's got the pill. S'fine.” 

You pulled up and away from his lips. He looked so pretty beneath you all desperate like that. It still wasn't what you wanted. 

“I don't know, Daryl-” Your voice choked into a whine when he moved under you, the friction momentarily rendering you speechless. 

“Can't ya feel what yer doin’ to me? Huh?” He snapped his hips again, forcing out another whine. “S’all for you. C'mon now.”

“Not here Daryl.” You tried to keep your voice level and firm. “Not in some tent where we have to be quick and quiet.” 

“Le’s go somewhere then. Anywhere ya want, don't care. Tell me. I'll take ya.” 

Truthfully, that almost made you give in. But it still wasn't the Daryl you wanted to experience. He was desperate, but not desperate enough. 

“Not tonight, Daryl. It's too late and Shane's on watch. He'll have my ass if he catches us sneaking out.” 

Daryl growled in frustration, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Won't get caught.”

“Yeah, sure. Let's just wait another night.” You pressed a kiss against his cheek, innocent enough, contrasting painfully with the way you ground down against him one last time before sliding off.

Part of you started doubting your plan. Daryl was too reluctant, too full of self doubt, too terrified at the aspect of losing whatever fun thing you had going on by pushing your limits. Even though you had no problem pushing his. 

His patience amazed you. Any other man would've thrown you to the side after the first few times, or ignored your “wishes” and dove right in. He didn't know that's what you wanted. You couldn't blame him. 

How could you tell someone like Daryl “I want you to fuck me with enough desire and aggression to give a nun a heart attack”? He'd been too gentle during foreplay, too submissive, you were beginning to think he was a virgin. 

Maggie gave you a dress. You didn't know who it once belonged to, her or her sister, but it was one of the cutest things you'd ever laid eyes on. A pretty moss green that went right below your knees, laces up your stomach the same color as the dress, and thankfully, no sleeves. 

The domestic look had Daryl in shambles. You looked like a farm wife from a damn magazine, it took everything he had in him not to fuck you behind the barn like he wanted. 

He took you out that day. On a ‘food supply run’, as he called it. You weren't anyone's first pick for runs, which you understood, you were easily distracted. It was your biggest fault.

So when he asked you specifically, and you alone, you were barely able to contain your excitement. 

The first place you stopped by was an old farmers corner store to pick up enough food so you didn't come back empty handed. A few canned goods, stale snacks and three cans of soda. 

He left that in the back of the truck when the two of you stopped by a house. A very nice house, to your surprise. 

“Can't believe this place hasn't been trashed.” You commented while rummaging through the kitchen. “No more food, but there's some lighter fluid.”

“Hm.” Daryl grunted. After securing the front door he found you still in the kitchen, chewing on a mouthful of gum. 

You'd shoved about three long sticks in your mouth. “Want some?”

He eyed the gum wrapped in silver paper before taking it from your outstretched hand with a gruff thanks. 

It was hard to focus on, his heart felt like it was in his throat, it was hard to swallow, and his jaw ached from his aggressive chewing. He'd done everything you wanted, got birth control; condoms and plan B. He found this nice house that same morning, almost immediately after seeing you walk outside in that dress. He even cleaned up the master bedroom for you, dusting off the sheets and beating the pillows, opening the windows to air out the room. 

There was no way you could wave him off now.

Oh, but you found a way. It was a talent that needed to be fucking studied. 

You were digging through the dresser in the upstairs bedroom when he approached you. You ignored the sound of the door shutting and locking behind him, pretending to be very interested in the contents of the bottom drawer. 

His hands found your sides. Your skin tingled as he pulled you to your feet and pressed you against the dresser with his palm on your lower back.

He went to kissing the back of your neck. His lips were light and soft, contrasting the anxiety bubbling in his gut. 

“Hmm.” You hummed. He brushed your hair over your right shoulder and went back to kissing your neck, peppering them all the way to the point of your left shoulder. 

“Missed ya'.” He muttered, pushing his hips forward to drive home his point. 

You tried not to laugh with pity at the feeling. He was already hard? Poor thing. 

“We're supposed to be looking for food.” You chided playfully. You shifted your ass and earned a low grunt of appreciation for the friction. 

“Then why’re ya in the bedroom?” He challenged. When you didn't respond he smirked against the skin on your neck. 

His hands didn't wait for permission. He bent his knees so he could grab the bottom of your dress, gathering it in his fists and pulling it up and over your ass. He sighed at the sight, you were wearing the type of panties he'd only ever seen on a clothing rack or behind a screen. Black soft fabric, tight and with lace around the hem, hugging your curves just right. 

“Daryl, come on.” You chuckled, but made no attempt to move. “They're gonna wonder where we went.”

He laughed, the sound dry and humorless. “Don't give a shit. They'll survive.” 

“And what is it you wanna do so bad that's more important than feeding our people, huh?” You mused, placing your palms on the dresser he was pushing you harder up against. 

“Ain't my people.” He quipped and ground into you, dying to make you feel how desperate he was for you. 

You choked back a moan. “You didn't answer my question.” 

“Want ya. Right here.”

“Want me to what?” 

Daryl sighed and released his hold on your dress to grip your waist. “Wanna fuck ya nice an’ good. Make y’feel what y’been missin’.”

You groaned. Your grip on the dresser turned white-knuckled as he pushed against you again. 

“Yeah?” Your breath trembled past your open lips. “What else?”

Daryl pressed himself closer, until his mouth was right at your ear. “Wanna feel what ya’ been keepin’ from me. Taste ya'. Shove my dick in that pretty lil’ mouth n’make ya sorry.” 

His words had an obvious effect on you. Your knees trembled and your breathing was louder, more shallow. 

But he still hadn't cracked. 

The curiosity was eating you alive. You couldn't give in now, not when he was so fucking close. You turned to face him and gave a ghost of a smile, trying your best to look sympathetic.

“Maybe some other time.” 

His eyes widened and his eyebrows scrunched tightly together. His nostrils flared as his pupils darted over your face, looking frantically for the slightest sign telling him it was a joke. He looked hurt, confused, like you just slapped him in the face and called him a slur.

There it is. 

“You-” he choked out, “Y’aint serious?” 

You forced a nod. 

“Why?” The way he raised his voice sent a bolt of pleasure through your core, and you had to fight back a whimper. “Got everythin’ ya needed. Went through the trouble’a findin’ this place, ain't gotta be quiet, ain't gotta worry ‘bout walkers or someone hearin’, the hell else you want from me woman?” 

You couldn't stop yourself from whimpering. You bit your bottom lip and tried to steady your breathing, but when you stole a glance at his face and saw the expression held there your lungs shifted into overdrive. 

He looked so fed up. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” You whispered. 

Daryl sneered in contempt. “The hell can I do ‘bout it? Not gonna beg.”

You swallowed hard. You slowly shook your head, your chest rising and falling dramatically, your body still trapped between his arms, his hands on the dresser behind you. 

“Don't want you to beg.” 

You pressed a hand between his legs and he let out a strangled groan, his elbows swaying as they threatened to give out. You flexed your fingers to massage his length, and pulled away. 

His eyes shot open and just as quick his hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back to his bulge and nearly breaking your fingers in the process of shoving them down the waistband of his jeans. 

After unbuckling his belt he was able to cram your hand down deeper, forcing you to feel him. 

You gasped when your fingertips made contact. You didn't know a dick could get that hard. It felt just as firm as any other extremity. 

“Daryl.” You let out a long sigh as you gave a half assed attempt to pull your hand out. His grip on your wrist tightened. 

“Hmm?” The teasing tone of his hum made your clit throb. 

“We can't-” You didn't get to finish your sentence before he scoffed and picked you up. Like actually picked you up in his arms, bridal style. He threw you on the plush bed where you bounced a few times, and dove into you.

“S’enough.” He muttered. He pulled your dress up over your waist and looped his fingers through the sides of your panties. You thought he'd hesitate, take a look at the expression on your face and back off, but he didn't. He tugged them down your legs and tossed them off the bed in a random location. 

“Ain't some pussy ya’ got on a leash.” His fingers snaked between your legs, beelining for your cunt. He groaned in surprise, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. You were beyond wet at this point, his aggression had your folds like a slip n slide with lube instead of water. 

You bit back a moan. His fingers spread your folds, smearing your wetness around, his thumb pressing down against your clit. 

“Fuck!” You gasped. Your hips instinctively shifted to the side from the overwhelming sensation, but a firm grip on your waist quickly snatched you back. 

“Think y'can do whatever the hell ya’ want, and I'll jus’ sit back an’ let ya’?” He didn't give you time to answer. He pushed a finger inside you, and both of you hissed at the feeling. “Ffuck. Shit ain't like that no more, princess.” 

Any other time you would've snapped at the insult, but his finger digging around inside you had your mind blank. 

“Wha’s wrong? Huh?” He twisted his finger and you cried out. His voice was sickly sweet, something that should've pissed you off but only fueled your arousal. “Got nothin' to say?” His finger curled, a movement that held no thought behind it, though the way you gasped and arched your back had him repeating the action. 

Then he started mocking you. “Oh no, not now, it's not right, I'm not ready!” He scoffed in disgust. “Like ya’ a lot better when ya’aint speakin’.” 

Oh, god. You should be fuming. You should be spitting venom right back at him, but this is everything you'd wanted from him. It was all going according to plan. 

Maybe he knew that, or maybe he didn't. Either way he was behaving just as you'd imagined countless times, rough, mean, cruel and demanding. 

“C'mon, try a little bit.” He growled after leaning down to bite at your open neck. “Go on. Tell me it ain't the time. Tell me.”

You were nothing but a puddle under him. Your hands became too restless and reached up to grab at him, balling your fists in the back of his shirt.

Never in your life had a man treated you like this. No matter how bad you teased and gave subliminal signals. They would either indulge in your teasing, respect your wishes and back off when told to, or kiss and plead until you relented. 

Finally someone was fucking you like you had always wanted. Or, they were about to. 

The knuckle of his thumb had been digging into your clit for a good minute now, and despite how uncomfortable it could feel at times, you came quickly. 

You sucked in a sharp gasp and locked your legs around his waist, trying to pull his finger in deeper, or make his knuckle grind harder. 

Daryl groaned into your neck as you came around his finger. His hips jerked forward and bumped against his hand between your thighs, knocking his digit in deeper. You yelped, not expecting such a sharp sensation during your warm and soft climax. 

He withdrew his finger and you whined. 

“Sh-sh-sh.” You didn't think a hush could sound so condescending. “Got somethin' better. Gonna make you regret not takin’ it sooner.”

You said it before you could stop yourself. “You don't have it in you.” 

His eyes flicked up to your face as he pulled his zipper down, a look on his face that sent chills across your bare legs.

There was slight amusement, slight relief, as if someone finally gave him permission to show off and prove himself. Lips parted into a breathy smirk, tongue peeking between his teeth, and one eyebrow raised. 

Your eyes dropped to his pants when he pulled his cock free. It looked just as you imagined when you'd touched it only minutes ago, standing at full attention against his lower stomach.

You let out a sigh when you saw it reached his navel. 

Daryl leaned down until he was level with your pussy. You heard it before you felt it, the sound of him spitting, and then warm drool dropping right on your sensitive clit.

You squealed in protest, trying to raise yourself on your elbows, but he stopped you with a hand on your chest. With his free hand he smeared his spit over your already soaking folds, even going as far as to push some inside you with his finger. 

“Ew!” You gasped. 

You felt a tingle. Subtle at first, you just assumed it was the salinity of his saliva, and then more prominent. You were close to panicking until you saw the wad of white gum shoot out of his mouth, landing with a smack against the hardwood floor. 

At least you knew the source of the tingling. You swallowed your own gum, the same way you'd completely forgotten about.

The skin around your cunt buzzed when he slapped the tip of his dick on your clit, and you squirmed beneath him. He steadied you with the same hand on your chest. 

“Wait.” You inhaled deeply. He didn't wait though, he just pushed into your clenched hole, ignoring your whines.

“Ssss-shut up.” His voice trembled. He used his free hand to wrap around the base of his dick, holding it straight as he slowly pushed in further. 

“Y-you said you had condoms.” 

Daryl let out a loud groan as he sank into you. His right hand on your chest increased in pressure as more and more of his upper body weight bore down on it, forcing the air from your lungs. 

He was so thick, and it had been years for you. The burn was incredible, in such a pleasurable way that you should've felt ashamed to enjoy. You tried to moan, but nothing came out aside from a strained breath. 

“Ain't nothin' gonna make me feel rubber instead’a this.” He grunted. He rolled his hips forward and finally pulled his hand off your chest to roll the dress up and over your body. 

“F-Fuck.” His whimper was strangled in his throat. Being completely naked under someone who was fully dressed had you clenching around him, earning another whimper from said man. 

“Should feel ‘shamed, keepin' all this from me.” 

You didn't. Not one bit. 

“But I know ya'aint.” 

You furrowed your brows, momentarily stunned by his apparent mind reading abilities. He jerked his hips forward and your face fell slack, your jaw dropping and your eyelids falling shut. 

His thrusts were harsh, but far too slow for you to get anywhere. You grabbed his shirt and used it to pull him down, desperate for more stimulation. 

Daryl happily obliged. His breath was hot on your ear before he took the lobe between his lips, sucking and licking the flesh. You gasped as he bit down on it, and you could sense the smirk on his lips. 

“Daryl?” You breathed, the name breaking on your tongue with another thrust. 

“Jesus.” He groaned, thoroughly annoyed. He released your ear and pulled back to look at you, frustration evident on his face. “What?”

“Thought I was gonna regret it.”

Your words had his upper lip twitching and his eyes widening ever so slightly. 

“Yeah?” He huffed. “S'gonna be like that?”

He rose from your chest, shifting until he was sitting on his boots. His hands grabbed onto your hips and yanked you down on his dick, forcing a cry from your dry throat. It took him a few seconds to position himself, leaning back just a bit, his grip on your hips tight, and then he started fucking you in a ruthless pace. 

It wasn't what you were expecting. Your mouth dropped into a long gape and your eyes shot open as he pounded his pelvis against yours, driving his dick so deep it reached places your fingers never had. 

Each thrust had a gasp burning in your lungs, and those gasps quickly grew to embarrassing moans. Now that you were ashamed of. If you had the ability to stop it you could, but the way he was thrusting into you rendered you utterly unable to control yourself and the sounds you made. 

“Get up.” 

You weren't sure why he even spoke, because he was moving your body by himself before you could process his command. He pulled you to the side of the bed and turned you over on your stomach, bending you over and shoving his dick back inside you so fast you shrieked. 

Your feet flew up behind you, smacking against the back of his thighs. If you could've seen it you would've laughed. 

The new angle was paralyzing. His dick was no longer tilted against the spot under your stomach, the spot that had you a drooling mess seconds ago. Now it smashed against a deeper part of you, a part that had you groaning with each frustration fueled thrust. 

“Fuck.” Daryl groaned, his pace slowing to give momentary reprieve. He wasn't as young as you, and even though he was always out there doing a hundred times more labor intensive activity, he needed a second to catch his breath. 

There was still an itch yet to be scratched. While he regained his bearings you fought to think of a way to say it without actually saying ‘i want you to hurt me and fuck me till I cry’. You'd already humiliated yourself enough. 

When he began picking up the pace again, you reached for the hand beside your head and bit down on his knuckles. Not gently, either. You bit down so hard he could've ripped a tooth out with the way he yanked his hand away.

“The fuck?” His voice was barely below a shout. “Ya’ crazy bitch!” 

There was no retaliation besides a particularly forceful thrust, to your irritation. 

“You baby.” You managed to grunt out. “Barely bit you.” 

“Barley bi-” he scoffed, looking down at the hand he now had splayed across your lower back. There were deep pink imprints from your teeth over his index finger knuckle, and the skin around it turned a bright red. 

You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away from its grip on the bed sheets. Your heart hammered quicker than his thrusts when his breath tickled your skin, and then he bit you. In the same spot you bit him.

It wasn't nearly as hard as you bit him, but you still whimpered at the ache. 

“Point stands.” 

Daryl couldn't believe what he was hearing. His jaw set and he dropped your wrist. 

The smug smirk you'd been keeping to yourself fell when your hair was suddenly twisted in the fist of his right hand. With just that leverage alone he pulled your upper body up, and his left arm snaked around your torso to keep you flush against his chest. 

He yanked your head to the side. You gasped. 

“This what ya’ wanted, huh sweetheart?” He breathed against your ear and drew back until his dick nearly slipped out before slamming back in.  

“Mmm-oh god yes.” You blurted out between moans. 

“Jus' had to ask.” He managed a chuckle. 

“More.” 

He furrowed his brows, but kept up the slow and deep pace. He couldn't imagine what else he could give you. He was fucking you hard enough to bruise, he was pulling your hair, what, did you want him to start beating you? 

He dipped his head down to bite your shoulder, holding back just enough so that he wouldn't give you an actual wound. 

You have to consider that biting someone with enough force to actually break the skin takes a lot. Skin isn't like the flesh of a fruit. It's tough, and would require chewing to break through. So for him to stop right before that point meant he was biting you so hard you got blood blisters, and the pain was all you could focus on. 

Your wail of genuine pain had him pulling back like he'd been shocked. His thrusts slowed, and through ragged breaths he spoke, “Shit, m'sorry. M'so sorry.” 

“No.” You gasped. Your shoulder felt like it was on fire, and your walls cleaned around him in response. “So good. Feels so good.”

Daryl let out a huff in relief. “Ya’ weird as shit, yanno that?” 

“Mhmm.” You groaned, pressing your ass back tightly against him. “More.” 

He took a deep breath to steady himself and pushed you back down on your stomach. He had to work himself up to it, the idea intimidating. Once his thrusts were back to their former sharp pace he raised a hand in the air. 

You tilted your head to the side so your cheek was pressed against the blanket. When you saw his right hand held up, your heart leapt. You never nodded so quickly. 

Daryl ground his teeth together, glancing down at your ass, your face, and back to your ass again before smacking his hand against it. 

It was barely a love tap. 

You groaned, wiggling your hips and earning a moan from him in response to the feeling on his dick. 

He took the hint and gave another smack, harder, but still not giving that burn or satisfying ‘smack’ sound you wanted.

“Daryl, please.” You whimpered. “Hurt me. I'm not made of glass.” 

You barely got the last word out before he slapped you. Open handed, fingers spread and slightly curved to mold perfectly against your asscheek. You yelped and instinctively tried scooting up the bed, held back by his left hand on your hip. 

It clicked in his head then. No wonder people liked spanking so much. His palm tingled and he could see a faint handprint start to color your skin. And the way you reacted, that sound you made, your body trying to get away from him, it made his dick twitch. 

“Fuck!” You cried out after another hard slap. The pain fully distracted you from the ache in your shoulder, white hot pain spreading across your ass and up your spine. 

“Such a baby.” He meant it to sound patronizing, but he was still too amazed by the new turn on he'd discovered, and the words came out breathless. 

Your whimper bled into another cry as he spanked you again. 

And again. 

Again, again, until you were on the verge of tears, sobs bubbling from your wet lips as you tried to squirm away from him. 

As if you actually wanted to. Which you clearly didn't. You were practically gushing around his dick. 

He rubbed his palm over the deep red skin, barely soothing the blinding burn he'd left behind. “Goddamn.” 

“M'gonna cum.” You were literally drooling. 

He snapped his attention away from your ass and back to you. “Whaddya want, huh?” He quickened his pace once again, jolting forward to press his body against your back. You whimpered at the way he moved, his dick pushing deeper inside you. 

“More, please,” you stuttered, trying desperately to work your hand under your body, which proved to be difficult due to his weight on top of you. 

Daryl noticed and lifted your hips with his hands. He shoved your eager arm out of the way and rubbed your clit with his own fingers, fast and deep in a way he assumed you'd like. 

You moaned under him, arching your back, feeling him slip in further. It was as if he grew another inch every five minutes. Or you grew another inch deeper, and he was staying the same. Either way he was deeper, and it felt immaculate. 

The rise to your climax was slow, but powerful. You were fully prepared to gently tip over the edge and slide down in bliss. 

That was before he slapped your pussy. Then you fell down gasping. 

Daryl held onto your body like you were a wild mustang, trashing and twisting under him in ecstasy. He withdrew his hand and grabbed your hips again, resuming his brutal pace, clamping his teeth down on the back of your neck to keep your bodies anchored together. 

It took a while for you to come down from your high. When you did it was violent, the pure bliss smashed away by burning overstimulation. 

“Fu-uck!” You heaved in deep breaths. “Daryl s’too much, can't, wait!”

“Ever since that night ya’ came in my tent, blue ballin’ me like that,” he growled against your neck, “-been dreamin’ ‘bout havin ya’ like this. Fallin’ apart. Face full’a tears. Ain't stoppin now.” 

He wasn't bluffing. He didn't stop. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, ramming into your abused cunt, only slowing to shift in positions so you were on your back. 

The air felt amazing against your chest. Daryl ripped that feeling away with gnashing teeth, biting your hard nipples and alternating between sucking and pinching.

The house had to be surrounded by walkers by now. There was no way it wasn't, you were crying and moaning like you were getting paid for it. 

“Oh, god.” You wailed as another orgasm built up quicker than ever inside you. “Oh please, fuck, god!”

A jolt of pleasure shot through your core when Daryl's hands wrapped around your throat. 

Now, Daryl was no stranger to strangling someone. He'd choked plenty of people out before.

In fights.

He was unaware there was a different type of choking for pleasure. Instead of squeezing the sides of your throat with his thumb and fingers, he wrapped both hands around your neck and fucking strangled you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut so tight they ached as you came. Your orgasm had started off blinding, overwhelming every inch of your body, but Daryl's crushing grip soon muted the tail end of your climax and filled your ears with a deafening ringing. 

Daryl pulled his teeth off your nipple and panted against your ear. “Lemme cum inside ya’, sweetheart.”

You could barely process what he'd said. You forced your eyes open against the pressure induced burn, trying to find his face, only to see the side of his head. 

“Can't pull out.” He growled and released some of the pressure around your throat. Oxygen and blood flooded your head, leaving you dizzy and with black around the edges of your vision. 

“Can't, m'sorry. Oh, huh-  fuck!” His voice was strained as every muscle in his body tensed up. His hips surged forward, stuffing his dick balls deep to coat the end of your walls in his cum. “Mmm-fuck s’good. So good. Ohhh, Hah-” 

He choked on his moan. He moved his head, replacing his hands around your neck with his mouth, kissing and biting at the tender skin as he spurted ropes of hot cum inside you. 

Your body broiled under his crushing form. Your thighs relaxed from their clamped position, falling off his waist and dropping to the bed beneath you. Your lungs ached and your throat was raw, but your pussy buzzed so intently it felt like you had a vibrator pressed against it. 

“Oh, god.” The tone was full of dread and you forced yourself to focus on Daryl. 

“What?” You croaked. There was a stabbing pain in your neck from Daryl choking you out like you were a man his size. 

“Yer all fucked up.” He whined. He traced his fingers across your throat. “S’bad. Oh fuck.”

“Calm down.” You sat upright after he pulled back enough for you to do so, his dick dragging out against your trembling walls in the process and making you hiss.

“It's okay. I'll just tell em a walker got the jump on me. We've all seen them grab throats. It's fine.” You pressed a kiss to his worried lips. 

“Gonna tell em a walker did that too?” He pointed an exhausted finger at the bite mark on your shoulder, which was now in the early stages of a deep bruise, not to mention the blood blister in the shape of his teeth.

You laughed softly. “Fuck no. I'll just skip the tank tops for a week or two.”

That seemed to settle him enough and he nodded, moving to lay on his back. 

“That was amazing.” You broke the long silence. “Seriously. You're the first man to ever… you know.”

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at you. “Huh? Y’never…?”

“No! I mean…” you sighed. “Never had a man make me come.”

Now he was at full attention, sitting upright and leaning back on his palms. “Nah, no shit.”

“I'm serious.”

He let out a light scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched you climb off the bed to grab your thrown panties. “Me too.”

You glanced over your shoulder as you stepped into them. “Really? You never…?”

He nodded, going back to biting his cheek. 

“How'd you last so fucking long?”

A cocky grin crept across his lips at the compliment behind your words. He was worried he didn't last long enough. And you just asked him how he held on so long.

“Jerked off like, ten fuckin’ times today.” 

That meant he knew he was going to fuck you today. Heat spread through your core again, despite how worn out you were. You smiled and climbed back on the bed to smother him with kisses. 

“You're so fucking hot.” You mumbled against his lips, which were moving weakly against your own. 

“Says the bitch that wouldn't fuck me.” He chuckled. 

“Just wanted you to make the decision for me. It's a lot hotter that way.” You hummed, pulling your swollen lips away from his. “It worked.” 

“Psh.” He rolled his eyes and began stuffing his soft cock back in his jeans. “Put yer clothes on. Place is probably crawlin' with walkers. Le’s get the hell outta dodge before anymore show up.”

Now that Daryl was in on your little game, you couldn't wait to play again. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx @jinx-nanami

[clearallcathy]

but they hace to keep making ballet aesthetic tik toks so i can be motivated to show the world how much of a like Freak thing it is

[rubyvhs]

day two : car sex (dean winchester) .ᐟ 18+ fem!reader

Dean waves at Sam as his brother walks away from the car and into the victim’s house to question her. All three of you thought it’d be best to split up, and since you and Dean are obviously you and Dean, you’re both together. 

You quickly step out of the car to get in the passenger's seat, and the second you do, you lean in to kiss your boyfriend. It had been ages since the both of you have had the car to yourselves, have had any time to yourselves. 

He seems to agree as reaches one hand to pull you closer and you oblige, nearly hitting the console between both your legs as you’re practically joined at the hip. He lets out a low groan in your ear and you pull away with a smile. “What?”

“I miss you ‘s what. Too many back to back cases, that’s for sure.” Yeah, well, can’t argue that one. Until you remember you’re outside your case’s house and quickly move back. Dean notices the change in your demeanor and chuckles. “Okay, yeah, let’s get to the morgue.”

And you’re not sure how you even got into it after hearing that, or how Dean managed to get hard, but the way the tip of his cock is teasing your entrance, slipping past your clenching pussy, he’s definitely hard. So fucking hard and wanting, “c’mon, sweetheart, gotta relax for me. Don’t know how I haven’t stretched out your pretty pussy yet— god, still so fucking tight.”

“Dean— ah, ‘s too big,” as if you don’t cry it out every single time. You’ll never get used to him being so much bigger than you, manhandling you, but most of all, forcing you open with his cock enticing way too loud sounds out of you that he has to swallow down.

“Still in the parking lot, baby.” He reminds you, his fingers brushing against your nipple roughly on their journey down to your clit where he rubs slow circles. He already ate you out, he doesn’t know what more preparation you need, but anything to get his girl there, to make this a little easier for you ‘cause under all that moaning and pleasure, Dean knows it might hurt sometimes. 

“I know, i’know Dean, need you to go faster though, please, baby, need you inside.” And he ain’t stupid enough to refuse as he pushes into you then starts rocking his hips back and forth, groaning into your mouth then he lands in between your shoulder and jaw, kissing every part of you to try and ground himself if even a little.

Having sex with you? Great, awesome, unreal. Having sex with you in Baby? “Fuck, sweetheart, so fucking good.”

“Too much— De, wait, wait,” he slows completely, worry filling his eyes.

“You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Can I— I wanna try something. Please.” Like he would argue with that. You tell him to sit up and he does, back against the leather (after he put his jacket under the both of you, Baby’s a national treasure), and you slowly get on top of him. Dean can’t help the groan that escapes when he feels your hot core slide against his dick, his hands shooting to your waist. But you don’t exactly have time for foreplay, so you adjust yourself until he’s inside you.

Dean’s eyes shut closed as his head rolls back with a grunt. Jesus, you’re so beautiful and there, riding him, slowly like you’re trying to find a rhythm but two minutes in Dean can’t wait for you to, he grabs your hips roughly to move you and you bite down on his shoulder only slightly, knowing he likes it. 

“Jesus, you close, baby? You gonna come?”

With his hard thrusts and fingers playing with your nipples, both of your orgasms are close— until oh God, finally— you let go with a scream that Dean swallows in a kiss, him bucking his hips into yours further. 

You’re still catching your breath, head laying on Dean’s shoulder, when his phone rings and he takes it, his voice thick. “Hello.”

“I’m in the morgue, where are you?”

“What morgue—” You slap his arm before he remembers, “oh shit, yeah, we’re there. We’re here— never mind, Sammy, we’re on our way.”

He hangs up with a breathy laugh and you pull away to look at him. “No wonder you spend all your time in this car.”

“Mm,” he hums, looking up at you, “she’s one a kind, isn’t she?” And you’re not sure whether he’s talking about the car or you.

[princessbrunette]

imagine rafe trying to teach you a little bit of self defense but you just get turned on by him manhandling you and he’s just tsking at you underneath him with your hands pinned above your head lowly whispering “you gotta pay attention kid, there’s bad men out there… gotta know how’t stop em from from thinking they can do whatever they want” and she’d get all blushy and squirming just looking at him all doe eyed like “You can do what ever you want 🥺🥺🩷” He loves how submissive you are !!!!

i love this idea sm but when i started writing it kinda turned into something else ??? kinda dubcon but that’s just how he plays sometimes. reader is clearly wanting it !

ೀ 🍨 ‧ ˚ 🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

rafe was in one of his moods. the odd moods he gets in where he’s suddenly motivated to fix things, handle business, be ‘proactive’ as he puts it. there was no business to handle that day, so he turned his attention to you — deciding now of all times was the time to teach you how to defend yourself.

the idea had sprung to him when he walked into the room and stared you down, coming to the harrowing realisation that you hadn’t even noticed his presence, too engrossed in the book in your grasp. he creeps closer, and you don’t even blink. he edges behind you, and notes the way he could grab you into a headlock if he wanted, or cover your mouth, hell — he could snap your neck. you’d never see it coming.

of course, he didn’t want to ever hurt you — which is why he decided to stage an impromptu lesson. that gets you to where you end up, pinned to the ground beneath him.

“ow, rafe.” you frown wiggling your wrist from his grip until he lets it free with a shake of his head. you weren’t too happy about him stealing you away from your time of relaxation with your book — but you would never give up the opportunity to have your boyfriends hands on you. you thought things would have played out a little more… fun.

“see, you — you did it again. if i put my hand here, what are you gonna do, huh? what’d i tell you?” he raises his eyebrows, prompting a response.

“uhh, bite it?” you giggle, making him sit up on his knees, jaw ticking in frustration.

“you know i’m tryna save your life here, kid. someone comes up to you and grabs you, you’re screwed, ‘cos you don’t know how to protect yourself. i’m not always gonna be around to fight people off okay?”

“why not?” you whine, pressing a socked foot against his chest from where you lay. he wraps a hand gently around your ankle and brings it down, expression displaying his frustration.

“because i am not with you 24 hours a day, alright? m’not playing around here. you gonna listen?” he nudges your thigh with his own and you huff, head moving with a noncommittal nod. “okay.” he brings his body down onto yours, pinning you down with it. he had to be doing this on purpose. “alright, flip me on my back. go.”

you can’t help yourself, you wrap your legs around his waist and bring his crotch flush against yours with a little giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. he presses his lips together, staring at you blankly from his incredibly close proximity and stays silent until your childish laughs die down. you think he’s going to remove himself, lecture you and walk off for a little while— but he continues to stare, even when you wriggle beneath him, legs split around his body — mound of your cunt pressing up against his bulge.

“you think this is some kinda joke huh?” he asks quietly, and the smile starts to melt off your face. “like — like i’m just doin’ this shit for fun.” he glares, and now your hearts pounding because you only wanted to be close to him!

“no…” you mewl, brows knitted but it’s too late. he pushes himself up on his knees again, looking down on you.

“you know i’m real nice to you. there’s bad men out there that’ll really rough you up. maybe… maybe i should give you a taste of that, huh? show you what i’m protecting you from.”

you go to argue, tell him you’ll listen — but he slides a leg under yours and in one movement flips you so you’re suddenly laying on your front, ass a little raised. he leans over you, collecting your wrists with one hand and pins them down. “nah, go ahead. try and fight me off baby. see if you can.” he speaks eerily calmly and you wriggle, realising you’re totally pinned beneath his weight with no escape. “yeah, that shits scary huh? can’t get out.” he nods and you let out a little cry.

“okay, rafe c’mon!”

“nah, you think this is a game so i’m gonna show you just how fuckin’ real this is a’ight?” he tucks his free hand into your pyjama shorts and begins to yank them down. you hate how your heart feels like it’s in your throat and yet your cunt throbs and your back arches from muscle memory. “better wise up, sweetheart— ‘cos i don’t think you’re getting out of this.” he gives your ass cheek a firm smack, watching the fat of it recoil beneath the touch and you whine.

“teach me! rafe you can teach me, please!” you pout, craning round to look at him. his lip is curled into a malicious smirk, head shaking in disapproval.

“yeah, you know you’re just too late. gonna have to learn your lesson now, alright? remember this shit.”

ೀ 🍨 ‧ ˚ 🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

[iinryer]

I feel like 43 (piggy back ride) and 49 (leaning on the other for support) would pair with each other SO well 🤗☺️

A little scene prompt game to get me writing!

[43: piggy back ride + 49: leaning on the other for support]

—

“Come on, Buck,” Eddie grits out, as loudly as he can to be heard past the mask over his face and the roar of the flames a few floors above them, “come on, four more flights, we can do it,”

Buck just lets out a pained laugh, tightening his hold across Eddie’s shoulders—he’s been losing his footing more frequently and Eddie’s getting increasingly worried that they’re not going to make it to the ground level.

Eddie has been feeding him a litany of come on let’s go you’ve got it almost there the entire descent from the collapsed 11th floor, and at this point he’s not sure whose benefit it’s for.

The next time Buck stumbles, it’s on the landing between the third and fourth floors, and it’s accompanied by a weak, “Ed-Eddie, I can’t, I—,” before he pulls Eddie with him as he’s bracing against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

Eddie crouches in front of him, grasping the sides of his head, trying to get a better look through Buck’s cracked face mask.

“Buck—Buck! Hey!” Eddie gives him a frantic shake, “Hey, look at me, bud—yeah, that’s it, let me see those eyes,”

“Eddie, I’m—,” Buck cuts himself off with a cough and a harsh swallow, pupils visibly different sizes, “I can’t, I can’t—I’m so dizzy, Eddie, I can’t,”

Adrenaline zips down Eddie’s spine, hands tingling with it where he’s holding Buck’s face, separated only by the barely-functional protective gear, “Hey. Yes you can—Yes you can! Come on, we’re so close, we can swap masks for the last few flights—,”

Predictably, Buck interrupts him with a severe look—one that’s undercut almost immediately by the weak push to Eddie’s chest and slight slur of his voice—saying, “No. No, Eddie, not a chance,”

”Buck,” Eddie tries, again, like he has every other flight since floor 11, “I’m not the one with the concussion. Please—,”

“Diaz, Buckley—what’s your status,” Bobby’s voice crackles over the radio.

Eddie takes a frustrated breath before keying his radio, “Over three-quarters down, Cap. I can get us there, but Buck’s in pretty rough shape,”

Buck glares at him weakly through the crack splitting his mask.

Eddie glares back.

“Copy,” Bobby says, strain in his voice evident even through the radio, “IC is still adamant on personnel evac, they’re not permitting new entry unless both of you are compromised, the upper floors are too unstable. But we’ve got the best of the best waiting for the two of you by the eastern stairwell door,”

“Understood,” Eddie says, “Tell Hen and Chim they’ll see us soon,”

”We’d better,” Hen chimes in.

When the channel chirps closed, the only sound Eddie can hear is his own breathing inside his respirator as the two of them look at each other. Eddie gives them to the count of five in his own head before he’s saying, “Come on, Buck, time to go,”

Eddie pulls Buck up roughly, only for his limbs to ragdoll so quickly that Eddie ends up dropping harshly on his knees to be able to throw a hand out to keep Buck’s head from hitting the railing on his way back down.

To his horror, he can see tears spring to Buck’s eyes—ones that he’s sure have nothing to do with the smoke.

“I—I can’t, Eddie, I—,” Buck’s voice trembles, fumbling to grasp at Eddie’s turnout sleeve, “it’s spinning, and it hurts so—hurts so bad I can’t see,”

Concussion symptoms: loss of motor control, dizziness, pain, mood dysregulation.

Something above them crashes and roars.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie tries, dipping down to press the front of his helmet to the top of Buck’s for a frantic moment, “I’ve got you, man, okay? I’ve got you,”

“Okay,” Buck nods against him, shakily, “Okay, you’ve got me,”

It very quickly becomes clear that Buck will not be able to hold himself up enough to simply lean on Eddie like before, so Eddie reconfigures.

Despite the weak protests, he manhandles Buck forward so he’s seated on the top step off of the landing. Eddie positions himself a step down with his back to Buck’s chest, and heaves the increasingly limp form behind him onto his own back.

There’s a muffled groan over his shoulder when he hoists Buck into a better position after standing, his own body screaming in response. But stand he does, and step by step, flight by flight, they move.

Almost like a mantra or a prayer, Eddie finds himself immediately falling back into the teeth-gritting promises of I’ve got you I’ve got you I’ll get us there I’ve got you all the way to the ground floor—and they’re promises he intends to keep.

[now posted on ao3!]

[sluttywonwoo]

omg i have had such bad mingi brain rot and i figured ‘who else to go to other than mother kaili?’

that g.i mingi pic is SENDING me into thoughts of him fucking you with his hands behind his back with that shirt between his pretty teeth to showcase you those abs he knows you love so much, his pants pulled down only to his glorious thighs as his hips sink into you with ease. i think he’d release a few chuckles when you fuck yourself back onto him, but they would quickly turn into a muffled, deep whimper when ur cunt tightens around him at the sounds.

- ur old pal, all cap minghao anon

the shirt between the teeth… the hands behind his back… WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

your dress is pushed up around your hips, a pool of fabric on the mattress underneath you. it was the middle of the day, the sun was still out, but mingi just couldn’t wait.

at least that’s what he’d told you as he’d pulled your panties to the side and ate you out on his knees at the foot of your bed— unrelenting until you came all over his tongue (and nose).

he hasn’t bothered to undress himself either. he’s just fucking you with his pants pulled down under his ass. he had been kind enough, however, to lift his shirt up so that you could see his tummy. he’s got the hem of it between his teeth, holding it in place so you could watch his muscles contract with every thrust. he’s thoughtful like that.

you’re clenching around him like crazy, making him swear incoherently into the material of his shirt. it’s so hard not to cum when you’re doing that but he knows you can’t help it. you’re still all sensitive from making a mess on his face a few minutes ago, and the way he’s fucking you now is only pushing you closer and closer to that edge again.

mingi slows down for his own sake but you take it upon yourself to resume his pace on your own, desperately chasing that feeling as you fuck yourself on his cock.

“mmph- fuck, baby, wait…” mingi grunts, hands coming from behind his back to grab your knees.

“i can’t,” you whimper.

he tries holding you still but somehow you overpower him, probably because he’s splitting his focus between manhandling you and not cumming.

“you’re… you’re gonna make me cum if you don’t stop,” he protests.

“i know, it’s okay,” you pant, “i’m, fuck, i’m going to cum too.”

he sort of half chuckles and nods. “i can tell. but i didn’t want to cum yet. wanted it to last l-longer.”

mingi manages to get you to stop moving by wrapping one of his massive hands around your throat and squeezing just a little. works every time.

“could’ve fooled me with the way you didn’t even let me take my clothes off,” you quip, strained.

“that’s because i was in a rush to fuck you, not to cum. did you just roll your eyes at me?”

“maybe.”

your boyfriend scoffs, shaking his head. “you know, i was going to let you cum… but since you want to be a brat, i think you need to earn it.”

your smile falls. “wha- please no, i’m so close!”

“i know. but you should’ve thought about that before. now you just have to pray you can hold on until i think you deserve my permission.”

[lovesick-wonderland]

People Pleaser || b.ch

Summary: In which you can't say no.

Parings: Bull Hybrid! Bang Chan x reader

Warnings: DARK CONTENT, 18+, smut, manipulation, noncon, breeding kink, unprotected sex, manhandling, switch chan, mention of chan lactating, yandere chan, needy chan, chan rambles, pushover y/n, sub y/n, gender neutral y/n,

Minors please DNI

Disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. I do not condone the actions of any characters in this story and the actions do not reflect the idols in any way.

You always had a hard time saying no.

Whether it was saying no to your parents when they offered you more food or your classmate asking to copy your homework, you couldn't reject them. Just seeing their smiles drop, eyes get downcast, and attitude change was like having a knife twisted into your chest.

That's why it wasn't a surprise that you ended up in your current predicament, in the lap of shirtless Chan on your bed, facing him while massaging his swollen chest.

He was given to you by a coworker who bred bull hybrids you befriended. Chan was deemed 'defective' as a bull hybrid due to him occasionally lactating milk, which unfortunately never was enough to sell. During these episodes, Chan's chest would get swollen and red, which would require a lot of care. Since you lived alone, your coworker had deemed him a nusiance and you had a hard time saying no, she had 'gifted' you the bull hybrid.

Chan let out a groan.

"It's unbearable. Please, do something."

You try to leave to get a warm compress for his chest, hoping that would help to relieve to pain. However, as soon as you gave any indication leaving his lap, he grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

"No, please don't leave me. Your mouth, please. I need your mouth on me. It hurts so much."

You pause, giving him a confused look.

"Chan, I'm sorry but I don't think I should-"

"You said you'd take care of me. Right now, I need your mouth on me. It'll help to distract me from the pain, I promise." Chan urged, clearly becoming impatient.

Chan had never done anything to blur the boundaries of your relationship and he was always so kind towards you, helping you cook, clean, and even helping to pay the bills with a side-gig.

Hesistantly, you shift closer to him and attach your lips to his neck. Kissing and nibbling in the area while continuing to massage his chest to the best of your ability.

"Is this okay?" You ask, feeling unsure of yourself, lips brushing against his neck.

Chans breath hitches. "Yes. Please more. Move around, don't just focus on one area."

Complying with his request, you trace your lips lower, landing on the nape of his neck.

Chans resolve crumbles the minute you kiss his soft spot.

"I'm so so sorry."

You let out a squeak as you were pinned to your mattress.

"Chan...? What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Chan doesn't respond, not giving you much time to process as he rips off you bottoms, your underwear coming off too. He doesn't even remove his pants completely, only tugging it down to free his cock from its confines. He aligns himself to your hole, cock red and drooling.

You freeze as you feel his member against your enterance. "Chan-- wait-- I don't-- it's too big-- I can't-- please stop--" Your brain shortcircuits and you squirm, pushing against his chest. You don't want to hurt him.

"I'm so sorry."

He pushes in, rutting in short motions trying to ease himself into you unprepped.

You let out a sob and weakly hit his chest as you feel him sinking into you. You feel like you're being split in half and the burning sensation won't stop.

Chan shushes you and pins your wrists above your head. "It'll be okay soon. You're being so good to me, yeah? My good owner taking such good care of me."

Chan leans down and kisses away your tears tenderly, as if he wasn't harshly rutting into you at a punishing pace, not even giving you enough time to adjust. You lay there under Chan limp, unable to do anything other than take what he gives you.

"You feel so good, so nice and tight around me. It's like you were made for me. Fuck, I'm so lucky I got such a sweet owner like you. Someone else other than me might've snatched you up if it weren't for me"

Chan changes his angle, hitting a spot in you that instinctively makes you tighten up and your toes curl. He seems to take notice and abuses that spot.

"I've dreamed of this for such a long time. I want to start a family with you. Breed you. You'd make such a good parent with me. You won't need to rely on anyone but me."

Your cry harder as feel your last ounce of the control you had over your body slip away. Chan kisses you and your orgasm hits you. Chan doesn't give you time to rest as he continues his onslaught, putting his weight on your wrists and chasing his high.

"Fuck. Take my cum. Take it like the good owner you are."

You feel it as he stills in you. You can feel it as he throbs inside you, painting your walls white with his thick cum.

Chan lets out a sigh as he pulls out, cum oozing out of your puffy hole.

He gives you another kiss before flipping you over onto your stomach while pinning your legs down with his. You slump down, eyes fluttering closed, cheek pressed against the mattress. Exhaustion fills your body to the point of which you can't even speak or move. Dread fills you body as you feel his hard member against your hole.

"One round shouldn't be enough to get your pregnant right? Guess we'll have to go a few more times."

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Olive

Summary: On your knees, open up and apologize!

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x afab!Reader

Word Count: -2.2k

Content Warnings: Hardly Any Plot Just Smut 18+!, Misogyny-play (I dunno what else to call this, okay?), Oral (M Receiving), Karl Being A Little Shit About It, Deepthroating, Slight Choking, Subspace, Uhm…Sweat 😬, Bodily Fragrances, Body Worship, Humiliation/Praise, Manhandling, Karl Has A Dad Bod, Aftercare <3

A/N: Anne, this is all your fault and you know it! This is a little gift from yours truly <3

Tagging: @queer-crusader @ohlookapan @blueberrypancakesworld @somethingblu3

Me and my babe relax and catch the manic rhapsody

All reason flown as God looks on in abject apathy

A squall and all of me is a prayer in perfect piety

A moment's silence when my baby puts the mouth on me

- Moment's Silence By Hozier

For a split second, you halted, mouth already agape and the tip of your tongue ready to fire an entire tirade of complaints into the stuffy air of Karl's workshop. Unsuspecting, not even looking at you after you made a grand entrance barging through the door like that, Karl just sat there, soldering iron in his right and his nose scrunched up to keep his glasses from sliding down the bridge alongside some wayward droplets of sweat.

Your eyes darted at him, glaring with annoyance and frustration-fueled fury as they scanned his slightly hunched-down statue. He looked enragingly good with his shaggy hair tied into a low ponytail and his stupid, olive-green work overall pooling around his waist, giving way for you to ogle at his bare torso, skin glowing in an orange hue emitting from the embers of the furnace behind him, pale scar tissue forming a krass contrast all along his shoulders and chest.

You cleared your throat to remind yourself why you were here and to actually stay mad instead of letting your anger slide because of some silly pretty privilege.

“Huh?” Karl's eyes behind his glasses moved, inspecting curiously.

“All I do is clean up after you!”, It practically broke free from your throat in a strained groan, uncomfortably strong emotions bubbling in the pit of your stomach,

“I'm fucking sick of it, Karl. All I asked of you was to do the bed and put your damn dishes in the sink to help me out for once!”

“Uh-Huh.” Karl nodded briefly, not appearing moved by your frustration at all.

“Uh-Huh?! Karl.” It took every bit of composure to not just stomp your feet in a childish burst of anger.

“That's my name.” He mocked, his words stinging just like the white-hot tip of his soldering iron.

“Oh, fuck you!” That made him straighten up eventually.

“Excuse me?” Karl put his tool down before raising his glasses to lazily sit at the crown of his head.

“I said that you can go fuck yourself because you do fuck all to pull your weight with the chores. I'm trying to keep this place from turning into a trash dump!” You watched him intently, trying to decipher what was happening in this awfully stubborn head of his.

“Would you please say that to my face again, sweets?” The anger in your stomach dropped and rendered into a sharp jolt of embarrassment because you knew just fine that you were getting yourself onto fragile ice.

“Hm?” You tilted your head to the side and furrowed your brows into a questioning arch.

“Come here.”, Karl repeated himself swiftly, tapping his palm onto his thigh, “And say that to my face again.”

Regret kicked in almost immediately, growing into a nervous buzzing sensation with every step bringing you closer to your lover.

“There you go, I'm all ears.” Gray eyes beamed at you as you leaned your behind against the edge of the table.

“You don't help me with any of the chores.” You dropped your gaze and mumbled away meekly.

“That's not exactly what reached my ears a few minutes ago, now is it?” Karl crossed his arms in front of his chest, scarred forearms finding rest against curly, white hairs.

“I said you can go fuck yourself because I am angry with you. The bed still looks a mess and it wouldn't even take you 5 minutes.” Heat crept into your face because you knew all too well that you screwed up big time.

“Okay. Heard.”, Karl clicked his tongue before absentmindedly sucking his bottom lip between his teeth for a brief moment, “But what makes you think you're eligible to talk to me like that now, huh?”

“ ‘M sorry.” You felt like taking a step back but the table wouldn't let you.

“Alright, that doesn't really cut it, pumpkin. All that foul stuff leaving your mouth? Filthy, don't you think?” The way his voice had a rather peculiar edge to it made you look up again, your eyes being met with a sly grin that reached up to his eyes, laugh lines, and crow's feet wrinkling softly, pretty bastard.

“I don't appreciate you talking to me like that and I really believe you should make up for it, no?” A jolt of embarrassment went through your chest before the very same sensation went straight down amidst your legs.

The way Karl looked at you, eyes sparkling with twisted mischief, weirdly reassuring you that he heard you although you certainly overstepped a line here, rendered you weak in the knees. Like a teenager in love, serotonin and dopamine wreaking havoc and working overtime to soothe the pounding frustration from earlier.

As much as you tried to stay mad at him, you just couldn't, not when he played you so deliciously just like that, knowing full well that he had you wrapped around his finger with ease.

“Do you need me to shut you up or are you going to behave and do that by yourself?” Every word made you more self-aware about your face probably glowing with a double-edged sense of shame.

“I'm really sorry…” You repeated yourself under your breath, forcing your stunted body to move, to nonverbally admit to your failings and sink down to your knees whilst bashfully aware of your mouth watering, conditioned to do so just fine.

“There you go.” Karl cooed, teeth nipping at his bottom lip whilst his granite eyes watched your every move, pupils blowing in lust as they followed you working the buttons on his jumper.

He felt himself getting harder with every oh-so-innocent bat of your lashes, his pulse picking up significantly just like yours. You halted for a brief moment, inhaling deeply through your nose, breathing him in at his full intensity, pheromones hijacking your brain immediately.

“Too much to handle, pumpkin? Uh-oh, if that ain’t the consequences of your actions.” His snarky comment pushed heat into your face.

Karl was right, it was more of him that you were used to but you quickly came to find out that that wasn’t necessarily something bad. Instead, you embraced it, took it the way it was because you’d successfully gotten yourself into this situation. You didn’t deserve anything else right now and you accepted it.

“Fuck…” The Lord of Metal hissed under his breath as you shamelessly nuzzled your face into his crotch, the tip of your nose snugly nestled amongst curly, gray pubes and lips playfully nipping at his stiffening shaft.

It wasn’t even a matter of a whole minute until his entire length stood against your cheek, the tip of his cock soft to the touch but throbbing.

“I know you’re a whore but I never took you for the dirty, nasty kind.” He egged you on, only feeding into this rather new and rapidly forming fantasy that was taking all of you by storm.

You already enjoyed it plenty when he got out of his workshop in the evenings, cuddling himself into bed next to you with hints of oil, fire, and sweat clinging to him, rendered you feral in seconds, but this right here made you dizzy; cock-drunk without even having him inside you just yet. And although your lips found themselves busy with kissing and nibbling the lack of having your impertinent brat mouth stuffed turned you impatient. You wanted to drag it out, for his pleasure…and yours, however you nearly couldn’t manage, saliva pooling beneath your tongue.

“See? That’s exactly where you’re supposed to be instead of right in my face yappin’ about dirty dishes, sweets. Be thankful that I touch the dirty fucking dishes at all, bitch.” The nearly threatening shift in his tone sent you spiraling in the best way possible.

“ ‘M sorry…” You mouthed against the tuft of hair.

“Huh? What’s that?” In a firm smack, his palm found your cheek before the same hand clasped at you by the jaw, squishing your mouth in mockery and you nearly cried out in need for him to manhandle you like that.

“ ‘M SORRY, SIR.” You pressed from a squeezed mouth to the best of your abilities.

“Ah, that’s it. Now quit playing around.” Karl released your face from his grip with a little bit of momentum, making you sway in your position before leaning back in and wrapping your lips around his girth.

A wanton moan echoed around his cock because not only did Karl smell much more intense, he also tasted the part, effectively rendering you dumb with only one objective on your brain: serve.

“Freaking slut, enjoying yourself, huh?” He thrust his lap right into your face, your nose pressing against the soft curve of his belly pooch whilst he spearheaded along your tongue down into your throat.

The sudden jut of his hips made you gag around him, the root of your tongue contracting in tandem with your larynx, coaxing a pleased grunt from Karl’s lips. In a juxtaposed, twisted way your overwhelming discomfort brought a nearly unimaginable amount of pleasure, your love for consensual pain and humiliation nearly as large as the one you felt for Karl.

Your knees scratched over the concrete floor of his workshop as his fingers snaked along the back of your head, grabbing it by your hair in fistfuls to harshly guide your mouth to bop on his cock. An amalgamation of spittle and eager droplets of salty precum covered the inside of your mouth and squelched from the corners of your lips, dripping down into his lap.

“Sloppy bitch.”, Karl commented between quiet groans, half-lidded eyes watching you taking him whole with every jerk of your head, “Keep it together.”

Punishment followed immediately, Karl’s other hand darting to pinch your nose shut.

“Uh, no, no, no.”, The Lord shushed upon you starting to gag and slightly panic instantly, “I gotchu, be good.”

You suppressed the intrinsic instinct to breathe, nose incapacitated and your esophagus gagged with Karl’s pulsing girth, tongue pressed right against the bottom of his cock, involuntarily caressing the thick vein that prodded along your tastebuds.

Don’t gag, don’t gag, don’t -

Tears threatened to spill over your lower lash line, the watery blur glazing over your sight, lungs pulling and tearing inwards in a gradually worsening need for fresh oxygen.

“Just a little more, fuck- so tight…” Karl groaned, pointy canines digging into the tender flesh of his bottom lip, scratching over and slightly through the skin.

Not being able to breathe turned increasingly painful, your ribcage being set ablaze by an itch you simply couldn’t scratch right now.

“There, there, good fucking girl.” The words rumbled through his chest accompanied by a final forcefully maneuvered jerk of your head.

Little black patches danced over your retina and you felt dangerously lightheaded as the first thick ropes of cum gushed down your throat and for a split second your body nearly spasms in such panic that you almost bit his twitching dick right off. Instead, Karl released the tip of your nose from his pinching clasp and your jaw went slack, joints aching in overuse, and yet you obediently swallowed, took it all down to the very last bit, saliva, tears, and mucus gathering at your chin whilst you breathed yourself through it.

However absurd it would’ve sounded to explain it to someone who’d never been in your shoes just like that, finishing your task sparked a sense of pride to bloom in your chest.

“So good, so perfect, come’ere.” Karl pulled himself out of you, leaving you pleasantly sore whilst you catch your breath, your body still feeling wobbly and overly sensitive.

He held you by both wrists as he helped you get up before pulling your slightly shaking form onto his lap, his lips leaving a wash of kisses all across your heated face the very second you sat down.

“You okay, hun?” You nodded in response, weak arms wrapping around his shoulders to find more purchase.

“Was a bit rough, no? I know.”, Karl started wiping the tears from under your eyes with his thumbs, both palms encasing your face tenderly, “I’m sorry, got a bit carried away.”

You couldn’t be angry at him for it had felt too good and you knew that he would never seriously hurt you on purpose.

“Issok.” Your voice was but a breathy little whisper.

“Sure? How ‘bout I make it up to you?”, Karl started grinning as the spark of an idea flickered behind the pale gray in his eyes, “How about I move my partially lazy ass into the kitchen, do the dishes, meanwhile, you’re free to enjoy a nice hot bath I’ll pour you and afterward I’ll take good care of you, hm? I better have my jaw sore by the end of the day too, only fair.”

The lightly damp tip of his nose gently nudged against yours, his wicked smile contagious enough to catch on to you.

[shotmrmiller]

https://x.com/babyboat22/status/1819915483795050893?s=46 dont look at me sideways but i see amateur thief reader and “victim” soap who let you rob his ass just to keep your hands on him. he couldnt stop humming and chuckling and grinning while you pinned him to the grimy brick alley wall, patting him down and trying to search for anything good. you nick the gold rosary chain his mother gave to him, but he’s hardly worried. just keeps talking, trying to hear your voice, like he isn’t being violently accosted at the moment. besides, he likes being manhandled by a pretty thing like you.

its a wonder why someone so bitty could grow the balls to do something like this. to someone like him, of all people. its the opposite of a power trip. kind of a rush, knowing that you have no idea that he’s entirely in control of the situation you put the both of you in. that if he wanted, he could reverse this little game of yours, have you struggling and crying just for him.

but he denies himself, lets you have your fun.

when you take his wallet (not a big deal, just a couple 20s worth) he asks if you could hand him some of the trojans in there as well, wonders aloud if he’ll need them. he hears you suck in a scandalized breath and shivers in pleasure when your movements grow more shaky as you keep trying to ignore him.

“no need ta take ‘em from me, bonnie. in a plenty givin’ mood, ye can just ask,” he huffs against the wall, looking back at you the best he can with his face smushed against the brick, dark and honeyed eyes. he bargains, in a deeper, more enticing voice, “could take ye ‘ome and let ye ransack the ‘ole place if ye decide ta play a ‘lil nice—“

you yank his head back sharply before smashing his cheek into the brick, earning a groan from the man in your clutches. “shut the fuck up!”

he can taste the blood on his lips, staining his teeth. it hurts but the pain has his boner throbbing hard and unignorable. he’s missed this type of violence. usually the only way he can get it off the field is from simon, but this will do. this will more than do.

perhaps him chuckling despite being mortally injured freaked you out finally because you hastily pocket your ill-gotten gains before turning tail and running off into the night. soap’s not worried. what type of mercenary would he be if he doesn’t keep track of what’s his? it’s not hard to find you after that, where you live, go to work, which movies you like to see in your free time.

so when you spot him just as he sits down next to you in the theater, you can’t help the paralytic feeling of realizing you recognize this man. can barely move when he smirks all pretty at you, split lip and all, as he wraps an arm around your seat and spreads his thighs so wide that they crush against yours, his big calloused hand squeezing your shoulder, pulling you into him like you’re old friends.

“sorry ‘m late,” he murmurs, leaning close to your ear, letting his breath hit hot on your lobe. “traffic ‘n all.”

you try to turn towards him, “you—“

“shh, shh—“ he tightens his grip on your shoulder, keeping you from moving away from him. his sudden strength is frightening. “dinnae distract from the movie, aye? paid good money for it, ah bet.” soap licks his lips and hums before smiling, his hand pushes under your arm to grab your tit. “let’s enjoy it together, then ah’ll take ye ‘ome with me. how’s that sound?”

okay okay i'm listeningggg

popcorn cold and soggy from the butter sits on your lap, the flavored water that was once an icee on your left. his hand is firm around your thigh after fighting through the previews to get him off your tits and arse.

a compromise. sure. but then you've got to go to the bathroom (curious because you've never gone anywhere while the movie is rolling, soap thinks) but okay. when you've gotta go, you've gotta go. the piss bottles he's had to toss in the bin after flying for hours in nikolai's metal stallion can attest to that.

and this, you think, clammy hands fisting the brand new secondhand shirt you got from goodwill, is your way out. away from him. maybe even to the police. you've only ever done this shit out of necessity. hoping to get enough out of the privileged to soothe the pang of gnawing hunger in your stomach (and that of the other street urchins)

whatever you thought could've happened doesn't because he's breathing down your neck from the moment you rise from your seat. his paw is in your back pocket while he walks you to the bathroom.

his hand stays in your pocket as he, with a chivalrous gesture, opens the door to said bathroom. he also aids you in getting in the stall. and no, not the bigger one at the end. he crams you into the very first one that's available, him following right behind. he fits in there like a rubber stopper. shoulders broad enough to touch both walls. arms like trunks cross over the breadth of his chest as he looks down at you expectantly.

"needed to piss, aye? go on. cannae 'ave you runnin' off again."

it's only when he leans down, his nose touching yours as he tells you to, "go 'fore ah make ye," that has your trembling fingers fumbling with the front button of your jeans.

[blindmagdalena]

how do you think homie would react to reader breaking up with him because they have very different morals (homie kills people, ik he's babygirl but he does just brutally kill people, reader is a pacifist)

-bree(sorry for multiple asks in short time :P)

cw gaslighting, imprisonment, manhandling. no more mr. nice homelander.

"Fine, listen, listen, if it means that much to you, I won't do it anymore," Homelander says, hands lifted placatingly. The way he says it makes it sound like he's doing you a favor. Like you're overreacting to a mild infraction. You stare, mouth agape. "This... This isn't some bad habit. You kill people."

"Yeah," he agrees, a slight strain creeping into his voice. "Yeah! Okay. And? Lots of people kill people. And typically, I only kill people who're also killing people." "Typically," you echo, at a loss. How can he be so flippant about this? It's like he hasn't heard a single word you've said. "You don't care. At all." "Why should I care? Why should you care? It's not like I'm killing people you like, or even know," he says, his exasperation with you intensifying. "But you love me. So just... Cool off, alright? Sleep on it. Before you do something you'll regret."

The shift in his voice when he says that runs a chill up your spine. "Are you threatening me?" "What?" Homelander laughs. "No! Of course not. Babe, listen to yourself. C'mon, I know you're upset-" he moves to take your hand, but for the first time, you yank it from his reach, crossing your arms. His hand hovers in the space yours had been for a moment, his eyes locked on the same spot. He inhales a slow breath, his fingers curling into a fist before dropping back to his side.

When he looks at you, his gaze is bereft of any playfulness. Your denial of him has flipped a switch in him that you've never seen before.

"You're tired," he says, voice set low. Any traces of the lighthearted pretense from earlier has been dropped. "It's late. You have a lot to process. So, we are going to put this aside for tonight. You are going to come to bed with me, and we'll talk about it in the morning, when you're calm." "I am calm," you tell him, refusing to let him make you feel like you're the one being unreasonable. "Please move. I already told my friend I'm on my way," you lie. You wish you had. You wish you realized sooner you would need to. Homelander had always been so utterly devoted to you. He hung on your every word, met your every whim, loved you so thoroughly that he made you feel like his entire world. Only now have you realized the dangers of that kind of love.

His mouth twitches. "Which friend?"

You begin to answer, wanting to give validity to your fiction, but an awful thought occurs to you. Would he hurt them? "It doesn't matter," You reply instead, clutching your overnight bag. "I need space, and I don't want you coming to me before I'm ready. Please, move," you say, voice wavering. He was making this so much more painful than it already was. You do love him, but he's making you feel like you barely even know him.

Homelander taps his hands on his thighs, considering you. After a prolonged silence, just before you open your mouth to speak again, he claps his hands together. "Alright. Sure," he says, stepping forward. You step backwards. "Door's right there." You're immediately relieved, but there's a nagging feeling in your gut. "Thank you," you say softly, adjusting your grip on your bag. "I'll call, okay?" Homelander offers a sideways nod, seeming... resigned. You feel the guilt of it weigh heavily, and for a split second, you question yourself, whether what you're doing is right or fair. You have to steel yourself before your resolve falters. You need time away from him to collect yourself, and figure out what to do about the man you, as it turns out, know very little about.

Just as you pass him, you feel a sudden grip on your arm, and in a flash you're spun around, stumbling back into the penthouse. You stare wide-eyed for a moment, turning back around. Poised exactly as he had been before, Homelander stands in front of the door, hands on his hips. His brows lift slightly. "Well?" Your heart is racing now. "What are you doing?"

"Go on," he says, ignoring your question. "Door's right there."

Anger rolls through you in a heated wave. "I'm not playing this game with you," you say, moving to shove more forcibly passed him this time, but once again he catches you with a hand on your wrist, spinning you around with such ease, you may as well weigh nothing at all. Yet again you stumble back into the penthouse, tears welling in your eyes as you round on him. "Stop it! Get out of my way!" "Door's wide open, babe. All you have to do is get to it, and you can leave," he says, voice perfectly relaxed, devoid of any passion or empathy.

With a frustrated cry, you hurl your bag at him, and full on sprint towards the door. You get closer this time, but just as you reach for the knob, Homelander takes you by your shoulders and spins you right around. Your own momentum carries you further in. You barely catch yourself from falling, letting go a sob that's equal parts rage and heartbreak. Who is this man?

This time, you throw yourself bodily towards the door, screaming your distress, your anger. You do it again and again and again, and every time, Homelander spins you right back around. On the final attempt, as he once again redirects you, the force of your own momentum hurls you to the ground.

"Do you get it yet?" Homelander asks, cocking his head to the side, checking to see if you're picked up on this lesson in futility. "You don't call the shots here. You don't get to just decide we're done. Relationships go two ways, sweetheart," he says. That petname used to give you butterflies. It sounds sour on his tongue now. You hear him sigh, closer to you now.

"Didn't think you'd be that stubborn. But I guess I've always loved that about you when it wasn't pointed at me, huh?" He asks, a playful little lilt slipping back into his voice. You struggle when he scoops you up, you make an animalistic noise of pure aggravation, but it's as fruitless as ever. Homelander is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object, his grip on you like steel. He cannot be stopped, or even hindered, as he carries you towards the bedroom. He sets you down on the bed, and out of pure unthinking fury, you raise your hand to slap him across the face. The strike lands, but Homelander doesn't so much as twitch. Your hand smarts, you may as well have slapped a brick wall. You clutch your wrist, letting go another sob. It aches immediately, frail in comparison to his unyielding frame.

Cupping either side of your face, Homelander swipes away your tears with his thumbs, watching you impassively. There's patience in his expression, though it looks stretched thin.

"I know you're upset," he says, an echo of earlier, as if picking up right from where he'd left off. As if nothing of the last twenty minutes had even happened. "But we'll get through this. And hey, hey, I'm not even mad at you, okay? Because that's what it means when you love someone. You forgive them." You feel numbed by your own plethora of tumultuous emotions, strung out and exhausted. You close your eyes, unable to stomach the loving way he's gazing at you. He kisses your forehead, wringing a weak, hiccupped little noise out of you. "That's my girl. I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you?" No matter how gentle his hold on you is, it's inescapable. You have no choice but to face him, bleary as he is through your tear-welled eyes. Unable to push an answer through the tightness in your throat, you just nod.

"That's right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?" Those words break something in you. You lose whatever bit of composure you had built back up, and you begin to sob anew, an agonized sound. Homelander's expression twists. He's never liked seeing you cry. He's also never been the source of it.

"Shhh, shhhh, hey, it's alright. You're okay. I would never let anything happen to you," he says, as if he wasn't the very thing happening to you in this moment. He kisses your forehead again, your tear-streaked cheeks, and finally your lips.

You don't have any fight left in you. Not against the press of his lips, and not against the way he brings you under the covers with him, clothes and all.

He pulls you against his chest the same way he has a hundred times before, as if this is any other night that the two of you have fallen asleep in each others embrace.

You hug your arms tight to your chest, crying hard, while he rubs your back, hushing you. Comforting you, as any good boyfriend should.

"It's alright. I've got you," he says, his arms an oppressive force around you. "I've got you."

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Thirty-One - One Flew Over

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Racism (New, This Chapter) Suicidal Ideation, Psychiatric Wards, Forcible Sedation, Depiction of a Suicide Attempt

A/N: Welp, splitting this chapter ended up doing a whole lot of good - this second part of it ended up being over 25k words 😅 Anyway, hope it was worth the wait!

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Shuichi Iguchi had had more than a few roommates during his time at Jaku Hospital’s Psychiatric Ward. Some better than others. Some way worse. He tried not to judge them by first impressions, nobody was at their best when they came in here after all.

That being said, his first impression of his newest roommate was particularly hard to ignore.

“Let me the fuck out of here!! You can’t fucking keep me here!!” he screamed as he pounded hard on the door, aiming repeatedly for the impact-resistant glass window, “I’m fucking serious! Call Sensei! He didn’t mean it! Fucking call him !!!”

The door finally opened, just a crack, enough for one of the orderlies to peak in and scold him.

“Shigaraki-san, if you keep this up we’re going to have to relocate you to the quiet room. You’re agitating the other residents.”

“Just try it bitch! I’ll relocate your fucking jaw!” he screamed right back in her face.

The orderly promptly shut the door on him, Iguchi guessed to go and grab some backup to help restrain the man he now knew as Shigaraki.

Iguchi frowned as he watched him pound and howl his already hoarse voice away at the door. As violently angry and coarse as he was, Iguchi couldn’t exactly blame the guy. It was well after dinner at the time they threw Shigaraki in here, quiet and bed hours, the only time they were locked in these rooms. Most other times they had decently free range of the ward. But of course, if this was all the  newbie had seen so far, there was no way for him to know that.

Maybe if Iguchi explained a little about the schedule here, he might calm down a bit…

“Th-They um…” he started hesitantly, “They lock the doors at night—”

Iguchi didn’t even get a full sentence out before Shigaraki whipped around and spat, “You think I can’t see that?! Mind your own business you fucking hafu !”

…

Okay, yeah no. He had absolutely nothing to say to that.

Iguchi was bad at confrontation even on a good day. And he had a feeling that if he poked his roommate too hard, he would make this a very not good day.

Er, night.

So he just watched the guy pound his fists tender against the door for a few more seconds, before laying down in his bed on his side. Accepting his miserable fate of listening to that shrill, scratchy voice of his for the rest of the night, since the orderlies seemed to ultimately decide to just let Shigaraki wear himself out rather than actually try and manhandle him into a timeout.

Iguchi wasn’t sure if there was such a thing as a “good” first impression in a psych ward. But Shigaraki had for sure proven that there were bad ones.

Continue on AO3

[linomilkers]

How about when you use a Safe word? You can do it with either Lino or Chan <3

Sure :-) thank you for requesting! I chose Chan this time around but let me know if you want Linooo next :-)

[warnings: dom/sub dynamics, safe word use, spanking, degradation, overstimulation, subspace]

____________________

Chan was stressed.

Of course he was; comebacks were tiring, leading up to it, during it, and even after it sometimes, the schedules could be packed and busy with little time for reprieve. All of them let the weight of it sit on their shoulders but for Chan it's just a little different -- being the leader is just a little different. He's tired and stressed for himself, and he's tired and stressed for all of the members. While he lightens their load, he triples his own. He's always done that.

Y/N knew he'd be calling her more because of it; she would have been shocked if he didn't, honestly. He always messages her when things are a lot and he needs some sort of reprieve, at least a couple of hours where he can be mindless and follow his more base instincts. Split her thighs, tuck himself between them, and do whatever it is that he wants to do.

They've got rules established, and a safe word always, and Chan is good about following both. In the moment he may say something possessive, maybe a little mean about how she's a whore, she's his whore, to have and to fuck and to claim -- but afterward he's always so grateful. They weren't together and for some reason he's convinced himself that Y/N gets nothing out of this arrangement ("You're good in bed and I cum a lot and you feed me after, I think I get plenty out of this too, dummy."), so he treats each experience with a lot of care.

Because Chan on a good day is a little rough in bed, and likes to squeeze and manhandle and toss her around like she was a rag doll for him only. On a day he's let stress fill his bones? He's spanking and slapping and biting; Y/N is okay with all of that -- she likes it, if she didn't then she would tell him and they'd never do it again, but it's seldom he does something she doesn't enjoy. Sometimes she'll slip into that soft, floaty spot; where it's nice and quiet and Chan makes all the decisions so she can just let her mind flutter off. Chan can usually tell when it happens and he's mindful of it, and keeps doing what he's doing but with a softer edge, more praise, a few sweeter words. She's still a whore, sure, but she's his sweet whore -- that makes a difference in the moment.

Tonight had started out no different! It was the same set up -- she got a message around 8PM while she was snuggled in her blanket on the sofa. Y/N reached for her phone on the cushion beside her, saw that it was Chan asking if she was free, and she replied.

That depends. . .do you have snacks?

lol do you want snacks?

yes

I'll get some snacks then

okay, omw

Chan doesn't expect her to dress up so she usually doesn't, and since she'd just showered for the night, she was in a big shirt and some soft new pajama bottoms that she'd gotten a couple of weeks ago. She gave him a few minutes to actually get snacks for her before she grabs her things, looping her bag over her shoulder and petting her her cat on the couch before heading out. This would be the third time this week he's called, but Y/N had told him she'd be busy next week so she wondered if he was just trying to get it all out of his system now.

The drive to his dorm isn't too ridiculous, so not much time passed between the time he messaged her to her getting there. She knocked, he let her in with a shy little giggle and his dimples popping, and he complimented her shirt (it had a duck on it) while he played with the hair at the nape of his neck -- all of it was the usual stuff.

They usually don't just jump right into it; Chan likes the build up, playing around it, dancing around each other. He invites her into his room, sometimes they pass Jisung who is always polite and has his headphones around his neck (Y/N doesn't know if it's in preparation or not but she's too embarrassed to inquire). Maybe she gets to hear some of the stuff they're working on or maybe he wants to not think about work at all, and they'll just chat, and gab, and Y/N is just the right amount of bratty that gives him a reason to be rougher with her. She always waits patiently though, for him to be comfortable, to make the first move, to crawl into the bed where she's usually sitting stretched out and tucking his face into her throat. He'll kiss up her neck, suck a bruise just beneath her jaw, make his way to nip and bite at her mouth.

Y/N is good with everything he does with her -- to her -- usually. She can handle the overstimulation, and the degradation, and the swats to the inside of her thighs, or how he slaps her breast before grabbing and kneading it. She loves all that, it makes her tremble and squirm, and it's just good. Too good -- so good that she just slips right into subspace without even realizing it.

And Chan doesn't realize it either; he can't see her face, to be fair, and she thinks that's usually a dead giveaway. She's covered in drool and cum and bruises, she's sore, he's made her cum 4. . .maybe 5 times at that point and she was quivering with every breath. And he was still saying things, being rough, being mean how she usually likes, but maybe not right now -- maybe she wanted to be told she was good, and she wanted to be pet on, and cuddled against.

But her back was cold because he wasn't stretched over her how he usually is, and his nails bite into her hips. "Just a filthy hole," he grits through his teeth, the sound of their hips colliding and her squelching around him the only things echoing in the room, "Made for me to fuck. Have you always been such a little whore?"

She gasps when his hand slid around her, his fingers swirling over her clit and her toes curl but it's too much, "M'not a whore," she whines, muffled into the pillow.

"Mm, sure," he hums, mocking her as he swats her bum, "And the sky is neon green. If you weren't a whore then why would this pussy take my cock so easy, hm? You opened up like you've been begging for it -- don't I fuck you enough?" Y/N can't answer, her muscles are tight all over, she feels overwhelmed with her chest swollen and her breath caught in her throat. He slaps her bum again, it's a stingy burn she usually likes but now she gasps again and grimaces, "Answer when I ask you a question. Or do you want me to spank your ass until it's sore?"

"Pineapple," Y/N whines out, the first time muffled with the pillow still but she pulls her face from the cushion that she'd been clinging onto, shaking her head, "Pineapple!" She repeated, puffing a harsh breath through her nose.

Y/N doesn't use her safe word often, but from when she has, she knows Chan is always good about it. Just like he is right now -- he slips out of her gently and takes his hands away from her swollen button. He doesn't let go of her hips because he's the only thing keeping her from flopping down on top of the dried cum and the wet little spot she'd been making from how wet she was. He scooted them over just a hair and shoved the sheets that were beneath her out of the way, before guiding her onto her back.

Y/N feels bare and cold as the sweat cools on her skin from the fan blades whipping above them. She hugs her arms around herself but Chan pulls a knitted blanket from the end of the bed and pulls it over her, "Is it okay if I touch you?" He asks, his voice careful and gentle. Y/N nods quickly -- she hadn't fallen that deep into it (when she does that, sometimes she can't even find the words or her voice to speak them).

He cradles her cheek in his hand, wipes away tears that she hadn't realized wet her skin before pressing a gentle kiss to the lips he'd only just been biting and gnawing at earlier, "I'm sorry, baby," he murmured, "Was I being too rough?"

"Just -- just a little," she caught her breath, curling into the blanket but pressing close to his body. His chest was broad and he smelled good, she noses her way into it, "Felt like. . .felt like a lot when I feel like this."

"Hm?" He's confused but the cogs in his brain click and turn quickly then, "Ohhh," he wrapped his arm around her, flattening his palm between her shoulder blades and keeping her pressed close, "I see. You're feeling floaty, aren't you?" She nodded, "Sweet thing, it is hard to handle when someone's being rough with you like this. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she presses a kiss to the center of his chest, his skin soft, "You didn't realize."

They spend some time like this, Chan rubbing her back, her arms, pushing kisses to her forehead -- it's sweet and warm and soft. The aftercare (even if it's premature) is always the best part, Y/N would say, and she thinks Chan likes it too. He likes to feel needed and to take care of people, and this is a way of doing it in such a relaxed way. Just snuggling close, being kissed, told that she did so well for him that she made him feel so good. Eventually she pulls out of it, and when she does, she untucks her face from his chest and lies her head on his bicep. She blinks at him, and he smiles, dimpled and sweet, "Are you okay?"

"Mhmmmmm," she hums, "Right as rain."

"Good," his smile gets bigger, "Do you want to stay and order take out and maybe watch a movie or something?"

Y/N raises her brows, "You already fucked me, what are you trying to butter me up for?" She's only joking -- they do this all the time, because they were just friends at the start of this with no benefits included but she loves seeing how his face warms up bright pink and he's patting her bum and whining at her.

"Hey, I'm not buttering you up!" He grumbled, "I just want to spend time with you, is that so bad?"

Her heart squeezes in her chest, then feels like it swells up, and pushes her ribs to the side to make room for it. He has a nasty habit of making her feel all gooey and in love, but she swats that away just as soon as it comes in favor of snuggling back into his side.

"Yeah, I'll stay," she replied, "Order something good."

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

In all fairness...

A/N: Yeah, this isn't beta'd. Or even glanced over a second time. English isn't my native language so don't draw and quarter me over a couple of mistakes, I beg thee, oh Lordship.

Someone had the audacity to put this completely relatable little sentence on this hellsite. And then I wrote this. I couldn't help myself and I'm not apologizing. xoxo ❤️

Pairing: Walter Marshall x reader (you)

Summary: It's date night, and you found the perfect outfit... In hindsight it may have been a little too perfect.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, very impatient Marshall who has a thing for fishnets, light bondage, light daddy kink, unsafe sex (be smarter, folks!), use of pet names, creampie, manhandling, oral (m receiving), facial, ehh... hmu when I missed something.

-----

You look at yourself in the mirror one more time, a little unsure of your outfit. The skirt is going to be a hit – you’ve worn it before, he loved it. The same goes for the blouse and the underwear you have on. But the tights… Somehow, every last pair you own is either in the laundry or has sustained serious damage in obvious places. This’ll have to do. One last touch-up on your red lipstick and you’re good to go.

“Hey, ready for din…” Your unsmiling, 6 feet tall, 200 something pounds of muscle boyfriend sure looks cute when his mouth falls open like that.

“More than ready,” you reply coyly – as if you care about dinner. Then again, it has been a while since you’ve been out on an actual date, because his work interfered with that the past three or so times. You know he feels guilty; he always does. Sometimes he wonders if he should let work slide more often, so he could stay with you, but you always assure him it’s okay, and you always mean it. His job is important. This time, to apologise to you, he’s made reservations at your favourite restaurant. There is one problem, and that is that your man seems in no way inclined to walk you to the car.

“Babe, we’ll be late.” You try to push him away from the door but – of course – he won’t budge. He’s twice your size, what the hell did you expect?

“We’ll order something.” And with those words, he steps into your apartment and slams the door shut behind him. His hands are heavy on your hips, pushing you back into the wall opposite your front door, face inching closer to yours with every passing second. At the last moment, you turn your face away from his, earning you a low growl that seems to vibrate through your entire body. Within a split second your world is turned upside down – quite literally, because he throws you over his shoulder and carries you to the bedroom as if you weigh nothing, landing his hands firmly on your arse a few times. You shriek at the impact.

“Are you going to behave tonight?” He asks as he throws you onto the bed. You love seeing him like this, arms crossed, standing over you all tall and broad and threatening. Without thinking, you let your legs fall open until a large hand appears on each knee to push them back together. “I guess not, then.”

You lick your lips as he fumbles with the buckle of his belt before he pulls it from the loops and – to your surprise – uses it to strap your thighs together.

“Knees.” It very much isn’t a question. You would have been more than happy to oblige, but his hand was already wrapped around your upper arm, hauling you off the bed and dragging you onto your knees on the floor. It’s almost reflexive, the way you reach your hands up to unbutton his jeans. Even the thick fabric can’t hide the size of the equipment beneath it. He’s so big you can’t wrap your fingers around him, and two hands aren’t enough to cover his full length. Apparently, you’re not fast enough for Marshall’s liking tonight because before you free his cock from his pants, he’s already impatiently tapping the tip against your lips. Your tongue darts out to taste the precum he’s spreading on your lips, teasing the head of his cock in the process. When your look up at him, he’s looking back at you, with one eyebrow raised, telling you very clearly that he won’t appreciate an attitude tonight. As much as you’d love to see him make good on all those non-verbal threats in his eyes, your lips part and you take head into your mouth. Somehow, every remnant of your signature bratty attitude disappears when you’re sucking dick, and from the way Marshall looks at you, you can tell that he knows.

“Good girl,” he growls when you take him deeper and deeper. Your fingers desperately try to wriggle their way between your thighs to relieve some of the growing ache there, but because your legs are strapped together, you can’t reach. A pitiful whine escapes your throat and Marshall chuckles at the sound.

“Serves you right,” he says with a devious laugh, “fucking cock tease.” You’re barely an inch away from having all of him stuffed down your throat. It takes a few more slow, steady strokes until your nose is pressed against him. It always feels like a victory, especially when he’s standing over you, moaning like he’s losing his mind and visibly trying everything within his power to stand still. This time, it’s him who pulls away to return to more shallow strokes to pull him over the finish line.

“Open.” Again, not a request. You can tell he relishes the sight of you on your knees in front of him, mouth open and tongue out, waiting… Most of his cum ends up on your tongue, and you swallow all of it while keeping your eyes locked on his. He’s biting his lip, letting you know just how much he’s loving this. When he pulls you off the ground again – only far enough to turn you around and bend you over the edge of the bed – you can no longer ignore the mess between your legs. Since you found out that you couldn’t reach down to help yourself, you’ve been doing everything you can to tune out that aching feeling, but the accidental friction from Marshall’s manhandling allows the sensation to wriggle its way back to the front of your mind. A few quick slaps against your arse surely don’t make things better. For a moment, you’re hopeful that he’ll be kind to you, that giving him his means he’ll give you yours, but you know him better than that. Something you did tonight annoyed him – or rather; turned him on so much that he decided he couldn’t wait to have you until after dinner – and he’s going to use you until he feels you’ve made up for that mistake. You wouldn’t be with him if you liked it any other way. The sudden feeling of the chilly air in the room on your behind drag you back to reality. Marshall has shoved your skirt out of the way and his hands are kneading the flesh of your ass. Tenaciously, you might add. You could easily get lost in the feeling – which is a good thing, because to say Walter Marshall loves your ass would be the understatement of the century, which means he spends a disproportionate amount of the time you spend together touching it in some way or another. Today, however, his quality time with your butt doesn’t last long. First, the snapping of thread as strong hands turn the many tiny holes in your fishnets into a single, much larger hole. Then the rough tips of his fingers between your legs, pulling your panties to the side. And lastly a whistle, followed by a chuckle when one of those fingers slips between your folds and almost immediately deep into your dripping core. A second finger slips in just as easily and for a delicious minute they work that heavenly spot inside of you, naturally retreating far too soon, just as you’re squirming with pleasure and begging him to go on.

“Not yet, love.” His words are kind now, knowing you’ll beg for his cock the same way you just begged for his fingers. He teases you with the tip of his cock, laughing when you try to back into him. A few fierce smacks on your ass make short work of that behaviour. Without a fuss or seemingly any real effort at all, he gathers your hands behind your back and keeps them there. He only needs one hand to firmly secure both of your wrists. It’s a bit of an adjustment; normally he’d use his belt, but that’s otherwise occupied at the moment. It takes him a single thrust to drive his entire cock into you and you gasp at the sudden intrusion. At the same time, he groans loudly; because your legs are fixed together, you feel much tighter around him than you normally do, and the feeling is driving him wild. You squirm, whine, and clench your walls around him in an attempt to get him to move.

“Use your words, darling,” he chuckles almost sadistically as he stays still inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you mewl, your voice trembling almost as much as your legs.

“Beg.”

“Please, daddy, fuck me.” The words are out before you realize, and there’s no way of taking them back. Luckily, Marshall doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“Shit, baby, I had no idea you were going to ask that nicely.” The pace he sets is brutal; the kind of rhythm you’ve never been able to take on your best days, but the position you’re in prevents him from hitting you as deep as he normally does. For the first time, you realise how much this man always holds back so he won’t hurt you – and you suspect he probably still isn’t fucking into you at full speed or strength. The thought that Walter could literally rip you apart with his dick makes you go absolutely feral, and you beg him to fuck you harder. You have nowhere to go tomorrow, and walking is overrated, anyway. He seems more than happy to oblige; his thrusts go from ‘hard’ to tiptoeing the line between where ‘rough’ ends and ‘cruel’ begins. Just as you’re beginning to regret your request, he can’t take it anymore. With a feral grunt and vicious final thrust, he spills his seed deep inside of you before pulling out.

He takes a moment to watch his cum drip from your battered cunt before he loosens the belt a little, giving you just enough space to spread your knees as far as necessary for you to reach between them and touch the swollen little pearl between your legs. All he does is slip two fingers into your gaping pussy, curl them so they brush past your g-spot and watch as you fuck yourself stupid on his fingers.

“You made a mess, baby,” he whispers in your ear when he pulls you into his chest after you’re done riding out your high. He can’t help but laugh. Walter loves seeing you like this; all fucked out and messy, mascara running, lipstick smudged – there’s probably more of the stuff on his cock right now than on your face…

“That’s your fault,” you sigh.

“In all fairness,” he chuckles as he kisses your neck, “you’re the one who showed up wearing these.” He playfully plucks at the threads of your fishnets. Oh…

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

Hello I was just wondering when chapter 2 of Careful creatures will drop! If there will be a chapter 2 at all, (I really hope there will be)

Ope, not me dropping off the face of the planet fic writing wise. The depreseeion really gets to you. Anyways, here's FINALLY, Chapter Two 💚💜❤️

Careful Creatures: Chapter Two

Ship(s): Hela x Agatha, Agatha x Wanda, Wanda x Hela, Hela x Agatha x Wanda

Summary: Three powerful beings broken down back to the start somehow find themselves brought together as they relearn themselves and each other.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: angst, descriptions of being burnt, mild gore, mention of sexual assault/non-con/rape, abuse of alcohol/alcoholism/addiction, amnesia, split personality but make it ✨magic✨

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI!

A/N: Please READ THE WARNINGS before proceeding. If this were on AO3 it would be rated E for explicit material later on in the series, and M for mature material for the heavy content this story deals with.

Hela groans, her head pounding.

The second thing she registers is how much pain the rest of her body is in.

“Sh…” A soft, sweet voice soothes. “You're going to be okay, let me finish cleaning out your wounds.”

Distrust immediately floods the goddess, but her limbs hardly even respond to her internal command, her fingers twitching pathetically as she tries to call forth for her twin blades.

She can't even get her eyes to open.

When a cool cloth is pressed against one of her numerous burns, she nearly whimpers, the pain cutting sharply through the duller agony she is in.

“I know it probably hurts.” The sweet voice says, tone gentle and quiet. “But at least it hopefully won't get infected. I don't know if you're awake or not, but I hope you can hear me either way and that it's helping.” A pause. “I like helping people, I think. It feels… That feels familiar.”

Hela’s head hurts too much for her to decipher what the voice means by that, and instead focuses on the rhythmic motions the cloth is making over her cracked and blistered skin.

More than anything, once the sharp bite of pain fades, the coolingness of it soothes the way Hela still feels as if her skin is aflame, burning and burning and burning.

An unconscious whine slips from her lips when there's a pause, and the sweet voice shushes her again.

“I'm just dipping it into the water again. I'm trying to be very careful, these wounds look pretty bad.”

Hela has enough of her thoughts together to keep herself from whining again, but just barely.

Her lips do part in a throaty sigh of relief as she feels the cloth once more resuming its motions across her heated skin, but the action makes her aware of just how thirsty she is.

“W’er.” She attempts to croak out.

It hurts. Her throat hurts so bad, like the rest of her.

“Hm?” The voice hums in question.

“Wa-er.” Hela tries to carefully pronounce, but her tongue and mouth are so dry, she can't get the ‘t’ sound out.

“Oh, yes! Of course.” The sweet voice sounds… Embarrassed, perhaps? “Let me prop you up, so you don't choke.”

Hela nearly whimpers again as soft hands grasp at her, her skin still feeling as if it's on fire, and the pain spikes as she's manhandled into a more upright position.

How low she has fallen.

No family, no friends, no allies.

None but whoever the voice belongs to.

When water drips down onto her lips, she parts them and greedily sucks down the water being tipped into her mouth.

It hurts to swallow, but everything will hurt worse if she doesn't.

A sigh of relief expels itself after a few minutes, and Hela can feel her head loll back.

“You can rest.” The voice says. “I won't leave.”

Distrusting as Hela generally is, she has no choice but to trust.

If she wasn't suddenly flooded with exhaustion, she would be furious at how helpless she has become.

As it is though, she can barely conjure two words in her mind to string together.

She falls back to darkness.

—»•«—

She leans against the kitchen counter, letting the other woman ransack the cabinets in search of coffee as she smiles viciously, enjoying the enraged yelling coming from the other room.

“Seriously, where's the coffee.”

“You'd have better luck just grabbing a beer, dear.” She replies. “Or a cooler.”

Darcy Lewis lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You can drop the flirty neighbor routine, I just saw you beat up, like, six different guys.”

Agatha huffs, and doesn't deign to respond.

Ralph shouts another threat.

“You're gonna have to do something else with him. You can't just keep him tied up forever.”

Agatha shrugs carelessly.

“Take him into custody for all I care.”

“Oh, um. I don't exactly work with S.W.O.R.D. anymore. Or… Any government branch.” Darcy mumbles.

She quirks a brow, and Darcy blushes harder.

“They might've put Dickward into prison, but they said that crashing a vehicle into him was ‘reckless’ and ‘needlessly risky’.”

“Of course they did.” Agatha snorts. “This is why I've stayed under the radar.”

“You mean until you thought trying to kill a wanted fugitive was gonna be beneficial for you.”

The older woman scowls.

“That was not what I was trying to do.”

“Sure looked like it.”

Agatha scowls harder and distinctly does not look in the direction of any alcohol.

…

Fuck.

She pushes herself away from the counter and opens the freezer, pulling out a margarita mix pack.

“Um.” Darcy sounds a bit startled, looking up from where she's crouched, victoriously clutching at the canister of coffee she finally found. “Do you really think more alcohol is a good idea?”

She ignores the other woman, and wobbles a little as she begins to walk around the kitchen, pulling the various things she needs to make the drink to her liking.

“Agatha..?”

“Agnes, hot stuff! I don't know why people keep trying to call me Agatha!” She smiles brightly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Darcy seems frozen while Agnes whirls around the kitchen, determinedly ignoring the shouting coming from the other room.

The bubbly woman continues to smile with false brightness as she places the finishing touches on her drink, shrugging good-naturedly when Darcy shakes her head at the offered second glass Agnes holds out to her.

“More for me, dear!” She laughs, before taking a long drink from the first.

“I, um… Hot water?” Darcy asks weakly.

Agnes’s face shifts into a slight scowl that's gone almost as soon as it appears.

“You'll have to boil a pot.” Her tone is pointedly not cheery, and she drains the first cup of alcohol in her hand before moving on to the second.

Darcy steps in her way when she moves to grab another mix.

“I don't think more is a good idea.” The other woman says, flinching nervously as Ralph bellows again.

Agnes trembles slightly and tries not to let her anger get the best of her.

Being angry meant making mistakes and making mistakes meant getting punished.

“It's just a little something to help with the day!” Agnes attempts.

“How about some coffee instead?” Darcy offers.

Agnes does truly scowl now, and she crosses her arms.

“You’re in my home, dear.”

Darcy latches on to that.

“Yeah, exactly. I'm your guest. It wouldn't be polite of you to get smashed while I'm here.”

Agnes’s scowl deepens for a split second before a forced smile returns to her face.

“You're right, hon! I'll take some coffee too if that's what you want to have. Just make mine an Irish.” Agnes throws in a wink for good measure.

Ralph yells a string of crude words from the other room and both women exchange a glance.

“Maybe we should gag him,” Darcy suggests.

Agnes shudders.

“I– no. No, thank you, dear. I don't want my fingers anywhere near his mouth.”

Darcy very clearly decides not to ask.

Not that Agnes would have answered.

Ralph… Well, he is her husband.

Her husband who gave his friends permission to have sex with her. Who didn't care if she wanted that or not.

Agnes hisses with pain as a stabbing pain shoots across her head, right behind her left eye.

“I… I think I'm going to go lay down for a spell, dear.” She mumbles, not completely aware of her surroundings anymore. “I suddenly don't feel so well.”

Agnes doesn't know if Darcy answers her or not. Her ears are buzzing too much to.

—»•«—

…an…y…u…e…ar…me…?

—»•«—

Wanda sits and watches the mysterious woman diligently, her eyes roving over the places where her outfit is torn and burnt.

Pale skin is marred by angry red, and in some cases, a blackened soot color that only causes her to feel nauseated with guilt and fear.

She doesn't know why.

Raven locks, shining nearly blue, are a knotted, tangled mess, the long, straight strands seemingly determined to create a bird’s nest.

Wanda doesn't doubt that well taken care of, her mystery woman would be very, very beautiful.

Her heart twists painfully, and she scowls.

Her memory refuses to return, but not the echoes of the emotions. It's impossible for Wanda to make sense of what she's feeling without the memories attached to why she would be inclined to feel a certain way about any specific thing.

It's stupid.

She groans and thunks her head gently back against the tree trunk she's sitting against.

She hopes the pale woman wakes up again soon.

Wanda is beginning to feel restless, a creeping dread slowly overcoming her.

She doesn't know why, only that something in her, deep down, is pushing her, tugging her feet somewhere not here.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim BBU AU #2: Loophole

Previous / Kane & Jim AUs Masterlist / Next

content: bbu, pet whump, guns, rescue, begging, reference to holocaust, recovery, amnesia

@bbu-on-the-side BBU Community Days #8: Barcode

-

It had been five years since Master bought 913, and things had gotten marginally better.

Master still hurt him occasionally, but 913 had gotten much better at anticipating his wants and placating his moods. Blasphemously, he had eventually decided he didn't like Master very much at all, but that was okay, as long as he never said it out loud and did his job well.

He even found joys in this life. He wished he could read, but he was unable to parse a single word in the cookbooks in Master's library without getting a splitting headache. He experimented instead, teaching himself, building on WRU's culinary training. He could see himself getting better and better by the day, creating meals both Master and himself could enjoy.

As 913 finished up his evening chores and prepared to go to bed, the window unlocked.

His head whipped around at the sound. To his utter horror, it pushed open, and a young woman with a pistol on her hip climbed through.

"Jim?"

913 backed away, hands up. "You're not- this isn't your house, ma'am," he pointed out dumbly.

The woman stared at him like a long-lost treasure. "Just let me explain," she insisted, her voice low. "I'm your sister."

"I'm a box boy. I don't have a sister." Even as it came out of his mouth, he knew it was a ridiculous point. Of course he had a family out there somewhere, even boxies come from somewhere. He just couldn't remember.

The woman looked like he'd just broken her heart. "Yes you do. It's okay, I'm gonna get you out of here. You're gonna be fine."

913 backed even further away at that, heart racing. He was going to be stolen. He didn't know how to deal with that. He wasn't a person or a guard dog, all he was supposed to do was cook and clean.

"Master!" he cried. "Help!"

"Fuck!" The woman dashed forward and grabbed him, only prompting him to scream louder.

"Master, please help! She's trying to steal me!" 913's life here may not have been perfect, but this crazy person with a gun was not what he wanted to risk it all on. He knew well that things could be much, much worse than they were here.

"Shh! Shut up, shut up!" The woman clamped a hand over his mouth, and though she was smaller than him, she was much stronger. 913 couldn't wriggle out of her grasp no matter how hard he tried.

To his relief, he heard Master coming down the stairs. He burst into the kitchen just as the woman was attempting to manhandle him toward the window.

"Unhand him!" Master commanded indignantly. "That's my box boy! What do you think you're doing!?"

The woman shoved 913 aside and drew her weapon, pointing it squarely at Master, to 913's horror. "Don't move!"

"Don't!" 913 begged. "No, no, please!"

This only made Master more furious, heightening 913's fear. "How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?"

The woman glared at him. "Kane de Sang. I don't care. I'm taking him home and there's nothing you can do about it."

913 started to cry. "Master, please!"

"It's okay. You're gonna be fine," the woman assured him, like this wasn't the most terrifying moment of his life. Even back in the horrors of the facility, at least he knew everything was under control.

While the woman was distracted comforting him, Master made a break toward 913.

She didn't hesitate. Before 913 could move, she leveled her gun and-

913 startled at the bang, ears ringing as the smell of blood filled the room. Master screamed, clutching his gushing shoulder.

"That's what you get for messing with my family." The woman took 913's arm firmly, and led him back to the window.

He couldn't stop crying, looking back at the tear-blurred image of Master handling his phone with bloody hands, but he didn't resist. He was too scared his captor would kill Master if he did.

His breaths came hard and fast. "Wh-what's gonna happen to me?"

"Nothing, you're safe, I promise." She dragged him to her truck, buckling him into the passenger seat. "We're going home."

"I'm... yours now, ma'am?" 913 asked desperately, trying to get a handle on the situation. "Is Master gonna die?"

"I only managed to get him in the shoulder, I'm sure the paramedics will handle it," the woman said as she sped away. "You're not mine. You don't belong to anyone anymore, okay?"

Suddenly, things clicked into place. "You're pet lib?"

"Yeah." The woman drove like a madman, and 913 gripped the seat to steady himself. "But I'm not here because of that. I'm your sister. I'm sorry it took me so long to find you, I was only 15 when they took you."

"I s-signed up," 913 protested weakly.

The woman rolled her eyes. "You didn't sign up. They tried to recruit you and you said no, but they took you anyway and forged your signature. They do this shit all the time."

913 didn't know how to respond to that. He'd always wondered why he would submit himself to this, what his old self was thinking.

"I'm Liz," the woman offered. "Liz Lieberman."

"My designation is 100913," he replied quietly, fingers brushing over the numbers printed below the barcode on his wrist.

"Your name is Jim Lieberman. Short for James Lieberman," Liz informed him. "Just so you know."

A name. He'd always wanted a name. Master never gave him one. His bunkmate back at WRU training had called him Curls when the handlers weren't around, and that's the closest he'd ever had.

Liz glanced at him thumbing at his barcode. "The world is so fucked. Tattooing numbers on Jewish guys' arms again. How does no one see any fucking problem with this?"

"I'm Jewish?" 913 asked.

Liz got that look again, the same one she got when he said he didn't have a sister. Grief. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for a bit. 913 looked out as the scenery passed him by, getting farther from home with every passing second.

"Am I ever gonna get to see Master again?" he asked eventually.

"Nope."

Just like that, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"I saw him hit you last night," Liz added. "I was looking for a good opportunity to get you out. Do you really wanna go back to that?"

How long had she been watching them through the windows in the night? He didn't want to know.

913 shrugged. "It's the best I've ever had it."

"Doesn't have to be," she countered. "It'll be better. No more hitting. Get that stupid shock collar off you. You can be free again."

The shock collar could come off. The shock collar hadn't come off since it came on, the battery long-dead. He wanted that so much.

"Pets don't have wants," 913 parroted, chastising himself.

Liz grinned at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I never asked if you wanted it."

Ah. A loophole. Jim tried and failed to suppress a smile.

"Well then- I guess- I guess I just have to, ma'am."

-

taglist in reblog

[kedreeva]

wrt your tags about eddie manhandling the kids ummm i am politely asking you to write a drabble about steve getting manhandled

I'm sorry I can't write a drabble about this.

Will an entire 5+1 fic do instead?

------

I. June

It’s not like the couch is even all that comfortable, not any more so than the ones at his own house, but something about sitting on Eddie’s couch, the lights turned low, the TV glimmering with something they chose for themselves, is just… comforting. Especially when Eddie lets him lean his head on his shoulder, when Steve is close enough to hear the steady thump-thump of Eddie’s heart and feel the soft heat of him under his cheek.

It had been about two months since they’d nearly lost him. Steve had brushed shoulders with death a few times since ‘83, but had never had to make the call to split the danger with someone. He’d never had to send someone to fight because he couldn’t. He’d never had to carry anyone home, bloody and broken and so, so still. The last time he’d even been at a hospital was for Will, and he hadn’t really known the kid back then.

It had been something else, sitting beside Eddie, and Max, not knowing if they would wake up. If he would spend the rest of his life worrying he’d let them spread themselves too thin, that he’d just gone along with the plan that had gotten them killed. In the desolate calm of hindsight, he’d tied himself in knots thinking of all the other ways this could have all gone.

But Eddie had opened his eyes four days later, and Max after a week, and they’d been out of there after a couple more weeks. Everyone had so far taken turns being a nuisance between their trailers – new ones for both of them, courtesy of the government – checking in on them, spending time with them. Sometimes Steve is over at Max’s, holding her Wonderwoman comics for her to read or letting her talk about the boys, and sometimes they meet in the middle and hang out in the yard on nice days or evenings.

And other times he finds himself right here, glued to Eddie’s side, watching a movie Robin had passed to him before he left for the night. Sometimes Eddie pays attention, other times he leans his head back against the couch and his face squinches up a little as he rides out the pain. Those times have become less as the wounds become scars, as the horror of their ordeal fades into the past.

Now, June had reared its head and with it the warmth of summer, nipping at the heels of spring’s chill, chasing off the reminder of the cold place where they’d nearly lost everything. Now Eddie’s smiles come easily again, and he even comes out on occasion. Eddie doesn’t comment when Steve falls asleep on his shoulder, peaceful in the knowledge that he had been on time, that Eddie was fine, that Max was across the street, that El had closed the gate that had sundered Eddie’s home and things are okay for a while.

“Hey,” Eddie mumbles, turning his head to touch his cheek to the crown of Steve’s head. He lets it rest there and so does Steve.

Steve makes some kind of noise that can be taken as a sign of life, and tries to drag his eyes open. He fails.

Eddie chuckles and the sound rumbles under Steve’s cheek and Steve’s answering smile feels like a wonderful contagion. “You still planning on going home?”

That drags Steve’s eyes open and he looks blearily at his watch. Eddie’s right. It’s late, and he should go home. He still needs to shower after work, especially since he opens tomorrow. He pulls reluctantly away from Eddie and stretches a little, yawning like a cat. When Eddie gets up beside him, Steve all but melts into the warm spot left behind, turning to gaze up at Eddie. The exasperated smile Eddie turns on him is so full of fondness it almost makes Steve guilty for not getting up with him.

“Gonna make me carry you?” Eddie asks, voice light.

Steve snorts. “As if you could,” he says, stifling another yawn. It’s so warm and nice here. He’d been sleeping so much better than he does at home. “You’d probably pop a stitch or something.”

“No more stitches,” Eddie reminds him, grin going devilish. “You think I can’t pick you up?”

Steve shrugs, knowing it will be infuriating to the other boy. He doesn’t really want Eddie to pick him up – he may not have stitches anymore, but Steve knows exactly how tender and fragile the wounds still feel, because he’s got his own – so he holds up his hands in a silent ask for reasonable assistance off the couch.

Eddie, eyes light with mischief, and Steve really should have expected the way he bypasses Steve’s hands and dives right for Steve’s armpits. Steve’s hands fly to grasp onto him, nearly shoving him away before he has to hold on tighter. Eddie hoists him straight up off the couch and rights him onto his feet.

Heat scratches at the back of Steve’s neck, flushes under his collar as they stand there a second, Steve still grasping too-tight at Eddie’s forearms, Eddie not moving until Steve actually straightens and proves he can stand on his own. Steve can’t breathe- he’s never been just- just picked up like that. Casually, if Eddie’s bright, shit-eating grin is anything to go by. Eddie hasn’t thought about it at all. He hadn’t even noticed the effort, if it had even been effort.

Steve lets out a shaky breath, and something like concern flickers across Eddie’s features a second before he withdraws his touch. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Steve assures him quickly. Maybe ruined him a little, but he hadn’t hurt him. “I’m fine.” He forces a smile, all the sedation of sleep that had settled into his bones replaced by the electricity of adrenaline. “I should- I should get home.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, slowly, but he walks Steve to the door, and he doesn’t ask questions.

And if Steve sits in his car for a few extra minutes, that’s his own business, and if he doesn’t stop wondering for a week if Eddie really could pick him up and carry him, well, that’s his own business, too.

Find the rest on AO3!