#can't stop thinking about them it makes me SICK

[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

[suusoh]

(pwp or something idk. just got horny in the tags of my last post about eddie not looking anywhere else but at his wife and only his wife while doing his husbandly duties.)

cw: female reader, sex, eddie's orbs, overuse of the word staring because I want you to start feeling annoyed and maim this man, slight yandere (maybe if you squint?) cheesy and unfunny frank valli reference at the end.

———

he's staring at you again.

Eyes fogged with a love sick haze in them at the absolute sight of you, his wife, all warm, soft, and pliant under him. You try to close your eyes from time to time, but even when you open them again— it just comes back to the first thing you see which is this man on top of you, mouth switching between grinning and gasping, and eyes wide open.

"...Eddie?"

He hums tenderly. "What is it, dear?"

"I-I.. can you just-"

It's so hard to talk when his hips don't stop moving despite his concern. The weight and absolute mass of him on top of you and grounding you into the bed with each thrust makes it all the more harder to think straight.

Thoughts on how to sound out your request begin to blur and buzz out with him fucking into you like this. In and out, in and out, inside of you. over and over again as he buries himself deep within your cunt. your pubic bone practically connecting with his, and sending sparks of heat inside your belly with each time he ruts himself into you.

"Just what? What does my darling wife want?" He starts searching your face for any indication or answer to complete it for you what you want him to do now. Still looking at you intensely.

Looking. He keeps looking. Which is, sort of the thing you wanted to point out in the first place.

"You're... o-oh- oh-"

"I...?" he acts as if he's not quite catching on. Pondering for a second with the sounds of your moans and wanton sighs, and the creaking of the worn out bed acting as background noise to aid his thinking.

"Oh! I'm doing a swell job is that it? Is that what you're trying to say, dearest?" he lets out a content loving sigh, and your breathe stutters as he picks up his pace. "You and your words never fail to make me blush, my love."

Another particularly good thrust has you arching your back, of which he's making sure his eyes connect with yours once more while you writhe and wiggle underneath. But your wriggling quickly eases from bodily pleasure, to slowly morphing into a sense of discomfort now.

Because he's staring at you.

Again.

Which should be good isn't it? Eye contact during sex is a sign after all of a good partner paying attention to your needs. And with someone like Eddie, him paying attention to your needs is the tiniest sliver of hope you cling onto to make sure his reason for keeping you alive is a bit more... cemented, substantial even. Gives you a little bit more reason (or delusion) to believe he'd be inclined to make this relationship, make you, last longer.

(Compared to the alternative route of him using your body for his own sick dispositions, and casually stringing you all up when he's done.)

Though you're sure that this is not the type of bedroom eye contact many normally wish for.

"Y-you... you're.." you try to murmur out again.

Not that you should talk about having anything normal with this man. You might as well find the solution to world hunger long before you find anything even remotely "normal" in this place.

It's not that you're expecting him to do things normally, but can't he... can't he just... do something else maybe?

Look anywhere but you for just a split second, maybe bury himself into your neck, or close his own eyes to focus on the feeling of his cock getting squeezed, or look at any other part of your body that could possibly entrance him; mouth, chest, stomach... hell, you could even hope that he tries to glance down at your clit? Maybe marvel at the sight of where the two of you connect, since that's all his fucked up baby fever mind thinks about anyways?

You'll take anything really, just one small thing to act as a reminder that you guys are indeed having... sex— and not engaging in some sort of impromptu staring contest out of nowhere.

Because his eyes are doing absolutely nothing but looking into your own and as they continue staring at you.

and staring at you...

and staring...

and staring...

and staring...

Jesus fucking christ you don't think he's even blinked in the past few seconds anymore.

You let out a mix of a whine and a groan, opting to shut your eyelids close and try to shield your face away from his unmoving eyeballs by trying to wiggle your hands free out of his grasp (him and his damn insistence to hold hands while making love as he calls it.).

"What is it my love? Must I pay you a penny for your thoughts perhaps?"

"You keep staring... "

You try to wiggle free again, inadvertently adding onto the delightful friction between your parts and his— to which he gets a small shiver of his own at the roll of your hips. A light laugh escapes him at your captivating and somewhat fruitless display. He finally gives reprieve to your brain's rising fear of being uncannily perceived at, and blinks.

"Ohhh, my darling."

He lets go of one of your hands so that he can cradle your face, tilting it so he can capture your mouth into a kiss. humming into your mouth, but the humming isn't just the usual sighs of pleasure, as you can pick up the movement of him saying some words.

He pulls apart from his half kissing-half speaking into your mouth, as he slowly begins to playfully laugh again.

"You can't blame a man for looking at his wife when she's like this; all breathless and beautiful, now can you? I sure can't!"

Said wife that he just knows for certain was sent down by god all-mighty himself into the 7th circle of hell named "mount massive asylums".

When Eddie sees you, he can't help but imagine your rotting carcass somewhere else. An alternate place where those filthy bastards could have gotten their hands on you, torn you limb from limb (if they didn't have the patience to pull your teeth and your eyes out first), then have their way with using your dead body as a urinal afterwards.

You must have been scared to not have your dear husband around to protect you from all the nasty violence around the asylum, weren't you darling?

No, no. No meed to fret now and get your panties in a twist! None of that here. Not when your dear ol' Eddie is here now.

You are very much alive and perfect, preserved by your own sheer dumb luck or maybe by fate itself to be kept alive long enough for him. Just him.

And under his care, your body is experiencing the furthest thing from excruciating physical pain right now, isn't it darling? Feels good, yes? To have your husband make love to you like the passionate man he is. Lest he's supposed to take in the sight of you rolling your eyes back and your legs hooking around his waist, pulling him in for more as something otherwise?

Oh goodness him... It's almost too good to be true.

And he really can't take his eyes off of you.

[rhiannonsknife]

oh i am OBSESSED with that detective!r and rhiannon fic... if you don't mind i have Thoughts about it

it's a little different from what you proposed but detective!r who doesn't know rhiannon but rhiannon knows you... she always comes back to the scene of the crime and lately she's been noticing this pesky little detective sticking your nose where you don't belong

so, she does some research. and by god, she's obsessed with you

she's stopped killing people for her own personal reasons - she's completely consumed with killing to see your reaction, the way you curse out the killer under your breath every time you see a new body

when she starts writing your name in blood at the scene, you know that you're in far too deep to go back

to make it even better, you've tried interrogating her. she was one of your most pleasant witnesses and she even offered to take you out to get coffee. the whole time you were there with her, she was so sweet and so kind, offering to pay for both of your orders. she couldn't have anything to do with it; she was just an innocent girl who was caught in the crosshairs of this gruesome serial killer. right? right?

need her so effing bad UGHHH -🪐

— warnings: canon typical violence/dark content. obsessive!rhiannon & possessive!rhiannon. gn!reader. some suggestive content. didn’t beta read (as always).

— a/n: this ask had me thinking omfg.

rhiannon who gets obsessed with you the moment she first sees you.

it all starts the moment she first sees you at the scene of her latest kill. she tends to linger, to watch from afar to see how the investigation is coming along. it’s not like people tend to pay attention to rhiannon’s presence anyway, so she’s comfortable to stay and see what’ll happen. you’re different from the other detectives, she instantly senses that. and, oh, how she hates it -at first. you’re clearly underestimated by your colleagues, despite the fact that you’re much better and smarter than all of them combined. you catch details others are unaware of until you point them out with an intensity rhiannon hadn’t expected. for the first time ever, she feels a thrill from something other than killing.

that night, she spends hours researching all that she can find out about you.

sprawled out on her couch, rhiannon spends hours combing through your social media, any public records, and every small mention of your life she can find online. by the end of it, she knows your favorite coffee shop, the route you take to work, and even the way you laugh, thanks to an obscure interview clip she found buried online. she imagines what it would be like to meet you in a “normal” setting. just two strangers talking over coffee. she imagines all sorts of scenarios, picturing countless ways of how she could get you to notice her. but that’s not enough. she needs more.

rhiannon who starts killing for you.

before she 'met' you, she'd been killing for her own satisfaction the most of all: murdering people who wronged her, people who continue to underestimate her, who pretend like she's not there at all 90% of the time. that is until she meets you. once she has gathered enough information about you and has learned that you are the one who's taking over the investigation of her murder case, she makes it her mission for you to see her. she's consumed by the idea of murdering for you.

obviously, you can't figure out that it's her. but she can still very much get your attention:

when you start to find your name scrawled in blood at multiple crime scenes, your stomach twists. you don’t know if it’s taunting or a bizarre kind of flirtation, but you can’t shake the feeling that this killer has an extremely personal fixation on you. rhiannon finds a sick satisfaction in knowing that she’s the only one who truly understands you. and that soon, you’ll understand her, too.

rhiannon, whose obsession only gets worse.

she starts following you around, whether it's by walking after you at a safe distance or by driving her dad's truck. only being in your presence thrills her. she can't think of anything that's not the next kill and what she can leave behind for you at the crime scene this time. after a while, you start to receive anonymous letters at your home. they’re handwritten, sweet, and yet filled with hints that leave a chill down your spine: each one contains personal details only someone very close (or very obsessed) would know. you start to dread going home alone each night, wondering if the killer is watching even then.

and, still, you're determined to catch this killer.

it's almost like you're just as obsessed with solving this case: you work relentlessly and stay in for much longer than anyone would ever know, sometimes running on no sleep at all just to try and connect the dots that are scattered all across your hometown in from of bloody crime scenes. once, while working late, you glance up from your desk to find somebody outside the station, watching through the window. it's just a silhouette that waves and, before you can react, turns and disappears into the shadows.

she makes watching you from afar a habit she can't seem to shake off:

hidden in plain sight, she watches you work a scene, observing your expressions as you piece together clues she’s laid just for you. the way you curse under your breath or tense at a particularly dark detail excites her; it’s like she’s guiding you through a personal maze, she’s drawing you closer with every carefully crafted move.

rhiannon, who even goes as far as to leave gifts for you right at your doorstep.

they’re seemingly innocent items: flowers, trinkets, chocolates...always with notes like “you looked tired today” or “thought you’d like this.” but you know better. there’s nothing innocent about these gestures; they’re reminders that she’s closer than you think. in one of her letters, she writes: “every kill is for you.” the revelation is twisted, sick even, but the obsessive way she describes her admiration for you leaves you feeling trapped in her gaze. you start to wonder if this chase will end only when she’s taken everything from you. or if you’ll end up her final victim.

at this rate, she catches feelings for you before she even knows what's happening to her:

she follows you on a night out, intrigued by how you relax away from work. when you laugh with friends, she feels a strange jealousy toward anyone who’s close to you. to rhiannon, this outing feels like an unofficial date, watching you from a corner as if she’s already a part of your life. later, she imagines herself sitting beside you, whispering her secrets in your ear, knowing she could charm you if given the chance.

rhiannon, whose obsession which was originally supposed to be a cat-and-mouse game that she was in control over, turns into a sense of possessiveness.

alone in her room, she whispers your name just to hear the sound of it aloud. she fantasizes about how you’d react if you knew she’d been studying you so closely if you knew that every kill from here on out was a twisted attempt to draw you closer. rhiannon, who somehow steals something from you, whether it is by sneaking into your home whilst you're out or by reaching into your purse in passing. either way, she uses it, later that same night, when she's home alone and dares to touch herself to the thought of you. she finds herself almost longing for you to figure it out, to see her completely. she’s begun to view each kill as a love letter, a message only you can fully understand, and in some dark corner of her mind, she starts to believe you might actually feel the same way.

but even that is not enough for her. she wants you to know her. to look at her, without the slightest clue who's really in front of you.

so, rhiannon plays the role of the clueless witness: after a particularly grisly scene, she shows up at the station, pretending to have seen something, and strikes up a surprisingly casual conversation with you. she even convinces you to take a break for coffee: she offers to buy, her voice light and friendly, as if she’s not the very person keeping you up at night.

rhiannon, who starts accidentally running into you.

she begins appearing in unexpected places: your favorite bookstore, the cafe near your precinct, and even outside the gym. she plays it off like coincidence, but you can’t shake the feeling she’s watching you. every “chance” encounter leaves you more on edge, especially as her excuses get flimsier, her curiosity too intense for a stranger. her gaze lingers just a bit too long, and she throws out casual details she should never know about you. but then again, there's no way this innocent woman could ever be responsible for all these gruesome crimes, right...?

you brush off these suspicions, not really believing that rhiannon could be capable of these murders.

and still, during another coffee date (which become a habit between the two of you) she drops a casual line, mentioning a detail about your personal life you never told her: maybe the nickname your family used or an obscure detail about your childhood. when you press her about it, she insists that she read it somewhere or “just remembered” from one of your conversations. but her gaze lingers, enjoying how much she’s unsettling you.

rhiannon, who starts acting possessive over you without really noticing it herself.

out in public, she lets her fingers brush against yours. she’ll throw an arm around you casually, especially when she notices other people noticing. to rhiannon, it’s a game of establishing her claim, marking her territory.

after some time, she finally invites you to her place, claiming she wants to “return the favor” of all your coffee dates.

when you arrive, the atmosphere is too perfect, too staged, with dim lighting and chillingly specific music playing softly. every word she says feels more like a veiled confession, every look a taunt as she watches you grapple with the tension between attraction and horror. it’s not until you see a framed newspaper clipping of one of her murders in the hall that you realize she wanted you here for more than a simple dinner...

[lotusarchon]

Therians are indeed, people who feel a very spiritual connection with a certain animal! They can't choose which animal it is though, they just feel it. Some of them make masks of this animal to feel a bit more connected, and then there's...THOSE therians (with all due respect because i'm a therian too and no one deserves to be disrespected) who eats food for animals (for example cat food, dog food) and/or runs away from their home because their family doesn't accept they are therians...

I'm sorry for my own community but like being a therian isn't TRYING TO BE that animal you feel connected to 😭 we're still humans, we're always gonna be humans- we don't TRY to be that animal, we just feel connected with them...I'm sorry but I find it a bit funny when they get to that point, though it's concerning when they start eating dog or cat food like please don't do that you could get seriously sick

Anyway that's therians for you! :3

Ohhhh thank you for this Anon! I was kinda right yaaay

Though I don't think I'm allowed to say this since idk much about it, it is a bit weird thinking you are FULLY an animal I guess? But then again I won't make judgement, but also, DON'T EAT DOG/CAT/ANY FOOD FOR ANIMALS YOU'LL DIE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 THINK ABOUT YOUR TUMMIESSSSSSS

- from someone who ate dog chow religiously as a child and is insane now

Edit: turning off reblogs for this post because apparently this is starting some discourse within this community. With all due respect; I am NOT a therian, nor am I aware of how things work for you guys. I just know basic knowledge, and if the anon is wrong, then that's fine. Someone actually corrected me on it, which is FINE. But for the love of god, please do not pull ME into your discourse. The origins of this was someone asking me what my opinion of therians is, and my statement remains; I don't care what you do, if you're not a bad person then do what makes you happy, I am not going to judge you. Someone said it isn't just a spiritual connection and it's actually feeling like the animal, and that's FINE. I still think it's weird but I also know this is from my OWN ignorance, so please stop coming to yap at me about this rudely, because you're only giving me the impression that you guys are rude. I'm not going to pretend I know anything, and if you wish to disagree with Anon, do so POLITELY. Otherwise, please stop interacting with the post. Calling the anon out on misinformation is fine, but again, do not bring ME into this. As far as I'm aware, I'm watching different sets of people who are stating what they know of therians from their own experience. 🧍 It's fine that you wanna point out misinfo but also. Be nice. Because it feels like you guys are yelling at me and it's not nice

[bloody-bee-tea]

We're here for you

Hitoshi follows Aizawa along in their cooldown routine, but his head isn't in it. He can't stop thinking, can't stop wondering and it makes it hard to concentrate. It's the reason he already got smacked in the head twice and if Aizawa notices that he's still not entirely there, then he'll clap him over the head a third time, Hitoshi just knows it.

It's just–

"Alright, out with it," Aizawa says as he comes out of their last stretch and he pins Hitoshi with a look.

It makes him squirm though he tries not to let it show too much.

"It's nothing," Hitoshi tries, even though he knows it's stupid.

If Aizawa already noticed that something is off then he's unlikely to drop it, that's something Hitoshi has learned in the last two weeks they've been doing this.

"It's something," Aizawa gives back, narrowing his eyes at Hitoshi. "And it's enough to distract you. So out with it."

Hitoshi still hesitates for a long moment, but despite his pushy demeanour, Aizawa seems more than content to wait him out, his steady gaze still on Hitoshi and he doesn't know if that makes it better or worse.

"You said–when we started this you said–" Hitoshi trails off, suddenly deathly afraid that if he says this, if he asks what's been plaguing him the entire time since the words left Aizawa's mouth, that he'll know immediately what's going on, what Hitoshi is really referring to and it makes him sick.

Still, Aizawa doesn't back down.

"Yes?" he prompts and Hitoshi drops his gaze, unable to hold it any longer, but he still can feel Aizawa's eyes on him.

"You said you'd be there for me," Hitoshi whispers, more to his feet than Aizawa, but of course he hears.

"I did," he agrees, solemn and steady and it makes Hitoshi breathe that little bit easier, allows him to finally ask what's really bothering him.

"What does that mean?"

He dares to lift his gaze up a little bit, catches Aizawa still looking at him, but he doesn't seem mad, doesn't appear to charge for an attack but in all honesty, Hitoshi thinks he'd never see it coming with Aizawa.

His father telegraphs his moves so broadly that even without any kind of training Hitoshi always knows when he is about to hit him, but with Aizawa things are different.

He's a pro, after all.

"It means that no matter what, I'm here for you," Aizawa repeats and he must read the frustration right off Hitoshi's face because the corner of his mouth ticks upwards. "It means you can come to me with anything."

He says it with emphasis and something heavy drops in Hitoshi's stomach, something that feels close to panic.

"I have to go," Hitoshi rushes out as he scrambles to his feet, but a quick look at Aizawa shows him that he's still seated on the ground, not making a single move to stop Hitoshi or even follow him.

"Same time Wednesday," he simply says. "Remember to rest until then."

It almost makes Hitoshi laugh, because how the hell is he ever supposed to rest in that house, but he bites it back and shoulders his bag.

"Thank you," Hitoshi breathes out, not daring to even attempt to lie to Aizawa and then he's out of the gym.

Hitoshi thought he might feel better with a little bit of distance between them, between him and Aizawa's knowing eyes, but Hitoshi can't outrun his own thoughts and the way Aizawa had said 'anything' keeps running around in his head on a loop.

Hitoshi sleeps poorly that night and it barely has anything to do with his smarting ribs.

~*~*~

Aizawa and Yamada are demonstrating a move Hitoshi has problems grasping and they are telegraphing their movements so slowly that it almost makes Hitoshi laugh.

Almost, because once again, his mind isn't all there.

He thinks he hasn't stopped ruminating on the way Aizawa had told him that he can come to him with anything and it doesn't help that Yamada had said something similar during their advanced English lessons.

Hitoshi still hasn't figured out what 'anything' means and he has to admit that it's driving him slightly insane. He wishes there could be an easy answer, that he could just know if his situation at home is really something he can trust them with but he fears that it might not be that easy.

"Thanks for paying attention," Aizawa's lazy drawl suddenly jolts him out of his thoughts and when Hitoshi focuses back on them, he realises with a start that they are both turned towards him and while Aizawa looks mildly annoyed, Yamada can't hide his amused smile.

"I'm so sorry," Hitoshi rushes out, "I'm just–"

"Distracted to all hell and back," Yamada finishes for him and elbows Aizawa in the side. "Time for a break."

For a split second Hitoshi thinks Aizawa is going to argue, but then he nods and walks over to their water bottles, Yamada following while he waves Hitoshi to join them as well.

He follows behind them a little bit more slowly and by the time he makes it to them, Aizawa is already laid out on the ground, eyes closed and maybe even already asleep. It's hard to tell with him sometimes and Hitoshi thinks he might as well go for it now.

If Aizawa is asleep, it'll spare him his searching gaze and Yamada might be easier to talk to anyway.

"So, I was wondering about something," Hitoshi mutters, and he knows Aizawa isn't asleep by the way one of his eyebrow rises.

"That much was apparent. Shoot, kiddo," Yamada says, giving him a reassuring smile and Hitoshi takes a deep breath.

It shouldn't matter this much, because he's not asking for anything grand; he just wants an explanation and it doesn't have to mean anything, not if he doesn't want it to and not if the answer isn't what he's secretly hoping for.

And still, he hesitates.

He hesitates for long enough that Yamada's smile slides right off his face and that's what finally prompts Hitoshi to talk.

"Aizawa said a while back that I could come to him with anything and you expressed something along those same lines," Hitoshi mumbles towards Yamada and then trails off because Aizawa cracks one eye open.

"I did," he agrees, in the same way he did weeks earlier, clearly trying to prompt Hitoshi to explain what exactly this is about and Yamada nods encouragingly.

"I was just wondering what that 'anything' entails," Hitoshi finishes in a rush and drops his gaze back to the ground.

He still senses Aizawa and Yamada exchanging a look before Yamada speaks up.

"It means just that, Shinsou. You can talk to us about anything and everything. It doesn't matter, we're happy to listen and provide help as we can. You can come to us regarding problems with school or your classmates; we're here to listen if you have concerns about your future or what you want to do, and you can talk to us if you have problems at home or with your family."

Hitoshi just barely manages not to flinch and he just hopes that they don't notice.

"We try to stay out of any romantic relationships of our students, so girl talk–or boy talk, for that matter–is not really what we're here for but if it's a sexuality or identity crisis, we can be your guys, too."

"We mean it when we say anything, Shinsou," Aizawa chimes in and Yamada chuckles before he pokes Aizawa's side.

"Even non-serious stuff. I know this guy would be real happy if you showed him pictures of cats. You once mentioned you're feeding the strays close to your home, right? You must have pictures you can share."

It gets Aizawa to finally sit back up again and his attention is fixed on Hitoshi.

"You feed stray cats?" he asks and he seems interested in a way he didn't before, which makes Hitoshi bite back a smile.

"Sometimes," he admits and walks over to his bag. "I do have pictures, if you want to see?" he offers and Aizawa is at his side a second later, impatiently waiting for him to take his phone out.

Yamada seems entirely too pleased with himself and Hitoshi notices the way he looks at Aizawa, notices how Aizawa looks back, albeit briefly, and he wonders what's going on there but he knows that it's none of his business.

They offered for him to talk; they didn't offer anything else and it would probably only make them mad if he pried into something that he shouldn't.

So instead of poking his nose where it doesn't belong, he unlocks his phone and pulls up his cat folder, tilting the screen towards Aizawa, who leans over his shoulder, closely paying attention to all the cats Hitoshi shows him.

It's not the training he's here for, it's not what Aizawa and Yamada signed up for, what they made time for, but they don't complain and instead ask involved questions about the cats and not once does Hitoshi feel as if he's stealing their time.

It's definitely a first and it makes something small and bright light up in his chest.

~*~*~

Hitoshi starts small. He keeps it up with the cat pics, and neither Aizawa nor Yamada ever brush him off for that; Aizawa even asked after the pictures once, when Hitoshi was too busy pretending not to be in agonising pain to remember something as trivial as that.

After the cat pictures comes homework. Hitoshi is a good student, so it takes him a while to find something he has trouble with but when he does, Aizawa doesn't hesitate to sit down with him to explain the concept for Hitoshi.

Yamada already answers him every and all questions he has about English but the one time Hitoshi complained about a math problem, Yamada went through that with him as well.

It's–novel, to not be yelled at for innocent things like this and Hitoshi finds that their words—their offer—burn bright under his skin.

It makes him want to push and so one day, he does.

Hitoshi doesn’t really plan it, but the day was shit in a way it hasn't been in a long time, following after a weekend where his parents kept avoiding him, kept being scared of him, in between bursts of fists and kicks, and so when Aizawa levels him with a look and asks him what's wrong, it just all spills out of Hitoshi.

"U.A. was supposed to be better," he spits out, dropping his bag and making no move to get changed for training.

"Better than what?"

"Than literally anywhere else. Quirk discrimination wasn't supposed to be a thing here; it wasn't supposed to go on like this," Hitoshi says and he hates the way his voice shakes, how wet it sounds because it screams of weakness and he doesn't want Aizawa to see that.

"What happened?" Aizawa asks, much softer this time and pats the ground next to where he sits and Hitoshi moves as if he's on autopilot.

"It's stupid," Hitoshi mutters, because now that he has Aizawa's attention he realises just how childish and immature he's being and he ducks his head in an attempt to hide.

"Tell me anyway."

"The League, they are apparently recruiting," Hitoshi says after a moment. "My classmates thought it'd be funny to go through the students and decide who would join them."

"Based on quirks," Aizawa says with a nod and Hitoshi nods as well because what else could it be.

"I made top of the list," he says with false cheer. "Finally I'm number one." He doesn't care how bitter he sounds, because he is.

"You're at the most prestigious hero school. You're doing everything you can to be a hero," Aizawa says with a frown and Hitoshi laughs at him.

"Doesn't matter. With a quirk like mine, what else but a villain could I ever be? I've heard the same shit for all of my life, but I thought it was supposed to get better. And instead it just keeps happening. I'm sick and tired of being asked to make someone do something. I'm sick and tired of being the first everyone looks to when someone acts out of character, or when something disappears or when a fight starts. As if I'm always the cause for any of that. I'm just–I'm so tired."

"You never mentioned that before," Aizawa carefully says and Hitoshi shrugs.

"It's not usually this bad. Our class rep, she makes sure it doesn't get out of hand, but she's out sick today and with that whole League thing–-" Hitoshi shrugs. "Besides, it's stupid and useless and irrational to be upset over something I can't change and I didn't want to bother you with that."

"You're not bothering me with that, I told you I'm here for you to talk about anything. And being upset about bullying and discrimination, especially when it's aimed at yourself, is never stupid. You're entitled to feel hurt and angry about all of that. It is supposed to be better here; we have a pretty strict policy about that and things like that aren't supposed to happen."

"Great, so it's just me, bringing out the worst in everyone, just like always," Hitoshi mutters, because that, too, is nothing he hasn't heard before. As if his mere existence is tempting people to give in to their darker thoughts.

"Is it just your class?" Aizawa wants to know and Hitoshi makes a face.

He hears people whisper, in the halls and during lunch, but no one who isn't his classmate has ever outright said anything to his face.

"I'll take that as a no then," Aizawa concludes and Hitoshi is too tired to fight him on that.

"What are we doing today?" Hitoshi asks after the silence stretches between them and he feels how Aizawa musters him.

"I wanted to get started on quirk training, but maybe today is not the best time for that."

Hitoshi knows it's stupid and telling and it's pathetic to be scared of your own quirk, but he can't help but to flinch at Aizawa's words. He must notice it, too, because a sad smile flits over his face.

"You up for combat training? Or do you wanna call it early today?"

"And waste your time completely?"

"You're not wasting my time," Aizawa corrects him. "Not every day is the same and it would be dangerous to not take that into account. Today is a bad day; it happens and it will pass. But there's no reason for us to make a bad day worse, so if training is not something that's on the table today, then that's fine."

He makes it sound so easy as if it's perfectly normal for someone to take Hitoshi's mental and physical state into account and it makes his eyes burn.

"I–might not have paid attention in class today," Hitoshi finally offers and Aizawa nods once.

"Homework it is. Yamada will be by later, so keep your math problems for him," Aizawa says with a small shudder and it's enough to bring out a smile on Hitoshi's face.

"Not a fan, huh?"

"Of math? Unlikely. Now, show me something I can help you with."

Hitoshi does and just like that the afternoon passes.

By the time Hitoshi walks home he has to admit that a bad day just turned into a good day, simply because two people weren't mean to him.

Hitoshi thinks it might be pathetic, but it also makes him happy.

~*~*~

Two weeks later, classes are cancelled for a three day quirk discrimination seminar. Everyone has to attend and at the end, Principal Nezu makes it abundantly clear that U.A. will not stand for any kind of discrimination and that expulsion is the only viable punishment for it.

The next time Hitoshi meets Aizawa for training he walks right up to him and bonks his head to his shoulder like a cat, staying there for a long moment, silently conveying his gratitude and Aizawa pats his head twice.

Hitoshi wishes he could stay like that forever.

~*~*~

Hitoshi feels sick. He knows he has to do it, he knows he has to trust Aizawa and Yamada but just thinking about it is hard and he has no idea how he's ever going to put into words just how shitty his life at home is without completely breaking down.

So he decides to start the entire conversation with a theoretical, even though he damn well knows that as soon as the question leaves his mouth, both teachers will know exactly what's going on, but at least like that he can pretend that it has nothing to do with him, if their answer makes him feel worse than he already does.

Hitoshi hasn't even fully stepped into the gym when both men take one look at him and apparently decide that training is clearly not on his mind.

"Out with it," Aizawa says once Hitoshi is close enough and he doesn't even give Hitoshi the chance to pretend that it's nothing and he can't make his mind up if that's a good thing or not.

"I was just wondering," Hitoshi slowly starts, trying not to squirm under their attention and forces the words out, "what would happen if you learn that a student was at danger at home. Or–you know–that their home life isn't the best."

Hitoshi's voice is thin and shaky and they must know what he's asking, why he's asking, but instead of immediately saying anything, Aizawa and Yamada exchange a look.

This one is a lot shorter than what they usually do, so they must come to a conclusion fairly quickly and Hitoshi isn't sure if he's glad for it when Aizawa almost immediately turns back towards him.

"It depends, really," Aizawa starts with and great, Hitoshi already hates this. "If it's just that the home life isn't the best, with no immediate danger to their well-being then the dorm system offers a good reprieve of that. The student would be able to live on campus during the school year, while the school gets partial custody for that time. It would still mean the student has to go home during the breaks, though, and the parents have to agree in the first place."

"And if it's more than that?" Hitoshi whispers and now it's Yamada who speaks.

"Then the school–and we as teachers–would ensure that all the proper steps are taken to get the student out of that situation. We would seize emergency custody, which places the student into the hands of CPS for the duration of the investigation into the family. The school is equipped to take over custody in times like that, so the education of the student can be guaranteed."

"We teachers are all required to have foster licenses, so even if the dorm system is not an option for whatever reason, one of the teachers could seize custody,” Aizawa takes over. “That also applies if the student is in dire need of a stable home, something that the dorms can't supply. Once the investigation is complete and it's been decided that the student can't go back to their family, we would help look for a suitable foster family."

"Or it can be decided that the student stays with the teacher, if everyone is in agreement," Yamada chimes in and it makes Hitoshi's eyes burn.

Who would ever decide to keep him?

"An investigation takes time, though," he mutters and tries to calculate if it would take enough time for him to make the hero course and be placed into the dorm system by default, no matter the outcome.

Probably not, knowing his luck.

"Normally, yes," Yamada agrees. "But you forget that we're Pro Heroes. I know all you students sometimes forget when it comes to us, because you see us as teachers here, but our word has a little bit more weight. And we have connections. I know someone who has a certain detective on speed dial," he teasingly says and elbows Aizawa in the side.

"Because it's practical," Aizawa sighs out before he concentrates back on Hitoshi again. "It would speed things up, if we filed the complaint. We can get the right people on the case and we're not easily brushed off, either."

"What if you don't believe the student?" Hitoshi forces himself to ask, because what if? What if he says it, and they just decide that it's not worth it?

"That's not going to happen," Yamada says. "If someone brings up concerns like that, we're going to take them seriously, no matter what. Yeah, maybe the investigation will show that the student was just trying to get their parents into trouble, or they just wanted some attention, but maybe they were telling the truth. There is no way anyone here at U.A. is going to take that risk. If someone mentions something like that, we are going to treat this as seriously as we can."

Hitoshi's eyes burn and his hands shake and he's pretty sure he's going to throw up if he opens his mouth now but then Yamada steps close and he prompts him with a gentle "Hitoshi?" and it's enough.

That little bit of kindness he can hear in Yamada's voice is enough.

"I really need your help," Hitoshi chokes out and a second later he finds himself in Yamada's arms, shaking apart.

"Shou," Yamada says and Aizawa grunts.

"See, it's practical to have him on speed dial," he grumbles out and a second later a call connects.

Aizawa must have put it on speaker and Hitoshi forces himself to cry silently, so he can hear what's going on.

"Eraser," a man answers and he sounds about as tired as Hitoshi usually feels. "What did your hell class do now?"

"This isn't about them. I need you to open an investigation into the family of Shinsou Hitoshi."

"On what grounds?"

"Child abuse," is the immediate answer and the man–Tsukauchi, most likely–is silent for a moment before a soft "Oh, shit" comes over.

"Indeed," Aizawa drily says.

"I take it you haven't informed CPS yet?"

"I needed to make sure you're on the case first," Aizawa gives back and Yamada leans down.

"His quirk is Lie Detector, which comes in real handy, especially in cases like this. There's no way for your parents to talk their way out of this," Yamada promises him and Hitoshi presses closer, hoping to silently convey is gratitude, because he doesn't think his voice will hold.

"Am I putting you down for emergency custody? What does Mic say to that?"

"Well, he's right there with me, so put us both down," Aizawa tells him and Yamada hums his consent.

"Fine," Tsukauchi sighs out. "Anything else besides the abuse I need to jot down?"

"Hitoshi?" Aizawa carefully asks, clearly aware that he's listening in and Hitoshi is glad that he doesn't have to look at either of them right now.

"They are scared of me and they are–just not there," he sobs out, barely giving an explanation at all and Yamada gently sways them from side to side.

"Neglect, too. It's enough, right?"

"Of course it is. Are there any injuries right now, that we can file?"

"Hitoshi?" Aizawa asks and Hitoshi tries to hide himself further into Yamada.

"Yeah," he then admits because his ribs are still hurting and he thinks the footprint on his thigh is still more blue than yellow.

Yamada makes a pained noise, instantly loosening his arms around Hitoshi, but that's the last thing he wants, so he presses closer again and Yamada thankfully seems to get the message, because he hugs him tight again.

"We'll bring him to Recovery Girl," Aizawa promises and Tsukauchi agrees.

"I'll be in touch, and he's not allowed to go back to his family before you get the okay from me, if at all. But–I really put yours and Mic's names down for this?"

"Yes, Tsukauchi. If he wants to stay with us, we're going to take him in."

Yamada hums in agreement and it makes Hitoshi's head spin to hear that.

Sure, Aizawa has just told him that all the teachers have foster licenses and that all of them are prepared to take any student in should the need arise but to hear him state it so firmly, as if there couldn't ever be any doubt that Hitoshi is going to stay with him and Yamada, that they might want him to even, is unbelievable.

Aizawa must have ended the phone call while Hitoshi was still trying to wrap his head around that because suddenly he's right by his side.

"We've got you, kid. You're safe with us," he promises Hitoshi and he thinks that with them, maybe he can believe it.

They listened to him, Aizawa did something when the discrimination was brought up and they said they want to take him in. No doubt in Aizawa's voice, no hesitation, no protest from Yamada, who clearly has a say in that as well, if Tsukauchi is anything to go by.

Maybe not everyone is out there to make Hitoshi's life a living hell.

"Thank you," he gets out between his sobs and they only get worse when Aizawa puts a hand to his head.

"Always," he and Yamada say at the same time and it only prompts more tears from Hitoshi.

But for the first time in maybe forever, they are good tears.

[thepointofme]

saw a cherik edit with silver springs by fleetwood mac yesterday and it feels like it has opened a hole inside my brain because yes!!!! time WILL cast a spell on you erik!!!! and you won't forget charles!!! i always think its hilarious how they call each other "my friend" "old friend" left and right and then proceed to have the least platonic relationship EVER but their friendship is so essential!!! like charles is the first person outside of his family that erik learns to know and care about (at least in the movies) charles was there, not just his first friend but his first MUTAN friend!!!! the amount of respect he holds for him even tho he doesn't agree with his opinions and world's views, how charles probably has a special place alongside his mom in erik's memories because he loves him so much. that scene in days of future past where erik is like "all those years fighting against each other, charles. to have a precious of them back." charles was ALWAYS there in the back of his mind, the only person he loves that's still alive, that nothing or no one could make him stop loving him even tho erik himself doesn't believe he has the ability to love or at least to love something or someone without breaking and ruining them because he thinks he's inherently bad. he's full of anger because he's full of grief and charles is this constant reminder of how he CAN, in fact, still love even after everything that happened to him, and it probably terrifies him down to his bones. idk im just having an erik brainrot thinking about how in the movies cherik has spent more time away from each other than together. how they're so silly and were always trying to force the other in their own way instead of meeting each other in the middle, because at the end of the day they're just two different (and extreme) sides of the same coin, they do want The Same Thing!!!! but are too proud and stubborn to admit the other might have a point. and in the middle of all of this, the frustration erik feels because no matter how much he tries to pull charles away, to hurt him with his words and actions, charles is STILL THERE for him. he hates the way erik does things and feels so angry and frustrated all the time they're in the same place but there's nothing erik can do that would ever question charles' love for him. its just there. unshakeable and unbreakable. timeless. and erik doesn't understand how someone so broken and flawed like himself can be loved like this. that whole thing about him having to use his helmet so he wouldn't feel the unconditional love charles has for him makes me SICK to my stomach. they love each other so much and wasted so much time fighting with each other instead of fighting together side by side for their people.

[icewindandboringhorror]

On average, what is the total MONTHLY amount that you spend on dining out*?

*(This doesn't only count going out to restaurants, but also stuff like picking up fast food to bring home, getting a coffee on the way to work, getting a premade sandwich from a grocery store deli during lunch, buying a quick snack from a convenience store or food cart whilst walking somewhere, ordering a pizza or any other food to be delivered to your home, etc.)

*(If you often dine out in groups/as a household: calculate and divide the costs so that you get a Per Person average. This is for YOU individually, NOT the total household/group costs)

(I'm sure polls similar to this have been made before (very common topic), I just haven't personally seen one that I can remember, so, I was curious to do my own! I was discussing this with a group of people today and it was very interesting to see how widely the number varied between individuals. :0c )

(Reblog for bigger sample size if you can, and feel free to explain your answer in tags if there's anything extra to add!)

[the-acid-pear]

Yesterday I was replaying Deltarune and I was going really insane about it picking up on things I missed on my first playthrough and something that fucked me up hard was this line here

The little ellipsis at the end, almost like you can hear the regret on their voice. Voice of an ad who is realizing maybe they fucked up on this one. But it also made me think of... The possibility of this being a reaction to Spamton's actions.

Because I don't think this was an automatic thing, I feel like their drifting off was gradual. Sure, their jealousy had won them over (I'd have killed the guy or myself if I was them so I don't even blame them) but Spamton was too getting busier and busier the more famous he got, and as they say, that never stopped. He only kept getting bigger, until it all came crashing down. And when it did it was one of them who tried to go find him, after all that.

But I digress, let's focus on the original quote from my favorite sigma enby themselves, Pink Addison. There's obviously not only the regret to it, but feeling like they were abandoned too. Both parties lost a lot and the real tragedy is just how easily it could've have been avoided! Or rather, how beyond their control it was...

But I'll get off topic if I keep speaking so I'll leave it at that. The sheer tragedy that there is to everyone involved just makes me insane. Like I said in a post previous to this; you cannot trace down a good guy or a bad guy in this tale, it's just desperate people taking awful decisions and living to regret their actions.

[tiredshortperson]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince) Characters: Callum (The Dragon Prince), Rayla (The Dragon Prince) Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Second first kiss, Fluff, Dorks in Love, they make me sick, post s6e06 moment of truth, Title from an Adrianne Lenker Song Summary:

Rayla and Callum have their second first kiss at the Starscraper. Loosely based on the song "forwards beckon rebound" by adrianne lenker.

----

dorks in love is the best trope PROVE ME WRONG!!!! tbh i really wrote this because i only saw smut of That Night and i wanted to write a non-smut version bc they’re in fact still minors!!! (even though rayla is technically 18 by now bc it’s been over 30 days since callum’s bday but who’s counting) anyway i hope y’all enjoy this fic :>

[itsseriouslyridiculous]

I really hate how my physical body looks so so so much. unfortunately there isn't much I can do about it.

[sherlock-is-ace]

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[thedailydescent]

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[imgonnagetyoubacktv]

sometimes my bestfriend is like an angel in disguise istg

[hauntingblue]

ENIES LOBBY TIME!!!

Sanji's face here.... he Knows he is going to fuck him up

THAT IS SANJI??? 😨

Holding them in my hands again....

Sanji struck a nerve there akdjaoajkq

Increible trio btw.... look at the evidence

............ me next please 🙏🏻

That is love right there I can see it

What if we all killed ourselves (except usopp is telling her the opposite ajahkdhsakjd)

I need sanji to go insane like this more often.... after the timeskip it doesn't happen as much and I love to see him suffering

This is so funny.... there is no denying to her face card

"It's not like she actually wants to die" well yes she does, but no because you know she doesn't really. It is in a quantum state right now

Luffy is such a menace akdhaksjkaak

TELL EM!!!! THAT'S MY GIRL!!!!

Look at franky worrying about robin.... do not fret luffy is coming and he will NOT lose!!!!!

This is zoro remarking how usopps fear of being left behind makes no sense.... this is so good.....

This is so endearing but it also breaks my heart....

Who is that sultry binch... (I don't recall this attack AT ALL and i'm sure we never see it again)

They botched his bbl.... 😔😔😔

Luffy's face here... he was convinced she wanted to go with them but was compelled to do otherwise but no.... he thought wrong and he can't fight to her.... I've just been staring at this page for minutes like damn.

Nevermind.... this is something your mother would say "you want to die??? Just wash the dishes and you can do whatever you want later"

"If you wanna die, or whatever...." this is so good like he knows what he is doing.... he Knows.... look at her face. After knowing how luffy and ace were as kids this just makes more sense (oda didn't think about this i'm sure but damn does it fit) also the slight manipulation.... look at all of us we're already here and look how we all miss you already... you know that post about luffy being selfish but his selfishness is jusg kindness to others... yesh

Thinking about robin's cinderella lifestyle.... why did her mother leave her with that aunt and why didn't some archeologist take her in?? Because she doesn't complain about anything just like she doesn't respond when that mother accused her of hitting her child without reason... that's so fucked

Alright this is funny (and also true)... I'm sorry fellow women....

*Justin Bieber voice* I like your laugh... dereishi shishishi

SHE'S GONNA ASK HER MOM TO TAKE HER TO THE SEA WITH HER??? LIKE SHE DOES AFTER WITH LUFFY??? MY GOD!!! I just bursted into tears like I got punched in the nose I can't keep going ajdhakajk

I lied i can keep going... but head in my hands over this....

Find out how my emotional stability survives this arc in ennies lobby part 2. coming soon

[plaguecrows]

i've been dying to catch you dizzy

characters from @sotcwcrp

[sudokuplayer]

i'm so angry and heartbroken and i think this is all i will ever be